A team of young gents decided to take on the costumes of
super heroes for Hamline University’s International Dodgeball competition. They
were down to two competitors in the 2nd round of their game versus
the Rag Tags. I wouldn’t assume their
team name was the Rag Tags, but due to the amount of tattoos, lean muscle, and
gray hairs, they had the look of an aging gang from The Warriors.
I had the time, as I waited with my team to compete in the
championship round. The Rag Tags were down to one player against the two
costumed super heroes. A lone 40-something year-old woman with a dark shirt and
yoga pants steadied herself on the short side of the court ready for the heroes
to unleash, what they hoped would be, the final throws to out her from the
game. When a team is down to one member, the rules state that the opposing team
can cross the middle line to a red line that marks ¾ of the court. Least to
say, the 40-something was in dire straits.
Her dexterity maneuvered her through the first onslaught of
three dodge balls from the teen-boys. They were all high- the woman literally
matrix’d back, leaning to her tailbone, bending both knees in an awkward
position and then rolling over back to balance. The teen titans regathered
slower than molasses. They reloaded for what felt like the length of a Will
& Grace episode, and returned to the red line.
You see, the Rag Tags were up a round on the costume
crusaders, so if this 40-something woman were to oust the young gents, she’d
have won the game for her team of tattooed dodge ballers.
The teen-boys, lethargic in their pursuit, made a
game-ending mistake. The kid dressed in superman tights, dawning superman
underwear over them, took his sweet-ass time to wind up his throw. Just as he
prepped back, he hesitated. Poor sucker,
I couldn’t feel bad for him by the time he’d realized he’d been moving too slow
for the game. She’d already unleashed a small ball high enough to dodge,
but superboy was already caught in his own fear of missing. He’d dismissed the
fact that she’d had a cannon on her, and as the small ball pegged him in the
elbow, he stood there for a moment. It looked that his brain was lagging behind
the actual real-time event.
Super-teen dropped his head, looked off to the upper-right,
shamed himself with a small murmuring from his lips, the crowd cheered… and before
we (the audience) even knew it, the woman had unloaded the final blow.
It’s important to take note, here, that these people didn’t
just mosey into a dodgeball tournament on a Sunday in the middle of St. Paul
for absolutely no reason. They’d entered with intent and the deliberate goal to
end every other team against them. So, there would be no reason to throw a
middle-aged woman to the wolves unless she was able to wipe the smirk off your
presumptuous face with a foam ball across the jaw.
Wearing an X-Men t-shirt, super-boy’s compatriot was the
last one standing on his team. His prep was even slower, he’d reacted so poorly
that the woman had enough time to grab another ball, wind up and release. By
the time he realized what the hell was going on… he was out. She struck him
with the same blow that had taken out super-teen beforehand.
The crowd erupted in absolute hysteria.
I felt compelled to run out and do cartwheels until my arms
gave out, grown men jumped up and down as if the Vikings had just surprisingly
won the super bowl (or anything), the other festively dressed teams fist pumped
and gathered round the woman. Her team began cheering a chant that seemed
pre-scripted before the game. And as the super-teens pathetically lowered their
heads in a state of disbelief, and other teams hoisted her into the air
cheering her, you could think nothing outside of how much that could make
someone’s month, let alone year. Any of us would be privileged to blast two
super-hero dressed 19-year olds out of a dodgeball competition… at any point of
our lives.
