Confirmed with Link: Meme/Like Thread 6 - A new season on the horizon

Nogatco Rd

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Blueline Bomber

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Oct 31, 2007
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One of the highlights of my childhood was when I was at summer camp, we'd play kickball every Friday. And while most of the roster for each team were the pre-teens that attended the camp, there was a single camp counselor on each team. And obviously, they absolutely crushed the ball each time they came up to bat, ensuring cleared bases and more often than not, an inside the park homerun.

Well, one time I was playing outfield, the counselor came up to bat, and I could see it all play out. I backed up a few steps, he sailed it deep into my section, and against all odds, not only did I place myself in the right location, I managed to catch and hold onto the ball. It hurt like hell, but I caught it.

He was already past 2nd by that point and just stopped and stared at me as my teammates celebrated. Of course, I did nothing that athletic or cool for the rest of that summer or any of the other summers I spent at the camp, so that glory faded real quick. But for the briefest moment, I was cool.
 

Navin R Slavin

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Jan 1, 2011
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One of the highlights of my childhood was when I was at summer camp, we'd play kickball every Friday. And while most of the roster for each team were the pre-teens that attended the camp, there was a single camp counselor on each team. And obviously, they absolutely crushed the ball each time they came up to bat, ensuring cleared bases and more often than not, an inside the park homerun.

Well, one time I was playing outfield, the counselor came up to bat, and I could see it all play out. I backed up a few steps, he sailed it deep into my section, and against all odds, not only did I place myself in the right location, I managed to catch and hold onto the ball. It hurt like hell, but I caught it.

He was already past 2nd by that point and just stopped and stared at me as my teammates celebrated. Of course, I did nothing that athletic or cool for the rest of that summer or any of the other summers I spent at the camp, so that glory faded real quick. But for the briefest moment, I was cool.
Oh shit, kickball stories! My turn.

I went to a private elementary school in DC for 5th grade. There was a small playground where we played kickball pretty much every day for "PE", such as it was. I was a year younger and undersized to boot, so I was like a third grader out there. I did not love PE.

The school was owned by two old Southern sisters, who were nice as pie but also pretty low key racist. As it happened, the school had no buses, and somehow it was arranged that I, along with two other kids from my rough neighborhood in southeast, rode along with them to school. The sisters had been Redskins fans since their youth in the 30s, and talked often about how much they loved Sammy Baugh.

There was another old white woman who worked for them named Mrs. Robbins. I never quite understood what her job was; all I knew was that she was openly racist towards our black students, and openly disdainful of me because my dad was a hippie and let me wear long hair.

That old bitch routinely tried to "discipline" me about my hair, including once when she put a girl's barrette on my desk, and I burst into tears and swore prodigiously at her as a result. That precipitated a meeting with my dad, who tore them a new one about the barrette, and also told me that I should be more considerate of their feelings with the language I used, but he certainly understood why I had said what I said, and that he might have done the same in my situation. Then he threatened them vaguely with legal action. He was such a badass.

Anyway. Mrs. Robbins often sat on a bench while we were playing kickball, which was against the school wall right behind first base. One day, a few weeks after my dad's visit, we were playing kickball, and I was at the plate, and for maybe the first time in my life I absolutely drilled it -- right into Mrs. Robbins face, smashing her glasses in the process.

All of the kids were horrified except for me and my friend John, who was black and was another frequent target of her bullshit. We both burst into laughter, and no one said shit about it.

She was basically fine. More's the pity. Maybe the first person in my whole life who I truly hated. f*** that old bitch. I hope she died of ass herpes.
 
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