On Friday, I sent out a tweet asking you guys to pray for rain. Apparently, some of you guys prayed to the humiliation gods instead.
Our last kickball game of the season was on Friday. Well, I was hoping it was the last. Miraculously, we had made it to the playoffs. If we lost the game, our season was over. If we won...the hell would continue.
I'm not saying our team sucks, but I was pretty confident in our ability to lose. One more hour, I kept chanting. One more hour to potentially humiliate myself.
Truthfully, I wasn't really worried about it. Other than the first game where I almost face-planted, I hadn't come close to embarrassing myself. I assumed I could go just one more hour without branding myself the worst kickballer in the history of ever.
But you know what they say about assumptions: they make you look like an asshole in front of everyone.
My first kick didn't go so well. It rolled over the top of my foot and out of bounds. Not my finest hour, but no face-plant, so, WIN!
On my second kick, I made good contact! It rolled between second and third base and I took off toward first. Now, I may not be the most athletic person to ever set foot on the field, but I. Am. Fast. Which was a good thing because a defender scooped up the ball. From the corner of my eye I could see he was going to throw it to the first base girl. Now this girl wasn't a "ah-there's-ball-coming-my-way-ew-balls-are-icky-I'm-going-to-drop-it" kinda girl. She was a "Imma-dominate-this-ball-and-catch-it-with-my-bear-hands-rawr!" kinda girl.
So I knew that in order to be safe I was going to have to outrun the throw.
I bet you guys think this is where the humiliation comes in, but allow me to remind you: I. Am. FAST!!
It was close, but I made it! My foot touched the base a millisecond before she caught it.
Yay! I made it!! IN YOUR FACE!! I'm so fast! I am the winnnnerrr!! I'm...still running. Okay, legs, you can stop running now.
No, seriously, stop running.
My legs: No way, bitch. We hate you!
And so I was at the mercy of my fast, forward-moving legs. But not only were they going forward, they were also driving me down. To the ground. To humiliation town.
No! I've been here before and I recovered. There was no way I was going to face-plant. Miraculously, my legs started to recover. My body started to go vertical again.
Oh praise the lawd! I have saved myself aga...
The next thing I knew, I was airborn. Both of my legs left the ground and I was flying horizontal through the air. And then, as if my body didn't hate me enough, I started to turn, in midair, the kickball equivalent of a triple salchow (that's sow-cow, for you non figure skating enthusiasts).
I was powerless to stop it. I was powerless to do anything other than ride the oh-my-shit-what-the-hell-is-happening-I-hate-my-life! train.
After making a quarter turn, gravity took over and slammed me to the ground where I landed on my hip.
Everyone was like, "Oh my gosh, are you okay!?"
I was all, "What? That? Oh I planned to do that."
The truth is, when you experience something that humiliating, your mind doesn't even know how to process it. It's like you float above yourself and watch the whole thing thinking, "Wow, look at that poor girl embarrass the crap out of herself."
It's not until hours later that you realize "that girl" was you.
Needless to say, we lost the game and our season was over. Everyone was all, "let's go to the bar and drown our sorrows." But I was like, "sorrows? are you kidding me. it's time to celebrate. it's over!"
Another season starts in six weeks. I am happy to report I will be cheering on my team from the bleachers with a box of wine.