Kickball Kamikaze

I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m starting to feel more aches and pains than I used to. My body doesn’t heal quite as quickly as it used to. Been there, done that?

On the Sunday night before Labor Day our family got together to celebrate my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary. My sister and her husband in Robinson invited the siblings and our families over for dinner. Mom and Dad were there, too. For some unknown reason after dinner we decided to play a game of kickball. Kickball! I don’t think I’d played kickball since 5th grade.

I need to mention at this point that some people in my family are rather competitive when it comes to sports. Namely that would be my two brothers and my brother-in-law. And me. Being the oldest of the siblings I guess have this thing that I feel like I have to show somehow that I still have a little athletic ability left in me. As if it matters.

I should also mention that just about everyone played. That includes my two boys, ages 10 and 5, my niece who’s 8, my other niece who’s 2, my Dad and Mom who are old enough to have celebrated a 40th wedding anniversary, my youngest brother’s wife who recently had surgery on her toe, and, of course, my two competitive brothers and brother-in-law. And me.

My wife, who is not really into kickball, per se, sat out. So did my other sister-in-law, who’s not really into kickball, either. That’s okay; at least she made the cake. And so did my sister, who’s 8 months with child. Excuses, excuses. They sat under the shade tree and cheered.

So we picked teams just like we did in grade school. Popular kids were picked first. We set up bases in the back yard and rolled out the ball. I’ll save you the play-by-play, but I ought to mention that in about the third inning the sideline cheerleaders began to grumble that we weren’t letting the little kids get on base much. Hey, when you’re playing to win you take the easy outs.

Well, my 2-year-old niece, Mallory, was on my team, and our opponents decided mercifully to let her get on base next time. So she kicked it about four feet and ran to first safely. That seemed to please the peanut gallery.

Next batter up was Mom. She legged a drive out into right field played nicely by my Dad, as I recall, who threw to first for the out. Then with keen field awareness, the first baseman fired a perfect strike to second base, to which Mallory was in stride from first. The tag was applied and you had a 4-3-6 double play. Inning over. The crowd groaned.

Anyway, during the course of the game – I’m not bragging, just telling it like it happened – a ball was kicked high in the air down the third base line. I was playing somewhere behind second. I got a great jump on the ball and arrived in time to make a sensational diving catch. The crowd went wild. We watched ESPN later that evening to see if it made the “Plays of the Day.” My 10-year-old was impressed. Anytime you can impress your 10-year-old with your athletic ability, you go for it.

I wasn’t finished yet. An inning or two later another ball was kicked in the air which again I dove for and made another spectacular catch. This time, however, my right knee hit the ground hard. It left a divot larger than most of my fairway swings. I got up like a champion and finished the game. My teammates awarded me the “Defensive Player of the Game” award.

But my knee was sore. No, sore doesn’t really capture it. It hurt. And it still does. Don’t think I did any major damage, but my knee wasn’t the only thing bruised. My ego has taken a bit of a pounding, as well. I’m not as young as I used to be.

I remember my PE teacher from high school, Jack Reeder, telling us in his crusty PE voice then when we started taking things too seriously, “Hey! Nobody’s gonna put your name in the paper tomorrow if you win! Don’t try to be a hero out there!” I knew I should have listened.

Truly God designed our bodies to function here on earth, though it’s clear they’re not made to last forever. Especially when you play competitive kickball like a kamikaze. Makes me long all the more for the day when the Lord Jesus Christ, “who by the power that enables Him to bring everything under His control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like His glorious body” (Phil. 3:21).