A Banquet and a far far overdue blog post

Cue the Sinatra music:

Ladies and Gentlemen, the events of Thursday, November 17th's  I'm Kick James End of the Year Banquet Extravaganza were neither extravagent or banquest-esque... but they were pretty fuckin awesome.

I'm Kick James

    5 - 1 - 1 Regular season record

    0 - 1 Post season record

Simple highlights and awards:

Team MVP's - 

    - Katie - Violence, anger, alcohol, tiara's

    - Timmy -  Magic fingers that brought joy and awkwardly titillating feelings to all of us

    - Lady Parts - Whatever it is our ladies had, the guys need to get some of that... oh, it was Estrogen and a Uterus. Can we get those things? They probably have pills, right? Sexually Reconstructive Surgeries are relatively common now, they must be expensive though. I'm not sure if my insurance would cover that for the sake of kickball. 

Paper Plate Awards - 

    - Pearson - Paper Plate Award for Insisting on Having His Own Paper Plate Award

Ruining My Toasts and My Life - 

    - Jim's clap... I mean clapping

Best Party Favor -

    - Shot's for Tots

Best Slide Show -

    - The Slide Show we played at the banquet... duh

Looking back at the season, I would like to share the following reflections.

- Our team is too big.

- Our team almost always falls apart in the last or second to last inning.

- Our team's drinking habits are far from consistent.

- Our team's hygiene has been seriously called to question.

- Our team really isn't that good at kickball.

- Our team is genuinely the most fun and welcoming group of individuals I have ever had the pleasure to spend time with. Even with the terrible hygiene and the lack of morals or values, I wouldn't change a thing. When the Spring season rolls back around, I hope you'll all be able to to come out once again to destroy our competition by having more fun and being just plain old awesome.

Thank you all. Not so much Jim, because of the clapping thing and because he admitted to not really reading most of the blogs. But everyone else. Not really Dave either, I'm not going to bring it up, but he know what he did. Or Gabe, no thanks to Gabe either. Really, Sweeney, Phil, Pearson, Coops, Jesse, Amelia and a lot of the rest of you didn't do much for me either. Hmmm... Let's just cancel the thank you section. Pretend I didn't write any of this and let's just go back to pretending to be nice about all the other stuff. Thanks, yeah, that's better.

I'm Kick James and I have Restless Kickball Syndrome (It's a lot like Diabetes)

W - Sept. 01     MVP - Shelley		I'm Kick James (1-0) - 7		grassholes (nice folks) - 1
W - Sept 08     MVP - Jim		I'm Kick James (2-0) - 4	at	Sexual Meatloaf (1-1) - 3
W - Sept. 15     MVP - Stretching		I'm Kick James (3-0) - 6		Salinjerks (1-2) - 5
W - Sept 22     MVP's - Sandy and Gabe		I'm Kick James (4-0) - 6	at	Off in the Shower (1-3) - 3
W - Sept. 29    MVP's - Katie and Pearson		I'm Kick James (5-0) - 5	at	Kick in a Box (1-4) - 4
T- Oct. 06    MVP - Heather		I'm Kick James (5-0-1) - 2		Fluffy Stardust Bunnies (3-2-1) - 2
L - Oct. 13    MVP -		I'm Kick James (5-1-1) - 4	at	You've Gotta Be Kitten Me (2-5-0) - 5

Playoffs

L - Oct. 22                   (2) I'm Kick James - 3    at   (1) 8 1/2 Inches... Around - 4

MVP - The Genesee Brewing Company for all the beers we drank.

... and then they drank

The burnt orange Fall sun broke through the horizon as their cars left the city for the country fields of Crittendon. Seven of them had met for breakfast in the dark and, besides all the talking, silence.


All four ladies and the three bravest of the young men, probably most well endowed as well, were the first players to arrive at the fields. Picnic table secured, James, the only available umpire, let them borrow a ball. The ladies practiced their pop flies while the guys danced totally straightly and drank beers.


Slowly, as the morning sun continued to break through the clouds, the other cars and teammates began to arrive. Something inherently set our heroes apart. The newly slimmed down team of 11 might have looked odd for a typical kickball game, but the feelings were the same. They were Kick James and all the other teams were just along for the ride.


2-0 after one. Their undefeated rivals were good, but Kick James played tight... played sexy.


Highlights -


The pop fly practice paid off as Jenna called Timmy off of a high fly ball kicked to right center. Deftly securing it against her bosom... haha bosom.


Timmy's talent did not stop at being controlled by young women, in the very first inning he miraculously earned an out by spiking the ball a good four feet away from an opponent at second base. They didn't challenge, we didn't say a word.


"Brian" our brave right fielder, started the game off super lazy and let a few totally catchable foul balls go. "I got here late because I don't respect you or the team, and I hate puppies and kitten's." Brian said as the rest of the team hurled allegations of a lack of dedication/manhood in his direction. He proved his point as he kicked a stray cat in the face. The bloodlust awakened something in the young man, and out of nowhere he became a right field playing machine who was suddenly not full of hatred and instead full of ability to catch fly balls.


Pearson didn't hurt anyone except maybe himself as a high line drive shot straight over first base. Leaping through the air, Pearson managed to stop the ball, tipping it off his fingers just enough to bring it down for the catch and the out. He seemed to float back to the earth as if his feet had never actually left the ground and the 8 in vertical was just an illusion made by his shirt rising up as he stretched to reveal at least 8 inches of belly, including the button.


Shelley took a face and finger pounding (sounds dirty) as the pitcher. Stopping, stalling, or fielding at least 4 line drives. Two of them directly at her face. She almost broke a nail, but ended up breaking their hearts.


Sandy lawyered the hell out of the ump, their team, the ball, his balls, and the ball again while playing shortstop. He was like a wall of lawyering and ambition. Jurisprudence his genitals!


Katie and Ashley did not get nearly as drunk during the game as they did directly after the game. Our two most dedicated rookies each played a great game and earned their mandatory Kick James Ass tattoo they don't know they need to get yet.


Dave's beats and 80's Matrix robe made the morning and struck fear into the hearts of tens of people.


Hoffy kept reminding everyone that his job was easier and better than theirs by saying things like, "I haven't been up this early since the Carter administration," And, "My job is easier and better than yours, let's play kickball." These quotes didn't help the team at all, so it's a good thing he played a solid game.


The seventh inning came. Some impeccable kicking, base running, sliding, filthing up of the jersey, and being handsome was done and another run was scored.


Up 3-2 going into the final inning... is where our story ends.


Who gives a shit about the rest of that inning, because as soon as it was over and heart rates went down, the shotguns, and alcohol consumptions went up exponentially. We still cheered. We still hugged (but not enough), and we all went to Lansdale and drank our faces off.


Forgetting the fact that it wasn't even 9am, we blasted the music, made a fire, drank 300 beers, hula hooped, jumped rope, played catch, invented a baggo/kan-jam hybrid game and were all schnockered before 11am. There wasn't a W in the win column, but there was certainly joy in Mudville.


I'm Kick James and I had a fucking amazing season.


Post Script:


I'm Kick James will return for the Spring season. Hopefully the weather cooperates better than it did last Spring, but even if it does not, our meteoric ascension from rag tag group of misfits to a rag tag group of misfits who are fuckin great at kickball will almost certainly land us back in the playoffs looking for redemption/another excuse to be drunk before the sun is fully risen.


The end of the year banquet still needs to happen as well. Everyone is busy, but I'm thinking next Thursday or a Saturday afternoon in early November might be the way to go. No, we will not be able to accomodate everyone, which blows, but let me know your preference so we can try to make as many people happy as possible. Those of you who are not happy, I will assume are miserable people who are reading this blog out of pure coincidence, as you are obviously not a member of our kickball coalition. F you dude. Go to H and S a D and then D you F'n D nugget S of a B piece of S Aardvark!


Check out the new poll and vote for the Kick James MVP! I might not listen to you and make my own damn decision, but it's still fun to make things interactive.


Send me your pictures! If you have Google+ I hear you can share them with me easily, but if not, shoot an email.

Playoffs are the new season

Good morning Kick James!

So no, we didn't play kickball last night, but we were still awesome at being people so I thought I'd send an email out. 

Don't worry, I will include significantly less "obscure" literary references like Casey at the Freakin Bat. It's still ridiculous that some of you had never heard of that, but I digress. 

Have I ever told you the story of Siddhartha (as told by Herman Hesse)? So Siddhartha was a wealthy... just kidding, though if you have never read Siddhartha, you should, it's a fantastic quick read and the only thing Hesse did that wasn't pompous.

Anyways last night was a ton of fun. Apparently without a kickball game it takes a little while for us to get the blood flowing, but a couple pitchers of shots, Sandy wearing a suit, piles of jalepeno queso, and chick fights to the death got us reeling. If you missed the chick fights it is because they didn't exist. 

There was a lot of talk, too much if you ask me, about all the things most of our team is doing Saturday morning that isn't playing kickball. 

Good excuses for missing kickball playoffs:

None

Bad excuses for missing kickball playoffs:

- I'm Maid of Honor in my sisters wedding (priorities... seriously)

- I have to work at Magnolia's (Serve your own sandwiches Hipster)

- I have to recruit people to come to my rinky dink nationally ranked technology institution (nerd)

- I am buying a house and get a ton of free money if I take a class (responsible decision... for idiots!)

- I want to spend time with my children, and they will not be happy outside in the cold watching adults play a game at 830am (fair actually)

- I can't remember any of the other reasons right now, but they're not good.

But anyways... the times and locations aren't posted yet, but it looks like we're still playing the other Marshall Street team (still for 50 bucks) at 8:30. We have a small tight line up, which can definitely work in our favor.

Timmy, Thomas, Sandy, Brian, Dave, Pearson, Jenna, Shelley, Katie, PooperCooperScooper (she really hates her name) for sure. Hoffy is in for at least the first couple games, but if we keep winning we're going to need some help.

So here are the questions: 

1 - Do we want to stick to the small team and play it tight to win?

1.1 - Should we play it safe and recruit at least one more guy and one more girl just in casies?

       1.1-a - If we decide to do this, Dodds or Christina, can you play? Theresa, can you and Kyle drive in from Connecticut and then leave directly after the last game without talking to anyone?

2 - Nope, that's it. I am happy to play ironman kickball and I think we have a very solid crew for winning a couple games at least if not the entire damn championship, which would be awesome. 

As always, KickJames is all about fun with friends and drinking at 8am, but since we have come this far a few more wins would be nice. I will take any suggestions or pieces of information into consideration and make my completely biased decisions secretly and without taking your suggestions and information into consideration. As always, if you show up and you want to be awesome and fun and better than everyone elses friends, you will play and be Kick James.

3 - Still think we might need to go streaking. 

No Kickball In Mudville

Hubris, Unhealthy Expectations, or the Ball is Too Small: 
     A Scientific Analysis of Ernest Thayer's Casey at the Bat.


Acknowledgment: Up to four scientists were harmed in the writing of this blog. Ironically, no science was used or even considered throughout the process, unless you count Biology (if that's even a real thing), because I was breathing and alive throughout the writing process. Six in one, half dozen in the other is a phrase I have heard my entire life and only recently understood: It has nothing to do with this story.


Everyone (besides starving kids in Africa, and probably anyone under the age of 14 because they're too busy smoking rock and playing video games) knows the story of Casey at the Bat. It's an old Egyptian baseball story of a hometown team putting all their baseball related hopes and dreams in the single basket of their superstar, a guy with a girl's name, Sandy Casey.


Afterward (a different sort of acknowledgement, as in I'm writing this after initial publication by about 40 minutes). Maybe not as many people know the story as I suspected, so check it out here or listen to it in James Earl Jones' rich baritone here or watch the cartoon here:  

Down 4-2 in the ninth with two outs, two scrappy players whom the writer refers to as a "lulu" and a "cake" (obviously some overt anti-homosexual context taking place in Massachusetts at the end of the 19th Century) each had to get a miracle hit to bring Casey up to bat. They manage to do so with a single by lulu and a ripping double by the cake. The people of Mudville are going apeshit at this point, because here comes Casey, portrayed in the cartoons as a huge dude with monster calves and an awkwardly curved spine, the savior of all that is Mudville.


The crowd goes wild. Casey let's strike one go by and basically says, "no thanks". The crowd threatens to literally fucking murder the umpire, they're so mad.


Casey stands and watches strike two as the crowd burns down a school full of children and attempts to start internationally known terrorist cells hell spent on murdering the umpire, all because of an F'n baseball game.


But then Casey gets serious and there is some talk about intensity and violence and the poem ends with:

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;

But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out. 

                              (Thank you Wikipedia)

So that's the back-story and let us begin with the end. Strike three and the loss of a baseball game literally puts Mudville into a standstill. No sun, no bands, light hearts, laughter, kids yelling, or most importantly joy. No Fucking joy because of the loss of a baseball game. What about the little kid who just got a puppy? What about the awkward teenager who most likely lost his virginity beneath the bleachers as Casey struck out? What about my cousin Joy who was always really happy and grew up in Mudville in the late 1880's? No joy just seems a little excessive.


Casey - an obviously fictional iconic figure who probably went home and slit his own wrists if he even made it out of the parking lot. He definitely wouldn't have if this was the story of Carlos the heroic South American Soccer player who missed the last penalty kick and lost the world cup and was instantly torn to shreds by the bare hands of the crowd.


But back to Casey, he was obviously a douche. He let two perfectly good pitches go by and just brushed them off, despite the fact that his team was down by two runs, there were two outs, and he was being paid to swing at the fucking ball. He let them go, he lost the game, and I sort of hope his wife left him and he is the dead body the boys from Stand By Me found by the railroad tracks.


The Crowd - What dicks! They obviously take baseball pretty seriously there in Mudville. 5000 people came out to see the game. 5000 Assholes. Making fun of two gay dudes who actually did their job well (they couldn't find joy in the fact that two shitty players came through in a clutch situation). They expected one dude, whom they obviously built up enough that he thought he was a swingin big dick and didn't need to swing at two perfect pitches, to come through and save the day. Well that's what you get Mudville. That's what you get when you treat people badly and have unreal/unfair/unAmerican/undressed/unreasonable/unty expectations of someone and put too much thought and time into a silly game by writing long winded, pointless, partially underdeveloped blogs poems.


Casey at the Bat was meant to teach us that when you're too cocky you let people down, which can be true. It has taught us so much more though and they're all lessons about  not being a dick. So stop it. Stop being a dick if you are currently or have recently been a dick. Dicks.


Fun things that happened in my life recently:


Brian "Brian" being really good at kickball, making awesome catches, kicking really well and helping everyone else make Phil look bad.


Katie molesting (only partially sexually) three dudes while playing first base and diving for a third out to make a perfectly Katie inning.


All the girls I know (who played kickball with me last night) stepping up, being awesome, and being completely let down by the dudes. Shelley scored her first run, Jenna was stranded on second, Amelia sneezed and no one said Bless you.


Ashley (2) "Cooperpooper" hating her nickname and threatening intense violence on everyone. 


New Marshall Street mortal enemies in the vain of Big P's and Double D's, the Marshall sponsored team we met last night and will be destroying in the first round of playoffs next Thursday. They started out nice, became very Mudville like, and then left with their smug thumbs up their stupid faced asses. Dicks.


Singing happy birthday to an opponent as a team was very nice and fun of us and I think we can all agree that when people meet me us, they want to quit their team and become Kick James.


Too bad, because I'm Kick James and my roster is full... of awesome!

Saved by a Sasquatch

Ever since Sweeney graced the field with his presence and more importantly and significantly brought Katie in to join Kick James, he has been talking about a mythical entity known as Heather. According to young Sweens this Unicorn of a "girlfriend" was smart, attractive, could read, breathed real air, and wasn't totally fictitious or made of plastic. 

Katie referenced this golem of a girlfriend as well, but week after week she had to "work" or "hated fun" or "didn't want to get her new sneakers dirty, because they cost her a lot of money and she has OCD issues with dirt and cleanliness" or "she didn't exist." 

But just when we thought hope was lost (dun dun dun ominous music)  Down 2-1 against another mythical beast in the Fuzzy "Some Dumb Shit" Bunnies, a raucously tall, lanky, feminine spiral pink and yellow kickball team fighting to hold onto playoff hope, our very own siren stepped up to the plate. Two outs. Pressure never before seen by Kick James, especially when as she stepped up to kick she was reminded by some jerk that our entire season rested on her imaginary shoulders.

Using her fairy dust or glamour or something else I learned from watching True Blood, she made it to first. Advanced by the keen kicking of Timmy, himself an MVP contender with a game saving amazing catch in center field. An RKI possible kick by Phil, seen as some as a living legend, but seen by me as a guy named Phil I have no real connection to, sent our mythic mermaid merrily moving to home plate. The throw... it was going to be close... the ball took an awful turn in midair toward her holographic head, but superhero instincts sent her to her knees, awkwardly sort of sliding, sort of crawling onto home plate for the game tying run sending us to extra innings.

Like a laser (pew, pew, pew) in a game of Bear, Hunter, Laser,  Heather instantly existed and killed a ton of bears earning her her first run and her first I'm Kick James MVP non-existent trophy. Thank you Sweeney, thank you for surrounding yourself with females who are better than you at everything (I assume).

It wasn't a win, but it wasn't a loss. I'm Kick James and I'm still technically undefeated!

I'm Kick James (5-0-1) 2, Fluffy Stardust Bunnies ( 3-2-1) 2

Heather was obviously the MVP, or the previous 14 paragraphs would have been pointless (Much like most of this blog, am I right, am I right?)

Seagramsing turned into some sort of Hard Iced Tea'ing and I, earning the un-MVP, based not on performance or skill seeing as I didn't get on base and I had a terrible throw that could have lost us the game, but on team chanting and group thought, which is why I pretty much do anything. I don't think any of that run on sentence made any sense, but the point is I had a terrible game. But when people chant my name and pay attention to me I do what they tell me to do, because I'm 12 and dumb.

So we chugged those sweet, cold, delicious Tea's and basked in our tie. It was so cold.

Honorable mentions and brief complaints:

Amelia made up for a Pearson dropped ball by calling off the two dudes careening toward her and catching a hard kicked ball like a champ. 

Dave hilariously commented, "Amelia almost got slammed by two guys at the same time." I'm not sure if he meant it to be hilarious, but Amelia looked disappointed that the slamming didn't happen. 

Sandy got all Brookstone on us with his magic fingers in the field. Helping Timmy put an end to a crucial extra inning, proving once and for all that RIT graduates aren't total dweebs lacking social skills and athletic ability. They are total dweebs lacking social skills who happen to be very good at kickball.

Pearson had the option of being violent, but took the high road, which might have led them to winning the game, which teaches all of us the lesson that we should never take the high road and that violence helps everything in a positive way.

Shelley proved once again why Dave is always smiling by pitching a great game and nimbly handling at least 40 balls from the mound.

The real story of the night was Marcus (I just made up that name) our referee. Marcus had, shall we say, the worst night of reffing kickball this side of the Nile.

At least 5 blown calls including calling Brian "Brian" out after a sweet slide into third base, despite the fact that his stomach was on the base when the ball hit him. That led to a lost foot race challenge by Timmy and Sandy who really had no chance because those dudes were freaky fast. Jim's energy and exuberance wanted in on the race, but maybe next time. I am just now making the decision that we need to go back to our roots as a boozing team, no more races that don't involve beer. Win or lose, we should be drinking, not running. Thus spoke Zarathustra!

It probably didn't help that after the 3rd terrible call we were all collectively mean to him, but when an umpire actually says in the 8th inning, "my back was turned, I wasn't paying attention" and still gives the guy the base, you know something is wrong.

Ties are supposed to go to the runner, but according to Marcus they go to Fluffy Stardust Bunnies... but I digress. We're still undefeated and we have clinched a spot in the playoffs. 

Marshall Street was a ton of fun. Our biggest group showed up. 17 of us all together which led to a ton of tots and even more summer camp games.

Happy birthday to Don our fearless bartender who gave us a round of delicious free shots. There was a lot of chanting, a lot of toasting, a lot of interrupting the toasting, not enough hugging, but a significant amount of Bear, Laser, Hunter... which we should play constantly now.

Next week we start at 6pm and will need to bring our A game as we trade Bunnies for Kitten's and I would really like to keep our confidence up as we move into playoffs! 

So much fun, so much Kick James, so many people on our damn team.

Love them all!

Four Days and 20 Hours ago...

The Proceeding quote and following stories have been fact checked and unanimously approved by the American Institute of National Facts and Made Up Quotes for the Sake of Kickball Blogs  (The AINFMUQSKB for short).

Our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Genny, and dedicated to the proposition that not all men are created to play kickball.

We were engaged in a great civil union war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure a 5-1 lead. We were met on a great battle-field of that war. We had come to dedicate a portion of that field 5, as a final resting place for those who gave their lives that this nation might remain undefeated. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

We should kick the shit out of everyone who comes near us because we are Kick James and F them in their stupid A's.

- Abraham Lincoln, 1492


We did it again! It wasn't pretty and I died a little inside (from watching from the sidelines (my old man back/old kickball injuries/vaginesque pain threshold) and from it being so close that my heart stopped working normally).

Final Score:

I'm Undefeated Kick James (5-0) - 5, Kick in a Box (1-4) 4

They were by far the toughest 1-4 team I've ever seen. We also played as sloppily as the ground was muddy and Phil's shirt was streakily, and Brian's mouth was shot gunningly.

MVPs:

Hoffy joined us once again so we had the duel MVP's and a Seagramsing that almost left each of our MVP's in the hospital...

Katie (almost hospitalized for alcohol poisoning and smiling too much).
Pearson (almost hospitalized for Seagrams induced erection poisoning. That thing was raging and glowing pink.)

Katie earned her bright pink mouth enema (gross) by getting super drunk, pitching for the first time, getting an RKI, and catching the game winning (questionable, but it's been so long, most of you won't remember what happened or weren't there at all) out.

Pearson earned his MVP Seagramsing by being necessarily violent. Particularly when it came to Sandy who ran into him at full speed and simply bounced off our violent first basemen. Pearson's belly wasn't the only inducer of hate crimes (bellies hat Sandy's... it's a fact.... just watch Grease, it's all over the bathroom walls) but his knees and elbows also hate whiney little bitches (less of a hate crime, more completely appropriate). As a particularly scrawny Kick in a Boxer sprinted toward first, Pearson leapt through the air to catch the ball tagging the oncoming runner with both the soft, bouncy rubby ball and the significantly less soft and bouncy skin and bone of his knee's and elbow.

The play resulted in a crucial out and an even more crucial black eye. Pretty sure the guy would have cried if we weren't there. He also made me waste the ice pack from the first aid kit because he was "too cool" to stop swelling. To which I replied, the ice pack is what's too cool you son of a bitch!

Honorable mentions and the crap I'm going to talk about Brian:

Phil almost pulled out the MVP by being a sliding and messy machine. Really giving it (as in the portions of the ground he humped) 110 percent.

Shelley and Ashley (1) rounded out the ladies for the day (yes, only three ladies). That means they each kicked a ton and played the field every time, rotating between the 3 positions and impressing anyone and everyone who matters (me).

Sandy tried to take over Pearson's enforcing job by blatantly tripping a guy who was running to third, but ended up hurting himself in the process. The guy went flying and was also probably injured, but he wasn't a little bitch like the first guy (the first guy probably tried to bunt too... little bunt).

Sandy also tried to harm one of their players by aiming his throw precisely under their runners feet as he ran to touch home. Despite the fact that the guy was totally out, Kick in a Box or I'm Kick James, I really don't remember, called for a shotgun challenge...

Which brings us to "Brian"

"1 - 2 - 3 - Go" The supervising ump called out like a shotgun, signifying the start to the shotgun challenge like a shotgun of a challenge and call out. (made no sense).

Brian was fast. He wanted it... he felt good... he looked okay... his mouth and throat had recently gotten a lot of exercise and were significantly stretched out. (think about it. Gross.)

Done! Boom! Zap! Bamphf! The can, as directed, enters the waiting umpiric hand. Foam. Beer. Ass if you will.Drizzles around the umpires chubby (I don't remember) fingers. 30 to 45 seconds later his competitor finishes his beer clean and Brian loses... tragically.

But everyone has a tough time every once in a while. Shotgun challenge 2! Epically called by whichever team didn't call the first challenge in an equally heroic/questionable/outrageous/close enough to call a challenge play at third base. Maybe.

"Uno. Dos. Tres. Vamanos!" The umpire called. Brian knew he had him this time. All he had to do was finish his beer instead of leaving enough ass to satisfy Kanye in the can. He had beaten his opponent by such a significant amount of time during the first challenge it wouldn't be a problem. Just finish your beer and this half assed pansy goes down.

Done! Boom! Shazaam! Leprosy! Vandalism! Lohan! Even faster than the first time and the can, as directed, enters the umpires skeletal and anemic looking fingers (like I said, I don't remember a lot that happened). Foam. Beer. Trades his ass for a white girl. Four to eight minutes later his opponent finishes, triumphantly.

Brian "Brian" Lose-ner 0, the Universe and a little bitch of a terrible shotgunner 2.

The team started feeling it and it was about then that Kick in a Box started their comeback. Hearts beat faster. Katie giggled more. PJ wore his cleats and talked about maybe playing the field sometime. Sweeney had hair. Everyone had a belly button and enough will to hold onto the victory.

Kick James remains undefeated going into week 6!

The preceding events happened like 5 days ago and the author of this blog can not be held responsible for not knowing where his kickball notebook is at the moment or remembering the details clearly. He wasn't playing last week (which he obviously should have been, it would have been like 6-3 if he had been) so he wasn't really paying attention to anything other than Jesse hanging out in the outfield watching the other team, "I'm trying to make them think I'm not paying attention so they kick it to me." (Sure Jesse), and Brian do terrible at everything. 

Please comment on this blog to clarify misguided details or add stories of your own. Feel free to enter a reminding topic and I will blabber about it for a while.

Epilogue:

Dear Brian-
Even though you almost lost the game for us last week, I hope you know we all, as an organization, value you as a member of this team and society in general. Not many of us have the gall or the bladders to step up week by week to take down 12 ounces of glory in less than five seconds. A win is a win and Kick James would rather have you happily on the team and enjoying your heart out than be offended by the ridiculously hurtful things I wrote about you this week. They might be totally true, but in your heart of hearts you know there was no malice in the empty adjectives. A little contempt, some bloating, but no malice. I, as the voice of this blog, would just like you to know that you've got a smile that is seems to me, reminds me of childhood (awkward space) memories, where everything is as fresh as a bright blue sky. Now and then when I see your face it takes me away to that special place and if I stare to long, I'll probably break down and cry.
Thank you Brian.
Thank you for all you do for Kick James, and thank you for being such a sweet man child.
Love,
Thomas

I'm Kick James and I want to go to the playoffs undefeated... how about you?

We're Kick James and we just beat Off in the Shower

Great team name and an excellent night of ball kicking and Seagramsing... more of that later.

Some athletic partnerships, teams if you will, come together and dominate based on talent, teamwork, and raw power. Others, I'm Kick James for instance, relies on enthusiasm (thanks Jim), personal sacrifice (thanks Gabe's balls), luck, and Sandy being super fuckin fast. Like Speedy Gonzalez with a little bit of a comb over and a law degree.

It might have taken us 8 innings, but a win is a win is a win is awesome.

I'm Kick James 6 (I think), Off in the Shower 3

4 and 0 baby! Appropriate, as our own Fordy had a break out day in the field catching what I thought was two, but what he smuggly reminded me was 3 catches in right field.

The story of the night was really all the extras. A couple extra players as our good friend Hoffy helped out by hanging out at first base all night... casually stepping on and off the field between actually playing first base and then coaching first base. Only coming to the bench to kick, get a beer, and give high fives.

Our new friend Ashley made her Kick James debut without a lot of fanfare, but with quite a bit of booze. So that's good.

Two MVP's were awarded on the spot as Hoffy had a special surprise for the winners.

Sandy was the clear victor for MVP one. Automatic as ever in the field, but really proving his worth after the other team "didn't have anyone who shotguns" when we challenged them on a play where Gabe was clearly safe on first.

Side note - Smith number 21, our umpire, took kickball refereeing really really seriously, and I still can't tell if he was a complete douche or a good person. Either way, he is serious about kickball so we don't want him playing on our team.

Back to MVP talk. A denied challenge is met with a rebuttal. Since they obviously didn't care about drinking as much as we did, they pulled their rebuttal straight off the 3rd grade playground. A footrace around the bases. Sandy at 2nd base, finishing his beer, their dude, we'll call him Ralph, he looked like a Ralph, not drinking like a dildo that doesn't drink at home plate. The non existent gun was fired (#21 really just said go) and off he went. Golden locks flying feathered and furiously through the air as the sun hit what I'm guessing are glowing sky blue eyes (blond hair, blue eyes, lawyer... it's like a combo John Grisham novel and Matthew McConaughey movie) and Sandy returned to second base victoriously! We were already winning! (We were actually already winning, because it was 1-0 at that point).

Gabe our second MVP sacrificed both his testicles and chesticles in his role as DK (designated kicker). Recording three kicks, one nut shot, one Pete Rose head first slide that made Brian's slide last week look like a skidmark in his underpantaloons, and two runs scored secured his spot as MVP.

And what was their special surprise? In Sandy's own words - "I'm Kick James and I just got Seagramsed" No Icing here folks. Hoffy surprised our victors with a bright pink and maybe bright green Seagrams Cooler. On bended knee (As sung by Boys II Men) Sandy and Gabe locked arms and took that shit down. I'm sure it was delicious, but it must have felt really weird when they instantly grew vaginas.

Dave was the real victim in all of this, once again just missing out.  Our limber fingered (lucky Shelley) anti-hero was this close (I'm holding my thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart) to earning MVP status. Five or six amazing catches in right field after showing everyone his glowingly beautiful naked body by changing on the field because he needed to come straight from work.

Come to think of it, nope, Gabe and Sandy are still the victims because of the Seagramsing... a tradition in the making... maybe. Still, great job out there Dave.

Honorable mentions and other highlights:

PJ's first RKI! A great kick and a much needed run.

Other huge RKI's by Katie and Jenna. All the ladies on our team keep getting better and better and are the cornerstone to our boners wins.

Heidi was super drunk and hilariously talking trash from the catchers position.

Sweeney's eyes literally murdered #21 when he was told he intentionally dropped the ball. Using agility and Irishly pastey skin, Mr. S. Weeney stopped a rocket of a line drive, but couldn't quite hold on. The ump's accusation of dropping the ball on purpose enraged young Dr. Sweeney, which resulted in his skin tone morphing instantly from translucent to normal pale white person.

Impromptu mascot Daisy Chew did not like it when we were losing and almost pulled Katie into the field and gave herself a heart attack by going completely ape shit from the sidelines.

I still don't know why Jim sprints everyplace, but he does and we love him for it... weirdo.

My quads hurt from being awesome at kicking and third base.

(Why is it when we talk about sports or stretching it's always your quads, but when it's normal life it's your thighs? Probably because if I would have written, my thighs hurt from being awesome at kicking and third base everyone would have either thought I was a Jim (weirdo, get it) or got instant mental images of my white, awkwardly hairless, muscular man thighs and would have had to close their doors at work or retire to the lavoratory for those of you in cubicles. If you're reading this at your desk in a classroom, I just hope there isn't a fire drill forcing you to stand up and reveal your excitement to the frightened children. "Why's it so crooked?" Is what I'm sure they'd say.)

Off in the Shower's MILOMKT* deserves some attention as she had two rockets kicked to her, both of which she caught with her finger tips;  Dave style (lucky Shelley).

* MILOMKT refers to a Mother I'd Like on My Kickball Team as she was the lady with a month old baby and a 2 year old on the sideline.

Marshall Street had a great crowd of KJ'ers and maybe the 4 orders of waffle fries weren't necessary, but they were delicious.

Players we didn't think about or miss at all:

The Vassar Brothers - Jesse, Phil, and Brian.

I hope recording went well, but you obviously offer nothing to the team. You better show up swinging next week or I'm not really sure the roster will have room for people who care more about making music that brings joys to dozens of people and inspires friends to dance and enjoy each others company more than they care about a kickball team that meets for 17 weeks a year in order to drink and make fun of each other. Pri -or-it-ies!

Timmy - Your job is going to be the death of our man love.

Pearson - Your sore quads thighs, though initially the thing that attracted me to our man love, are going to end up being the death of the aforementioned man love.

Bonus:

We got a ton of pictures last night and I will update the blog and include a bunch as soon as I can.
We also did a lot of toasting with all the eating and drinking at Marshall Street (that just means I talked a lot and begged for attention). My lovely wife was kind enough to record one such speech that took a strange turn for the racial That will also be posted. Stay tuned!

I'm Kick James and I'm even more undefeated this week than I have been the 3 previous weeks... and I was totally undefeated those weeks, which tells you how undefeated I am now.

Bro's Bunting Bro's

So those guys were a bunch of bunts.

You could tell they were bunts because their vaginas were showing.

See what I'm doing there, I'm using the word bunt as a euphemism or replacement for the "c" word dudes aren't allowed to say unless they are British (dude, Brits get away with everything!) or Louie CK (dude, Louie CK gets away with everything!).

Seriously though, three dude bunts in the same game. All the dudes could kick really well too. I mean one dude was dressed completely in black, including his leggings (maybe they were jeggings) and his wide receiver's gloves for successfully catching 70 MPR rockets thrown by Peyton Manning (RIP, Peyton's Football Career / Welcome to the world, Peyton's NBC sitcom that will almost definitely be green lit within two years), or kicks kicked by kickers on Kick James (Still talking about the gloves). Seriously that guy looked like he was ready to play in an arena football league, perform parkour, or fight a bunch of other super scrawny and bunting ninjas. If they would have just nailed the ball, like the ladies on their team, they might not have lost.

BUT THEY DID!!!! KICK JAMES IS STILL UNDEFEATED 3-0!!!

Final Score: Kick James 6, Salinjerks - 5.

They really lived up to their name, as they were a bunch of Sally's.

MVP Award is tough today... let's look at some of the highlights, shall we.
Yes, we shall.

We've (and by we I mean I) picked no Timmy quite a bit for his sexist fielding practices. None effected more by Timmy's natural magnetism to the kickball than Shelley. Not today my friends... First, from the mound, Shelley pulls off some reverse sexism by fielding the ball cleanly, turning to second where Amelia, firmly planted on the bag, had her anxious, yet prepared hands waiting for the throw and the force out, (yes folks, this is another run-on sentence, try to keep up, we're still talking about Shelley fielding the ball and turning to make the play at second), but instead of the 6 foot toss to Amelia's ready hands, Shelley tossed the ball 5 feet to Sandy who was 8 feet away from the bag. Sandy, with his quick feet and excellent hugs, made the play cleanly, but not before Susan B. Anthony turned over in her grave.

Having an intense and almost hyper-sexual connection to Ms. B. Anthony, Shelley tried to redeem herself and the women who suffered for suffrage when a high fly ball was kicked to right center field. A conversation had been conversed, and it went something like this.

Timmy: "Shelley, I'm going to catch all the balls that come near you."
Shelley: "Okay."

But Shelley is a liar! The ball, soaring majestically through the air reminding me of Pearson's Apollo Creed shorts, approached Shelley at the same pace as Timmy, who was prepared for the catch. But with a firm and confident last minute "I got it!" Timmy knew what to do. A quick tuck, a quiet roll, and Timmy was on the ground, fetal position, fearing the wrath of Piles. It was unnecessary as Shelley caught the ball with ease, threw it to the pitcher and said. "Take that mother fucker!" (I assume).

Sweeney, after admittedly taking it easy in his Kick James premier, stepped up to the plate both literally and figuratively. He kicked the ball, quite well, three times, and caught everything that came near him... and got there early... and drank a bunch... and brought Katie... and might just be ready to start hugging me.

Former MVP Jim chose his children's health and well being over Kick James (MVP Revoked?), so his younger more present brothers Brian "Brian" and Dave "we need to come up with a nickname for Dave" rose to the occasion. Dave's unsure stutter steps are just a distraction and diversion to make the other team and myself think there is no way he is going to catch the ball, when in fact he catches everything. Brian brought the hustle and his typical good form, sliding, Pete Rose style, head first and completely unnecessarily with a gambling problem into second base. Filthing up his shirt and proving his dedication to the team and love of attention rivaled only by my own. (look at me look at me, I write a blog... what a dick that Chew guy is).

In his Kick James debut, Pearson showed off some leg in the aforementioned American flag shorts, and his uncanny ability to catch a ball that is kicked directly to him. On the shorts Dan was fakely quoted as saying, "I spend so much time wiping my ass with various American Flags that I figured I should just cut one up, burn the scraps, and make it into a pair of shorts." Who needs patriotism when you have well supported testicles and warm thighs?

PJ recorded his first RKI, but still didn't play the field, I don't think. Not mad about it, I'm just happy he's there.

The bunt taunting had the Jerks a little agitated. I don't think they had ever encountered a team that was so good, but cared so little. (Except for Jesse). They managed to fight back and tie the game up at five going into the last inning. It was a hard thing to watch, but the infield did their job, excellent catches by Sandy and Timmy, I think, I don't know I wasn't paying attention because my heart wasn't beating like a normal person's.

The ample crowd waited with bated breath. The Collins brothers sat in silence, probably holding hands with each other. Alyssa just looked really cold. Heidi and Katie looked ready for an 80's style street fight in their head to toe black leotards (I assume that's what you were both wearing, I don't remember). Gabe was also there, I don't think he did anything though.

Bottom of the seventh. Jesse "subdued rage" has the opportunity for glory and immortality. Should he kick for another home run, or should he play it safe. Or should he do a crazy well placed kick just through the infield and get on base... yeah the last one, he should have done the last one. Good job Jesse.

Ashley advances the runner... that's just what she does. Clutch team player Ashley. Thank you for letting me steal and hand out what was left of your beers at the end of the day. The cooler wasn't directly in my line of sight and I'm pretty lazy.

Up comes Billiam Ford. Known more for his supple hands and ability to deliver children than his perfect kickball placement, Fordy made the split second decision not to light his cigarette. Instead he quietly walked to home plate. He looked the pitcher in the eyes. Called her a bunt (it was inappropriate) under his breath, and ripped an walk-off RBI game winning single. I think I forgot to hug him.

Everyone sighed with relief. Phil peed a little bit. Lizz (Phil's sister), though not present, almost certainly felt the relief and joy of the win and probably said something like, "Hmm, it's chilly in here."

So we won. Entirely a team effort. Everyone did really well. It got a little intense and our normal team inspired boner inducing energy wasn't quite there, (not enough hugging), but on a scale of one to Kick James, we were still totally a 9.5 and the other team was jealous of our raw sexuality and intense knowledge of Star Wars and romantic comedies.

So now, on to the MVP... This week, the I'm Kick James MVP line in the blog goes to the team lap and team stretches. It was really cold out there yesterday, and if not for the lap and the stretching, we would have all surely died a painful and horrible frost bite/tendonitis related death. Even those who showed up a little late were sure to stretch it out, and without that dedication to our personal health and well being, the entire team could have caught the bubonic plague or been chased down by rabid badgers... who knows what could have happened. All I know is that it didn't happen. It didn't happen, not because those scenarios are stupid and ridiculous, but because we were prepared. Limber. Loose. Languid. Loquacious. Lithe. L-Awesome.

We definitely weren't a bunch of bunts.

I'm Kick James and I might just be a great kickball team.

Capes, challenges, crooners and game ending double plays... oh my

One for the ages (of 23 to 35)

Thanks to Jim "formally known as Amber Alert"'s ridiculously lucky and skillfull, game ending and MVP earning double play I'm Kick James continues their undefeated streak through the fall folliage!

(seriously, I think we should go team streaking)

Jim's enthusiasm and Tae Bo ripped body propelled us to a victory that will go down in blogging history... only because blogs don't really go away and it is currently being written about.

I'm Kick James 4, Sexual Meatloaf 3, Dignity -7

There were so many highlights from last night I don't even know where to begin. I'm gitty. A grown man sitting in his office that used to be a dorm room with a perma-smile on his face just thinking of all the fun things that happened last night.

First and foremost was Sexual Meatloaf themselves. What started as two dudes hanging out looking homely and lonely turned into a solid group of fifteen people strutting to field seven as a sexual soirée of superheroes. Batman was there (he's gained weight), as were princess cupcake, captain meatloaf and countless other nameless caped kickballers.

They were obviously there for good times and until they challenged my safe slide into third base (excellent base running captain... thanks team, it means a lot) and their stoic shotgunner inhaled his beer narrowly edging out our very own Dominican Dainty Dipper (Gabe) with the Das Boot shotgunning technique, I really liked them.

You might notice that the "I really liked them" doesn't quite seem to fit by the time you get to it, but please take a moment to go back and read the previous section again. No it is not a paragraph. Yes it is a run on sentence. Yes I am still angry that I was called out. Yes that is when I started hating the nicest most fun team we've ever played. Yes they were dicks toward the end.

Honorable mentions for the night:

Katie, our newest recruit, brought to us from the hardened streets of Webster (I think) and hallowed halls of Paychex.  Without knowing anyone or much argument she stepped up, earned a base hit, sort of narrowly/sort of completely lost the second shotgun challenge and 30 second later (after only showing up fifteen minutes before) quietly uttered: "I'm so drunk!" Welcome to Kick James Katie... much more to come.

Shelley started the game with a vicious inning on the mound personally recording two outs and spreading fear to the heart of meatloaf. Almost as if to say, "I could be the MVP again if I want to, but I'm not going to because I'm a team player."

Jesse's gigantic left foot ripped a huge kick into right field. He ran, arms flailing and with a high pitched squeal as fast as he could to secure our lead with the first Kick James Home Run of the season!!!
We asked him to do it again the next time he was up, but he failed miserably and I think he only got a base hit... like a jerk.

Timmy unfortunately couldn't leave his place of employment, but no fear, Sandy took over for him and jumped in front of as many girls as he could to steal the ball away from them. Thanks Sandy, you know how much we all miss Timmy when he's gone.

Jims catch and double play might have been out-shined by his little brother who (after being told to back up) called a bomb hit directly toward him in center field. Hands up, eyes on the prize, feet shuffling young Dave realized the ball was over his head (told you to back up... just sayin). There was no back peddling this one out, Dave turned on a dime, complete 180 and started his sprint. As the ball descended we were sure it was at least a base hit and potentially a couple of runs, but at the last second our young hero outstretched this fragile computer geek hands and caught the ball from over his shoulder. It was an amazing feat. You could tell it was amazing because Dave stood there holding the ball, stunned and self gratified, while the base runner tagged up and scored a run... thus losing Dave his potential MVP status, gaining all of us this story, and putting another notch of awesome on the bedpost that is Dave's life.

By Sweeney's own admission, he did not do much during the game so he made up for it at Marshall Street. That's true dedication... or a drinking "issue".

Ben Colins tried to come play, but he ended up playing for a different team on a different field and making his way over to us as we were leaving. Good effort Mr. Collins.

It was a great day in the life of Kick James. So great in fact that a soldier in Iraq sent us a singing telegram in the form of a drunken Zorro playing the Violin and singing "Pour some sugar for me." (not even the right lyrics Zorro). At first we thought this caped crooner was just another Meatloafian, but no, he was actually sent to one of their players. Her inappropriate comment and reaction to her soulja boyfriend was "I'm going to kill him. If the terrorists don't kill him in Iraq, I'm going to kill him." Seriously, she said that.

Marshall street was pretty awesome. Don wore our Jersey proving his love for Kick James. Kelly, his wife, on the other hand, wore the other Thursday teams Jersey proving her loathing and complete hatred of all of us. Sandy and Ashley ordered enough food to satiate Andre the Giant (assuming he still eats a ton even though he's dead). People cheered for sports. Pitchers were poured, laughter was loofed, Brian was not missed.

I know I missed stuff... plenty of stuff... so much stuff. Please share the rest of the stories.

I'm Kick James, very nice to meet you.

Oh yeah, Amelia got hurt running... could this be the girls season of injury? Stay tuned... dun dun dun!!! (Ominous music)

Oh yeah, I also have a laser rocket arm and throw bitches out on first like it's my job.
(I guess it is my job though, seeing as I was playing third base and by position description my job is to stop the ball and throw it to first base if that is where the play is at. So in retrospect I did nothing but my job.)

UPDATE

We are officially in first place in our division. People look up to us.

That was a good snatch...

Ladies and Gentlemen!!!!

Introducing the uncompromising, unbelievable, undisputed 7 - to - 1 champion of last nights kickball game against the Grassholes who were a great  competitor except for that one guy who was a dick to Shelley....

I'm

Kick

James!

Season opener MVP was definitely Shelley. Making her pitching debut and punishing kicker after kicker. Her grace and beauty were matched only by the line drive caught by Amelia "Snatch"/"Snatch Swan"/"Good Snatch".

The catch wouldn't have been nearly as memorable if it were not for Elijah, my three year old nephew, who was sure to tell her it was a "good snatch." Awwwww minor forms of child exploitation. Phil's nephew Reece was also in attendance, but was abused significantly less. They both giggled a lot and learned numerous choice words they were previously unfamiliar with... like snatch for example. They didn't know what it meant so I was sure to take them both aside and explain every possible meaning of the word and the plot to the extremely underrated Guy Ritchie movie. They both preferred definition number two... the anatomical one. (Elijah's words, not mine).

Other highlights: Sandy's seemingly quadruple play where he caught the ball, tagged the base, threw another guy out, climbed Everest, fought Polio, wrote the great American novel (he called it Kick James: A Life of Balls and Wonder).

Brian "Brian" didn't hit any women, so that's three out of six games without assault. He's abusing at .500.

Despite Jenna both calling for the pop fly that was kicked directly to her hands and begging Timmy not to catch it and to give her a chance for glory and kickball fame, Timmy made a really fuckin cool flying catch through the air in center field. Jenna's automatic catch that she definitely would have caught and there was no way she would have dropped would have been nice and all, but Timmy's thieving flying catch was really something to see. Mostly the shame in his eyes afterwards.

Substitute kickball stud Pat nailed the ball around the field and hurdled a rocket thrown right at him on his way home. Pat's heroics and acrobatic triumphs will be forever remembered as he leaves us for dumber pastures and moves to Boston for a job just so he can "advance his career" and "make more money..." lame.

I managed to slip on some dangerously wet grass after having probably the best kick of the game. Jesse had a pretty good one too, but mine was sort of awesome. Too bad, you know, I fell down.

The good thing, though, nobody was injured! Whether it was the team stretch and lap or the calming and soothing presence of young children and a first aid kit, or the fact that we're all in peak physical shape, I don't know, but we made it through our first game completely in tact.

It was a great turn out. A fantastic performance all around. It's only going to get better as the season progresses. I need to encourage everyone to car pool more often so we can all drink more. Drinking more is definitely a necessity.

Things we need:

More booze
More Loughners
More hugging
Lot's more nudity
A mascot uniform
More pictures just for fun

Less not hugging

See you next week ladies and gents. If I forgot anything, which is really easy for me to do, comment on the blog or shoot out an email and I'll make an addendum. You're great.

I'm not sure about you, but I'm Kick James

My pants are off... right now

They're not really, but that's how an old Blink-182 song starts and it's been in my head all day even though I haven't listened to Blink-182 in days... maybe hours.


Here is your latest update from the world of Kick James. A new season means weekly emails and updates. Tell your friends. Hide your wives. Hide your kids. Hide your purses, wallets, lockets, chains and dignity because you're in for a treat... or at the very least an annoying email every week telling you the blog is updated that you ignore like a dick.

Good morning best friends in the world whom I love very much!

Good morning Phil.

I can't believe it snuck up on us. We've talked about it. We've dreamt about it. I've made sculptures and written poetry that would make Shakespeare look like an illiterate liar. And through all that, we're finally here. Three days away from Kick James 2.0: A Shirt Aquatic with Kick James.

Brian "Brian" and I sat through the longest most excruciatingly boring Captain's meeting to pick up the t-shirts last night. (You're welcome you ungrateful pricks) I learned the following from the meeting:

1 - You don't have to take a public speaking class to run a beer driven kickball league.

2 - I never want to be an undergraduate student again, because of presentations like that one which reminded me of the worst lecture with the worst teacher ever in the history of class. F you Michael Chiarrello, your Clare College class sucked.

3 - Marshall Street can get too packed.

4 - Goats don't appreciate sarcasm.

5 - The sun sets at 6:48 during the last week of the season.

6 - Our team is way cooler, therefore "better" than all the other teams. 

7 - All the refs have apparently gone through Kickball Official training, which is both hilarious and... hilarious. They still dont' want to be yelled at though.

So the season starts this Thursday. Rain or shine we will be at Highland Field 3 starting at 6:15 pm against the Grassholes. 

I'd say we should get there as early as possible. I'm going to try to get there by 5:30 at the latest and I will bring a bunch of beer for week 1.

One of our newest recruits, Dr. D. Pearson is already out for a couple of weeks due to a pulled hammy in a kickball related accident. Obviously he did not take my advice to treat his body like a temple during the Kick James off season. I'm sure everyone else did though, but that does not excuse anyone from team stretching, chanting, hugging, and laps.

I have the feeling our non-competative edge combined with alcohol intake, raw natural talent, the hugging of course, and our ability to mock ourselves and each other openly is going to put us right in line for a championship season. Either that or we will play kickball and have fun and lose to douchy guys in purple camo without sleeves. But we will make fun of them the entire time and just drink more so it won't matter. You guys remember that one time we all had a great time, that was awesome.

So anyways, call or email if you have any questions. Only six people have filled out the waiver, so please do so right away or they won't let us play. 

If you have any questions or know people who aren't on this list, please forward it along and help me add them. If you can't come this week you should go straight to hell and never talk to me again. Until next week when I really need you to come play kickball and be my friend again.

Holler at your boy.

Your humble Captain and personal Deity-

Thomas Chew

Solid Addition

So a little more information for yins. The season starts on September 1st, but there is still plenty to do in the meantime. I still need shirt sizes, money, more replacement players, hugs, and someone who knows how to make us either a government recognized religion (no sales tax bitches!) or a Limited Liability Company so we can charge people to come hang out with us.

For those of you who may not know. Our good friend and lover nothing else, PJ Coleman has joined the ranks of Kick James.

Based on the following Facebook message I received from him this morning, he is going to be a welcome addition.

Dear Mr. Chew,

This level of irresponsibility that I am about to describe to you is very unlike me.

So there I was at work when my original Droid cellphone alerted me to an exciting new email. I immediately grabbed for the tired and war warn device. To my pleasant surprise it was a message from the esteemed Mr. Chew updating his kickball companions on things that needed to be updated. 
I read the first two or three sentences with building excitement. Tom has not heard from all of us; he still needs shirt sizes and money from some of us. I'm hooked, I want to read more. 
BAM!! The office phone rings. I set my antique droid down on the desk and jumped to action as office bitch/administrative assistant Paul. The call was uneventful. Some Eskimo was suffering from heat exhaustion in the Bahamas...or maybe it was just one of my customers wondering about their investments. Regardless, it was time to get back to the message. 
I once again lift my semi-trusty communication device from the desk. Where did the message go? I don't see it! I quickly search the archived folder to see if it was hiding in there. I'm heartbroken. The email is lost forever. Damn my old Droid for thinking the touch screen is constantly being touched when I am nowhere near the phone.
I return to my office duty deterred and depressed. Will I ever play kickball?

Tom, if possible, please resend whatever email you sent earlier. As far as shirt size goes, I am a big medium or a small large. If in doubt, put me down for a large. I can hide beer in the excess fabric. I have money now if you need it now. I feel like the cash should be delivered over beers with friends, but I am open to the idea of peddling my bike to your house and handing you cash. I thank you in advance for your time and effort. 

Oh So Sincerely,
Paul


Keep spreading the word people. Shelley has two in the barrel who look like good prospects. I called upon the Brodheads, Pearson, Dodds, Shea and various others to swell our members numbers. There is a facebook invite that I'll invite the rest of you to so you can start encouraging them to be incorrigible on the corrugated benches of the kickball pitch.

I just now noticed the option of being able to cross words out. I will use it. And keep cursing. Fuckers.

Definitely miss people and think we should come together much sooner than later, if for no other reason than to take PJ's money and then walk away from him without talking. Or drink with him, one of the two. Maybe both.

- Thomas