on a night of dodgeballery
And the Deeper civil war
Well dear reader, it finally happened.
Last night, after a week of waiting, I made my debut on the dodge ball court.
It’s been almost thirty years since I last played this deadly game.
Since then, some of the rules have changed.
The first difference?
It was co-ed.
Back in the 80’s there was boys gym and girls gym. Never did the two meet.
Instead, the gym was divided by a heavy vinyl curtain with the girls on one side and the boys on the other.
The curtain was still there. Two dodge ball games were being played simultaneously. The court however featured both boys and girls at play. Sure some may say that we were men and women, but when you play dodgeball, you instantly regress to adolescence. For a moment I was worried that I would once again be visited by chronic, painful zits and inconvenient, unexplainable erections.
Next?
The ball used in the game wasn’t the same.
Back when old Johnny McCloud was my gym teacher, he gave future world ranked heavy weight boxer Kirk Johnson old leather volley balls and said, weed out the weak.
It wasn’t my first experience with Darwinism. It was the most exciting.
Instead we used these odd crust coated foam balls. Truth be told, I had a lot of trouble getting my throws to reach even the other side of the room. But given some of the apes on our team, it’s good we weren’t chucking leather. There would have been no less than four concussions that night.
I guess progress isn’t always that bad - though the threat of concussion would have made the event a bit less inclusive and equally more thrilling.
Finally however, the oldest person in the room wasn’t sitting on the sidelines sadistically blowing a whistle.
The sadism was still there. This time though, it had made its way onto the court.
Our team The Big Dirty Sweaty Ballers was like a Deeper family dinner. Johnny was there with his wife, his neighbour, his brother, brothers GF and also, his dad.
Johnny’s father Evan Deeper should have been named ‘Even’. Not that he was a man committed to equity but because he conducted himself with such big dick energy his penetrating impact on the world was unmatched.
Evan stood at 5’10”, has grey hair, looks to be in his sixties and has the kind of belly that looks like a spare tire for an earth mover and is likely just as hard. In a crowd filled with thirty somethings, it would be easy to underestimate someone like Evan. I know I did.
He was a Cassius Clay on the court. He floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee. His footwork was a combination of Fred and Ginger.
His throw though?
It was even more surprising.
Evan throws with an underhand whip developed through a childhood of playing fast pitch softball in rural New Brunswick.
As Even wound up the entirety of the other side would brace themselves. Once released, the ball left his hand faster than a piss missile from a drunk donkey dick.
His delivery was deceptive. No one knew where the ball was heading as it left his hand faster than- no one save Evan who struck the other team time and time again with deadly accuracy .
Boom! Titty shot!
Boom! Belly buster!
Boom! Vasectomy!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Evan Deeper drew first blood and last.
He was a grey laser, a sponge ball sniper. He destroyed the other side. I guess that’s what you get when you work with former naval weapons tech. He hit hard and with precision.
And, like today’s navy is an equal opportunity employer, he was an equal opportunity assassin, hitting the girls with the same ferocity as the boys.
And me?
Having been knocked out twice thirty years ago by someone who would eventually be ranked third in the world for heavy weight boxing?
I spent most of my time cowering behind Evan.
This fool knows how to survive.
And survive I did, right up until the end.
At the end of the match we played a ‘free for all’ game of elimination dodgeball - once you’re hit, that’s it. You’re off.
The other team had fewer ‘dodgers’ than we did.
(A note dear reader - for those in the know, a dodge ball player is called a ‘dodger’)
Given that I had yet to be smacked in the face, I was voluntold to go and play with the opposing team. The same was true for Johnny’s brother and wife.
It was like the Irish Civil War - brothers fighting brothers and fathers against sons.
We fought valiantly. One by one lesser dodgers fell, until only four remained.
On one side were Johnny and Even. On the other, were me and Johnny’s brother Wally.
Each with a ball in our hands, each side stared down the other. Each side calculating, waiting for an opening and the precise time to strike.
Take the fool first declared Johnny. I want an all Deeper show down.
I ran to the back wall of the gym and asked for one final cigarette before facing the firing squad.
In tandem the two Deeper boys threw. Miraculously I dodged both balls
Volley after volley came cascading my way. I ducked and I dove. I danced and I dashed.
I dodged with all my might, until finally a chink formed in Evan’s armour. He floated a muffin my way. I caught it. He was out. Quick as a wet fart in my lactose intolerant underpants I let my ball fly.
It was a weak throw, but just on target. Johnny bobbled it.
Boom! Eliminated!
I stood there alone, a champion.
But there was something missing from my victory.
I went there hoping to get smacked in the head.
I signed up to be reminded of who I was.
Instead?
I emerged as a new man. A powerful man. A giant killer of sorts.
And ya know what?
It was entirely disappointing.
It wasn’t a total loss though.
I’ve been invited back to play again next week.
And perhaps then?
I’ll finally get smacked in the face and perhaps a story worth retelling and ideally, without any new zits.
Unexpected boners though?
They’re always welcome.
Stay stiff you fools!