Mohammad Ali or Sugar Ray Leonard; Babe Ruth or Mark Mcguire; Coke or Pepsi.
Match ups are very often fuzzy and confusing; usually totally subjective. Mired in the hazy history of decades of change and endlessly debated by observers who are living their lives quite separate from the details of the comparisons. But one match up that is easy for me to answer is the question of which version of dodge ball is the most demanding.
I speak confidently on this subject; from personal experience; from the stress and the stretch of arm and back muscles, from the bruises and abrasions of ball to skin contact.
As a boy I spent countless hours playing Captain Dodgeball beginning at 11 years of age when I joined Boy Scout Troop 939 in Livermore California. Captain Dodgeball was the favorite meeting night game for us boys. We meet in the multipurpose hall of the First Presbyterian Church in town. A room that was roughly 70 feet long and 25 feet wide, with solid walls at each end and high ceilings.
Back in the late 60’s and early 70’s, while the restrictive structure of “civilization” was rapidly encircling the wildness of preteen and teenage boys, it hadn’t closed the circle with brick-solid walls quite yet. Boys could still run, and climb, and chase, and fight mock (and real) battles. We could challenge each other, and ourselves, learn our limits, and expand them.
The forty plus boys in the troop would split up by patrols and face each other as teams on opposite ends of the hall. No real dividing line existed, as long as you had the “balls” to cross the centerline, putting yourself at greater risk, you could pursue your quarry as deep into the other team’s line as you dared. The game began with each team armed with one red rubber ball. At the signal to begin, the boys who had the balls would run towards the centerline, take aim at someone, and let fly.
We learned to throw hard. No, not like that; I mean REALLY HARD. Hard enough that no one wanted to get in the way. Hard enough that no one could possibly catch the ball as it would bounce off as they flinched from the impact. Hard enough that if we didn’t connect with someone’s flesh, the ball hit the far wall with enough force to bounce all the way back to our side before it could be stopped and trapped.
That was the key to Captain Dodgeball. Learning to put 100% of you muscle, weight, and spirit behind the ball. Putting enough “heat” on the ball that it left colored marks on the wall when it hit; and discolored flesh behind if it didn’t make it to the wall.
Yep, that was Captain Dodgeball and my friends and I cut our teeth on it, at least the teeth that didn’t get knocked out.
Then, in my freshman year of high school, I was introduced to WarBall.
It happened on the first rainy day of the year. We all headed to our gym class as scheduled, changed into our workout clothes and were told to assembly in the Boy’s Gym. There on the hardwood floors of the basketball court the Coaches told us that since it was raining, we wouldn’t be going outside and would instead be playing WarBall in the gym.
Two seniors were selected as captains of the opposing teams, and they began choosing team members.
Times were was no different then than now, and I am sure you all know that as a freshman I would be picked only after all the seniors, juniors, and sophomores had been teamed up. Both of the captains loudly proclaimed that they didn’t want any whimpy freshmen on their team. But ultimately we were all chosen and as luck would have it, several of my Scout friends were all chosen on the same team as I.
The Coaches told us that this was the toughest dodgeball game ever devised because there were 6 balls in use at all times and you just couldn’t keep track of it all. The opposing team huddled up, they obviously had a plan. The whistle blew, and the game began.
The other team held onto its three balls while our side threw our three. Then, controlling all 6 balls at once, each in the hands of a senior, the opposing captain yelled out “lets smear some freshman” and all six ball holders raced at the line. Each had singled out a freshman on our side. Four of those freshman were Scout Patrol members of mine.
All four of us caught the balls thrown at us. They had no heat. The opposing captain had thrown at me; he threw with his arm only, no back, no roll to his hips, no back foot off the ground. I knew I could catch it and jumping squarely in front of it I caught it cleanly.
Then, because it was the way of Captain Dodgeball, I raced at the centerline, planted my left foot rolled right shoulder up and over, followed by right hip, and the right foot came up fully off of the ground. And because it was the way of Captain Dodgeball, my target was the guy who had thrown at me.
The captain on the other side was turning to run back away from the line when the ball connected firmly with his right temple. It was the first and last attempt he had to dodge a ball that day. Knocked him off his feet, and either it, or the wooden floor, knocked him unconscious. Three other seniors on the other side were “knocked out of the game” by my fellow patrol members.
All 4 of those balls bounced back to our side of the line.
The game came to a screeching halt.
The coaches summoned the nurse.
The senior was carried to the office.
Freshman were never chosen last again.
Copyright © 2011 - Marty Vandermolen - All Rights Reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment