Duck and Hide- Blog

Duck and Hide
A Way-too-Insider’s View of Dodgeball

I consider myself a fairly adventurous, open minded woman. So when my friend Ryan showed me a website for a weekly organized dodgeball game here in Hollywood, I thought, ‘hell yeah I’m in.’ You see, I love all games “big red ball.” I’ve organized a few kickball games over the past few years, to great success. There’s something about playing a game you learned in elementary school gym class, at the age of 25 that’s-- well, fun!

It’s 1:30pm on a cloudy Sunday in LA. Myself, Ryan and his roommate Eric arrive at the Hollywood Rec. Center. The gym is already full with a group of mid-twenties, fairly hip kids. Sweatbands, high socks, tattoos, piercings—a “true” Hollywood crowd. (This is the real Hollywood, not the shmancy red carpet one you all know.) The gymnasium is intimidating. Balls fly against the walls at a rapid pace. No longer the simple red ball from school. There are red, yellow, blue and even one that looked frighteningly like a basketball. Let’s just say, I did my darndest to dodge that one.

We locate, Michael, the organizer of the group. He collects five dollars in return for a white sticker with some random orange markings. (I thought this was team designation, but in actuality it had no purpose except to show that we paid.) He tells us to stretch out our arms; they’re going to hurt. He’ll tell us the rules in a few minutes. Not taking the warning too seriously, the three of us toss the ball around, throw it against the wall and work on some techniques of old. I look around and notice how hard the boys are throwing the ball during their “practice.” The fear sets in.

Michael calls all the dodgeball-virgins over. There are about eight of us. He runs down the rules. If someone catches your ball, you are out. You can block a hit with a ball you are holding. No throwing at the face. If you catch a ball someone deflected before it hits the ground, you are both safe. Nut shots are legal. Before I can celebrate he notes that the “girl zone” is open too. (That sounds really wrong.) And if you catch a ball, an exited member of your team can return to the game. Ok, seems simple enough.

When Michael is done, he learns all our names and then sends us into the middle of the room where we form one giant line. The referee-slash-DJ divides us into two sides. Being true first timers (and well, babies) Ryan, Eric and I stagger so we’ll be on the same team. “Left, right, left, right.” DJ Ref points. Stage side we go…

There are about 25 people on each team. Six girls on my side. I immediately congregate with them. “Stay in the back and keep your hands up. We just try to catch. That’s the strategy,” a sweet pony tailed-girl in a red T shirt, yoga pants and funky red bowling-shoe-sneakers says. She introduces herself, as does another girl. They’ve been playing two weeks. And the hide-and-catch strategy seems to work for them.

DJ Ref blows the whistle. (He’s playing a good mix—MJ, GNR, Neil Diamond, not bad for someone with a shaved head, save a mini ponytail at the back center.) A few boys dash for the balls lined up in the middle. Balls start racing by at extremely non-elementary school speeds. The nice lobs of the past are just that, a thing of the past. I hide in the back and decide on my strategy, dodging and hiding. Occasionally a ball comes my way and I get brave. I run up and toss my hardest, keeping low. Damn, I throw like a girl.

The intensity swells. And the characters come out. My favorite is the Gazelle. His name is actually Dave I think, but his high knee run, spin around and toss action is more Gazelle-like than Dave like. He has some X Man in him too. He actually runs up onto the wall before returning center court for a throw. Man, that’s impressive… and odd.

Girl in Green T shirt quickly becomes my nemesis. I aim all my shots at her, with no success. The team is dwindling, I’m still in. (Admittedly not because of talent, but good hiding skills.) I try to catch a ball that deflects off the stage curtain. Another team member gets it first. I look toward him and BAM. A gaggle of “Ow’s,” I look down. Inner-upper-thighs…Ouch. I walk to the back of the line along the wall, smiling through the burning pain. “She just got hit in the crotch,” a teammate mocks.

The game ends, our team loses. I look down at the giant red welts on my thighs. (Note to self: Next time, wear pants. In fact, wear really thick pants.)

Round two: whistle blows, new game. I decide to get more involved. I run to get a ball and toss it with all my might. It’s caught. I’m out. Wow, I really, really throw like a girl.

Watching from the side is fun and frightening. People have really bad aim when they throw their hardest. I am hit numerous times. I giggle. This hurts. A catch is made. I’m back in. I’m happy to be off the death zone sideline, yet secretly fearing being left in the game too late. I get a girl out. Yay! Ouch! I’m struck on the outer thigh.

My team loses five games to two. We’ll take a break then come back and pick new teams. My arm hurts. My heart is racing. A break is good.

I go outside. Everyone seems to be holding their shoulders. “I thought I was strong.” I say to Eric. “I do the rowing machine!” He informs me that it’s the wrong muscle. I need my shoulder stronger. Okay, pushups and swimming. Dodgeball training. I refuse to continue to suck at throwing.

The regulars chat it up. Some people leave. I continue to complain about my arm and lack of throwing skills. I also examine my thighs. Not looking good. (Second note to self: Wear padded pants next time. Although a large bruise on the thigh is sexy, right?)

Back inside. Line up again. Same staggering trick. Stage side again. Gazelle is still on the other side. Mean Green T shirt girl is now on my team. The sideline gets very into it now, chanting “Dodgeball” when not enough people throw and “Get some catches” when they want back in.

The game narrows down to a one on one. This is fun. Who knew I’d enjoy being a Dodgeball spectator so much? (Note to self: Arena dodgeball. There could be a market for this.) It’s Red Pants boy versus Beefy Boy. They slam balls at each other. Dodge, Block. Dodge, Block. Finally Red Pants throws his hardest and smack, just like that. Beefy pulls off a dramatic ground catch. Red Pants loses.

Back out for the final round. It’s tied four games all.

My team wins. Yay! A final break, then one more round. Eric can no longer use his arm. He wants to bail. Ryan and I do not argue. First, however, Michael, our illustrious leader, announces that two players are celebrating their birthdays. Up against the wall they go. No way, they are not doing a dodgeball birthday wailing! Oh yes, they are. (Final note to self: Do not come on my birthday).

As the group lines up center court for new teams, we leave; heads down. It feels like a walk of shame. But after sixteen games of dodgeball, burning thighs and an arm I cannot lift more than half way up, I have no choice.

“They play Wednesday night’s too,” Ryan says. I say nothing. I’ve got a good three to six weeks of training before my dodgeball re-debut. And let’s be honest, while I feel really cool playing dodgeball, I feel even more cool staying home on Wednesday nights watching The OC and discussing with my girlfriends during commercial breaks.