munting is for wusses!

munt (m’unt): contraction of “man-bunt”, a technique used by teams who want to win more than they want to actually kick the ball

I got into work this morning, and immediately started comparing exhaustion levels with the co-worker who I recruited to play on my kickball team. Because we’re both still tired from Saturday’s all-day kickball challenge. We went into the Regional Tournament expecting to get knocked out in the 2nd or 3rd round by one of the teams from another division who actually cared about winning. We hear that some of the teams from Hollywood and Studio divisions want to win, instead of just having fun like us Dogtowners.

So you can imagine the surprise when we won our first game against an undefeated Studio division team. They tried to win, with a strategy that involved a lot of man-bunting. Man-bunting is when a big tough guy just taps the ball and runs, instead of really booting it. That way, the fielders have to run in to grab it and throw it, and it buys a few fractions of a second for the guy to make it to first without being tagged. It’s not quite cheating, but seems to defy the point of kickball, in my eyes. It’s not BUNT-ball, it’s KICKBALL, and where’s the fun if you don’t whale on the ball?

But we still managed to defeat the team, thanks to a very fast team member on home plate who would run out, grab the ball, and get it to first in time to take the runner out. And then we went on to play Greenarrhea, one of the teams in our own division. Our team captain said, “we beat ’em in regular season, and we’ll beat ’em in regionals, too.” And we did. And by the way, doesn’t “Greenarhea vs. the Pregnant Cheerleaders” sound like a high school sex ed film telling you the Bad Things That Happen From Premarital Sex?

Suddenly, it was the semi-finals. And we were up against a team called “Kick Your Grass” that, like us, had survived to date on moxie, spunk and heart. But they were injured, and one of their best kickers, a former fellow Dogtown board member, had to limp off the field after running to first. And then we won the game, and we were in the finals, against a Hollywood team called, “Bubba”.

That was a tough game. That team was actually very good. They didn’t man bunt (or “munt”, as we dubbed it by then). Their girls bunted perfectly. One of their fielders caught me in the middle of the back with a ball when I was running to first, in a very nice throw. And it was close, but they won in extra innings. By that time though, we were all hot and exhausted, and we ceded the Tankard of Glory with good humor and sportsmanship. After all, we lost to a good team, not some bunting pussy douchebags like the first team we played.

I have to give the boyfriend some serious credit. Paul came out to watch me play, because I figured we’d be done by 1pm, and he and I could go play in Griffith Park. But then we just kept winning, and I told him he was free to go. No boyfriend is expected to sit through that much kickball. He told me to stop it, and that he was happy to stay. He had a book and his MP3 player and was just fine sitting on a blanket, looking up when I was kicking or fielding, and listening in on the entertainment and zaniness that was my team. I don’t think many guys would come out to watch their girlfriends play wacky sports, much less stay for six hours of it, so that was exceptionally sweet of him. Especially when he has to listen to me yelling the phrase “bunting pussy douchebags!”

After spending the day on the kickball field, I was too tired to do much else. I got home, whimpering with exhaustion and overheating, took a shower to remove the layer of field dust, and took a nap. We did go out to Arcadia for dinner, because I’d read a la.foodblogging review about a restaurant that specialized in Chinese hot pot. One of the side benefits of spending my weekends at the boyfriend’s house in Pasadena is that the San Gabriel Valley, and all its Asian restaurants, is very very close – and he’s perfectly happy to take me on field trips for pho or hot pot or whatever it is I feel like eating. Still, even after dinner, I was far too tired for the usual Saturday night date to Bar Sinister, and asked if we could just stay home and watch the MovieBeam. So we watched “Everything is Illuminated”, and crashed out early.

Sunday was another day of recovery. And I did come home to Venice and go for a long walk along the beach and through the canals with my friend Kate, and then I tried to go out to Malediction Society. It seemed like a good idea at about five in the afternoon, when I left Pasadena, but by the time I got there at ten thirty, I realized I didn’t have the energy to hit the dance floor I usually do. Even though I love to dance, I just couldn’t. All I wanted was to go home, find a snack, and go to sleep. Which is exactly what happened.

Tonight, I have a date to go see Douglas Coupland read at a bookstore here in Beverly Hills, and then that’s it – I won’t see Paul again until I come home from Canada. I’m coordinating a best friend’s birthday dinner tomorrow night, and then I have kickball on Wednesday, and then I have to pack to go…home! I’m going home late Thursday and coming back late Sunday. And it will be awesome to get home to BC, even if there is no kickball to be played in Victoria.

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