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Home > Archive > General Discussion > December 2003 > Killerball
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| Jesus Christ 2003-12-10, 9:51 am |
| It was a crisp November Friday in 1956. Our gym class had been playing
football all week outside on our athletic field.
But today didn't bode well for football. It was pouring down rain.
As we began filing into the gymnasium, Mr. Street was pacing back and forth,
motioning us to sit down against the wall in a line. When we were all seated,
he started walking up and down, staring at us, with his jaw puffed out in his
usual look of contempt.
"Men, I'm in a damned bad mood today," he began. "I want your asses out there
playing football, and I don't give a damn about the rain. But Mr. Steckroth
told me no. So, I'm gonna give you an indoor activity instead. One you're
never gonna forget!"
He blew his whistle. "I want two squads. Ones and twos. Sound off!"
"One! Two! One! Two! One Two!" we began calling in line. As we
continued, Mr. Street retreated to the equipment room and returned with a cart
full of volleyballs. There must have been over a dozen of them.
He tossed out half of the volleyballs to one side of the basketball court and
the other half to the other.
"All you ones, get on that side!" he shouted while pointing. "All you twos,
get on the other side!"
We followed his instructions. He blew his whistle again.
"Listen up! We're going to play a game that looks like dodgeball. But in my
class, we don't play dodgeball. That's what sissies and little girls play.
In here, we play killerball! You ever let me hear you calling it dodgeball,
and I'll pop you one! You got that?!"
A mixed chorus of "Yes Sirs!" echoed through the gym.
"Take a good look at the opposing players across from you," he continued.
"Let's take a poll. How many of you see a friend of yours?"
Most of us raised our hands.
"Put your damned hands down!" he shouted. "You see none of your friends! I
mean none! They are no longer your friends! They are your enemies!" he
shouted again, smacking his fist into his palm. "You got that?!"
"Yes Sir!", we shouted back, with more animation than before.
"They are your enemies!" he repeated. And because they are your enemies, it
is your job to take them out! You can aim for their face, their balls,
anywhere you like. The only rules are to stay in bounds and do not cross the
center court line!"
He blew his whistle again, signaling for the game to begin.
The action started off fast and furiously, with balls being hurled back and
forth with a vengeance and a dizzying speed. I was never very good at
dodgeball, so my strategy was to stay close to the perimeter of the court,
avoiding the center where balls would be more inclined to hit me in the face.
In other words, I played like a sissy.
It didn't take long for the first kid on our squad to get hit. He was the
fattest kid in our class. Imagine the Pillsbury Dough Boy, but three times as
large. He had a misshapen puffy face that looked like a glob of mashed
potatoes.
That face of his got smacked so hard that blood started spurting out his nose.
"Just sit your XXX down, son!" Mr. Street said to him, as he handed him a paper
towel.
But the fat kid started bawling up a storm, with his mouth as wide open as a
hippo in a zoo at feeding time. This pissed Mr. Street off so bad that he got
right up into his face and shouted: "There's no crying in here! Shut those
damn hog jaws of yours and sit down!"
From that day forward, we all had a new nickname for this guy.
Hogjaws.
We called him Hogjaws everywhere he went. In the hallways, in the cafeteria,
even onthe bus. Even Mr. Street started calling him Hogjaws.
About a minute after Hogjaws left the game, the next kid on our squad got hit.
Right in the nuts. He fell to the floor, writhing with pain and gasping for
breath.
This time, Mr. Street was a little more sympathetic. He halted the game and
walked over to the kid, sat him up, and gave him permission to run to the
bathroom.
"Get your XXX back here in one minute!" he shouted. "And next time, get a
better jock strap! Or wear two!" To my surprise, he made it back in time.
When the game resumed, I was the next player on my squad to get hit. My
strategy of hiding along the sidelines failed. I got it right in the face.
But fortuntely, no nosebleed.
Even still, my face stung like hell and felt like it had caught on fire. My
face was still red when I went home that afternoon, and it still hurt the next
morning. When my mother asked me how it happened, I lied and told her some
girl slapped me.
The hard plastic from a fully inflated volleyball can be murder. And some of
the boys could throw a volleyball with incredible strength. As I was sitting
out the rest of the game, beside the rolled up wooden bleachers in the back, I
saw a ball thrown so hard that splinters went flying off when it slammed up
against them. One of them nearly poked me in the eye.
Before the year was over, we must have played killerball at least a dozen more
times. Usually when rain prevented us from having our regularly scheduled
activity. Or whenever Mr. Street felt like it.
Mr. Street supervised these games like a drill sergeant. He never got on you
for throwing the ball too hard, but instead, for not throwing it hard enough.
The last thing he wanted to see was somebody playing like a sissy. If he saw
you stepping out of bounds, or trying to hide behind the bleachers to avoid
getting hit, he would be on your XXX like a pit bull.
Every time we played killerball, there was always time enough during the gym
period for a second or third game. Any student who got a nosebleed or got hit
in the nuts during the first game had to go back inside and play. No
exceptions.
There were two kinds of kids in our gym class who stood out. Those who were
athletic and those who were not. Those who were not athletic were usually at
the mercy of those who were. Some of them felt like crying when they got hit.
Just like Hogjaws.
As for myself, I was kinda in between. I was only average in sports. I
didn't have a whole lot of muscle, but I wasn't overweight. Yet, there were
times when even I felt like crying and running out of the gym when I got hit.
Okay, I'll be more honest. I was just scared.
But I didn't dare cry. Not if I wanted to get the same treatment that Hogjaws
got.
This happened to be Mr. Street's last year teaching at our school. He was
transferred to one of the other schools in our district. But two years later,
he was chosen as the school's new head football coach.
This marked the beginning of a football dynasty. He won more district
championships than any other coach in that school's history. Unfortunately,
his coaching career was cut tragically short about ten years later, when he was
fired for allegedly making sexual advances toward one of the cheerleaders.
Every time I tell this story, somebody almost always speaks up on behalf of
kids like Hogjaws, ranting about how physical education classes unfairly
discriminate against the weaker and less athletic students. Somebody even told
me once that this is exactly how psyches like those of the Columbine killers
are formed.
But not old Hogjaws. He got so pissed off that he followed Mr. Street to the
same school he got transferred to, just so he could try out for his football
team. Not only did he make the team, but he became the most prolific tackle in
the school's history and set a new record for quarterback sacks.
Ten years later, old Hogjaws became a high school physical education teacher
himself. And ten years after that, he became a head football coach and remained
a damn good one for over twenty years. He retired just a few short years ago,
and I was honored to have been invited to his retirement banquet.
I went out for football myself in my high school junior year. Although I made
the team, I didn't exactly distinguish myself. I spent more time on the bench
than on the field.
But that's not important. What is important is that my exposure to killerball
helped me to overcome a lot of my fears. If it wasn't for killerball, I
probably would have grown the guts I needed to try out for the team. | |
| mindmesh 2003-12-10, 10:14 am |
| Probably wouldn't have been hit in the head one too many times, as well.  | |
| Jesus Christ 2003-12-10, 10:17 am |
| I can see my masculinity threatens you. I make no apologies for this. | |
| mindmesh 2003-12-10, 10:33 am |
| quote:
Originally posted by Jesus Christ
I can see my masculinity threatens you. I make no apologies for this.
Masculinity? Is that what you call that? We call that cowardice. Joining the crowd in their taunting of some poor kid because he cried. If you were really masculine you wouldn't of had a problem standing up for him. But instead you remained the sissy and became a toadie. | |
| Papiya 2003-12-10, 10:39 am |
| quote:
Originally posted by Jesus Christ
.
This marked the beginning of a football dynasty. He won more district
championships than any other coach in that school's history. Unfortunately,his coaching career was cut tragically short about ten years later, when he was fired for allegedly making sexual advances toward one of the cheerleaders.
 Masculine indeed. | |
| enforcer 2003-12-10, 11:15 am |
| Sorry I seemed to have mislaid the punchline  | |
| bearing 2003-12-10, 4:45 pm |
| quote:
Originally posted by enforcer
Sorry I seemed to have mislaid the punchline
I got bored after I realised his post went on and on.
I've noticed he must cut and paste a lot as none of his posts flow properly. | |
| Papiya 2003-12-10, 4:48 pm |
| quote:
Originally posted by bearing
I got bored after I realised his post went on and on.
I've noticed he must cut and paste a lot as none of his posts flow properly.
I guess he doesn't want to retype the whole thing at each website he goes to ... | |
| bearing 2003-12-10, 4:50 pm |
| quote:
Originally posted by Papiya
I guess he doesn't want to retype the whole thing at each website he goes to ...
I'm surprised the Good Lord needs to type. | |
|
| I read this post as an exercise in three pyschological trends:
#1 'classic authority figure conformity'. A figure of authority tells underlings to do something, and they faithfully obey for fear of appearing unwilling to conform, or fearful of the consequences of not doing so.
#2 'diversity in inequality'. A variation of sex or race inequality, whereby the fat boy, hogjaws, is picked out as a figure of fun and constantly belittled for his being overweight.
#3 'classic bullied boy facing the bully'. Hogjaws stood up to his to tormentors the best way possible.
What is interesting though, is the way the two teams quite readily accepted that they should hate each other and inflict on each other, as much pain as possible. This doesn't take take much training; it is innate within all of us. Given the right stimulus, the survival instinct within man raeches the point where the ultimate survival tactic becomes prevalent and foremost. | |
| curiousgeorge 2003-12-10, 9:54 pm |
| My survival instinct makes me eat doughnuts.  | |
| enforcer 2003-12-11, 11:19 am |
| quote:
Originally posted by curiousgeorge
My survival instinct makes me eat doughnuts.
Then my diagnosis is you have a deep seated fear of being attacked by large doughy type products. | |
| Papiya 2003-12-11, 5:27 pm |
| quote:
Originally posted by bearing
I'm surprised the Good Lord needs to type.
I'm not all that convinced by the "good" part. | |
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| Wow! Jack Lord! Good Lord's brother!
Still paddling that canoe?
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| azimuth40 2003-12-12, 3:17 pm |
| quote:
Originally posted by Hippo
Wow! Jack Lord! Good Lord's brother!
Still paddling that canoe?
Yes but he was smart enough to use only his middle name instead of his full name.
Bad Jack Lord
His brother thought that using a middle name was a little presumptous since it was already taken by someone else
Good Almighty Lord
Then there was mom and dad
Father Lord
Mother Lord
and the black sheep of the family
False Lord
Oh well that is enough of that before we start another thread of the good, bad and cousin ugly. | |
| enforcer 2003-12-12, 3:41 pm |
| Where do they live? Land lord | |
| I Hate Pascal 2003-12-12, 11:19 pm |
| quote:
Originally posted by tom45
Bookem Dano, Insanity 1
Thank Jesus H. Christ! I am not the only guy here who remebers "Hawaii-5-O"!!! | |
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| azimuth40 2003-12-13, 12:31 am |
| You don't have to remember it, the show is still in re-runs in California and I suppose other places |
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