As I rounded the bases, I heard the shouting.
“Do over!” “Cheat!” “CHEAPKICK!”
All of it coming from the opposing team’s coach, Leonard.
I patted the dust off my shorts and shouted back to him. “Leonard, what’re you even talkin’ about? You’re most of the way through that cooler. You can’t so much walk, let alone see.”
Leonard bristled up like an alley cat, but took a half step over to hide the mylar cooler bag behind him before responding.
“Ya’ crossed the plate on that kick!” He stopped, putting a hand over his mouth, his cheeks bulging with a belch. “An’ thas against the rules!”
I scratched the back of my head and looked over at their pitcher, who shrugged embarrassedly at me.
“Then get out here and let’s rock this out.” I called back.
Rock, Paper, Scissors is the traditional way teams solved disputes in the league, and Leonard started to storm out onto the diamond, fist held high.
He was immediately tripped up by the straps of his cooler, and fell face first into the dust.
“I’m going to say that counts as me winning.” I said to their pitcher.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m good with that.”
There is a real kickball league in the city, organized mostly through bars or work groups. They’ve got a pretty awesome set of rules, too. Can’t have more than 1 more guy than girls on your team, they allow drinking, and all disputes are resolved with Rock, Paper, Scissors.