Awhile back I did a review of ZogSports, the righteous charity NYC-based sports co-ed league in which I play football, softball, basketball, and now, dodgeball. You've never seen so many white people in your life, aside from 2001, when I saw Bon Jovi, U2 and Elton John in concert and realized that music polarizes society like nothing else ... unless you get a bunch of lawyers, marketers and financial analysts throwing balls at each other's noggins.

Anyway, dodgeball. Yeah, I turn 32 next month. I haven't played it since before Michael Jackson was known for the moonwalk, way before he was known for touching little dodgeballers' pee-pees. A bunch of gals from my co-ed Chico's Bail Bonds football team launched the initiative to start a dodgeball squad, and I enrolled, with the suggestion that we choose the level of play (competitive, casual, extreme casual) based on how many good-looking women would be in the league.

I figured I wouldn't have the temperament for it. I don't know what it means to play for fun. I've taken many a first date to the pool hall and have blanked these chicks; 7-0, 5-0, 9-0, 6-0, whatever it takes. One time, I distinctly remember a girlfriend getting pissed when I didn't congratulate her on a legal shot that bounced like six rails inadvertently and holed some "slop." She killed me for not saying, "nice shot", and I told her I would have if it wasn't one of the worst I'd ever seen. So much for honestly. In softball, I'm pretty much known as the guy who screams at anyone who throws to the wrong base. (Many, many references available upon request.)

Obviously, I'm setting this post up as some athletic, macho guy who joins a dodgeball league to score chicks. Let's see how it turned out.

1. I Totally Got Sucked Into the Madness
I arrived sorta late, when the rules were being discussed. Just a first-week scrimmage; no biggie. Four teams in attendance and three games to be played, one against each opposing team. It took me about two seconds to turn into a nut.

I've got a strong arm. I swear one of the greatest moments of my life was at the San Genaro Festival in Little Italy where they had one of those baseball speed guns. I watched for about 15 minutes and no one broke 58 m.p.h. I threw 71 (twice) in a dress shirt and, despite almost needing surgery because of how much pain I felt, I was in ecstasy after having heard the oohs from the crowd after not only breaking 60, but reaching 70. WTF, you're asking? 71 is no biggie. Well, these things are relative. Maybe the gun wasn't accurate, but I threw 22% harder than everyone else nonetheless. Roughly the equivalent of Ketchup Sock Schilling throwing 92 m.p.h. and Big Unit Johnson following up with 112 m.p.h.

So I was gunning. These balls were Nerf-ier than the red rubbers we were used to in grammar school. So they kinda took off instead of cutting through the air. I was blasting the far wall, amid protests from the pussy in the Yankees hat (I hate to say that) who cried numerous times that I was aiming "straight for his head." The dude was 40 feet away. Relax, Nomar.

By the end of the day, I was telling my teammates I wanted to kill at least two or three people, including one ultra-puss who seriously decked one of our girls. I went less than 100% at the females, and one of them caught a ball I threw. That won't happen again. But I wasn't the one who pegged some chick in the ear, which I thought was kinda, sorta maybe a little funny.

Long story short; I was sucked into being a raging, competitive jackass within two minutes of playing dodgeball.

2. I Got Hit in the Balls
Toward the end of the first game, it was down to two players a side; me and a male teammate against a chick and a dude. With four teams in attendance, there were about 40 people watching. And they were into it, as this was the first scrimmage of the initial dodgeball season. Anyone who had played dodgeball in a dozen years should have had T-O-O-L stamped on his head. The rest were trying to refresh their memories about what to do.

I gotta admit, it was pretty tense. I had a ball, and so did my teammate. I forgot there were four balls in play. So I looked to him to signal C-H-A-R-G-E, when I wheeled around, just in time to hear, "Look out," but not before a ball hit me square in the nuts. Among the most embarrassing things that have ever happened to me, this is in the top five.

Getting hit in the balls in dodgeball is a no-win situation. You either writhe in pain like a loser or walk off like nothing happened, indicting yourself as having a small package. I chose the latter. I still don't know if it was the right decision.

3. I Got Hurt By a Ball Thrown By a Girl
Late in the final game, some chick throws a ball at me that I catch quite easily, but I dropped instinctively to me knees to catch it, right on the hardwood floor, bashing my right knee into the ground. Much later that evening, amid six shots of Black Haus bought for me by my friend (who complained about two chicks pissing on some toilet seat in the women's room several hours earlier) I could feel some serious soreness that might prohibit me from doing leg exercises in the gym Monday. Normally not a bad thing, but in this case, quite humbling.

To recap: So there you have it. Dodgeball, with women, and I fall into the trap of actually caring, getting hit in the balls and picking up at least a mild injury. One of the more pathetic afternoons of my life.