approaching fisticuffs

Last Friday was the first CHURCH BALL game of the season. I think that explains the title of this post.

In my experience, church ball is an anxiety-ridden drama inducing ulcer factory. Maybe there's something wrong with me, but I really enjoy it. Do you think growing up with five brothers, two of which played high school hockey, has anything to do with it?

Last week's game was particularly "exciting." Spoiler alert: no punches were thrown, but the wife of the elders quorum president sitting next to me was worried her husband would be the one to start it.

The start of the game was very promising when my good friend Meg announced she had a veggie tray in her purse and her intention was for us to eat it. Um, yes please. I, being impressed with what I thought was brilliant foresight on her part, complimented her on bringing an excellent snack.

Meg: "Oh, I just happened to have it so I thought I'd bring it."

Wendy: "I can't wait for the day when I just happen to have a veggie tray. I can honestly say that has never happened to me."

Things turned south quick when I realized which team "we" were playing. The jerk team. The jerk team, as I apparently call them, was the one we butted heads with last year. The one with the scrawny know-it-all with the 80's haircut and the seven foot 35 year old stuck in the glory days who seems to think this will be the game he finally gets drafted. I admit a bias. They really did cause problems when they tried to steamroll the Tuesday night pick-up games at our church house last year. Sure their gym was under construction and they've had the Tuesday night ritual for years, but this is our turf! Choose another night. Geez.

On with the game. We were getting a lot of fouls called on us but from what I could see both teams were playing rough. It's usually a good thing when one of the refs is from your ward (he plays on the geezer team), but not this time.

Munch, carrots.

We have a Polynesian WSU football player on our team who can appear quite intimidating but is the biggest tease. I look up from the sugar snap peas to see him getting escorted into the hall by a player on the other team. I hear something about him being the stake athletic director so he can make calls on the court if he wants to.* Our team member eventually gets a technical and the job of score-keeping on the sideline.

Munch, munch celery.

At one point the refs stopped the game and both teams huddle to regroup. Two members of our bishopric were there and went on the court to tell our team to cool it.

Munch, munch, munch cherry tomatoes.

The next thing I know, Greg is saying "That's the best call you made all night!" After which he stormed off the court in my direction, grabbed his coat from my lap, and headed for the door. In my confusion I asked, "What's going on?" "We're leaving." That was my cue to get up and get out.

Apparently Greg got kicked out of the game. It looked like he just decided to leave from my seat.

Saturday morning came and Greg started to worry a bit.

Greg: "In my parents' stake you have to talk to the stake president to get permission to play again if you get kicked out of a game."

Wendy: "For real?"

Greg: "I just hope I don't get called into the bishop's office tomorrow."

9:00 a.m. Sunday came with great apprehension.

Much to Greg's relief, he got slaps on the back from all. The first counselor in the bishopric complimented Greg on "the best comment of the game" and a member of the stake presidency had a good laugh about it with us.

I guess we'll be at the game tonight after all.


*This is where I took [biased] paraphrasing license