Some would say that Dodge Ball is a mere PE pass time. Au contraire. In my experience, players of this perilous game fit into 1 of 3 categories:
WANKER - a skilled marksman and athlete with a will to win and a talent for competing.
VICTIM - unskilled, uncoordinated and forced, unwillingly, to play a gruesome game.
BYSTANDER - mid-way between to two extremes; bystanders are found cowering at the back of the playing field passing off stray balls to more adept teammates, occasionally making a contribution.
I ususally fit into the Bystander category. More of an observer, really. My strategy is to lie low, pass on ammo to Wankers and keep a close watch on the game at hand. That is why I rarely get "out". Actually I'm an (ir)regular survivor. Observation skills are key in Dodge Ball, whichever type you play. There's playground standard Doctor Dodge Ball, Monster Ball, which includes the use of basketball hoops, Hit & Sit on teams, etc. The variety we played in gym class today was called "Crossfire". Instead of dying or going to a jail when hit, Victims cross over enemy lines behind sets of cones running down each zone in lanes. The only way to get back to your own team's side is to find a ball and get someone out. Then you are freed and the person you outed is sentenced to the sidelines. It's especially challenging because not only do you have Wankers shooting at you from cross court, but also on two other sides. Dozens of times I witnessed Victims and Wankers get pwned unexpectedly from behind. Oh the slaughter.
I kept alive making shots when necessary and really just staying low. Ms. Stigings, the slave driver, was making us play our seventh straight match (even though my team had clearly dominated for several rounds). One of those bloody Wankers pegged my teammate, Evelyn in the face. The eye, in actual fact. I haven't known Evelyn long, but it was weird to see her cry, she being more than a little tomboyish. I knew it must have genuinely hurt her. Didn't tell the teacher - she never did find out that Ev went missing for 15 minutes. Too busy trying to make her chosen team win.
Suddenly, to me, it wasn't just a game. For a while, odd people disappeared into the change rooms to check on Evelyn. Stigs didn't notice that either. Even though teams were shorthanded. The brutes played on. Some time later (Ev still M.I.A.) a rogue ball rolled out into the hall and I ran to retrieve it. I picked it up and was about to return when I noticed the lines of girls carrying balls at our jail lanes waiting for the kill. For once our side was losing. Going out was suicide. I felt literally trapped. I wanted so much to drop the cursed ball and skip freely up and down the hallways. But I had to go back.
I re-entered. Moments later I was suddenly the only girl left alive on my team. It was incredible. Ms. Stigings yelled, "Get Emily!". I would have liked to write about how hundreds of balls were thrown and I performed matrix-esque moves and dodged them all. But I can't. I hate being singled out. At first people were like, who's she? Then a few Wankers clued in and aimed a couple at me. I dodged the first attempt amazingly, but was sadly hit by a second trying to jump over it. And so ended the classmate vs. classmate war.
By this time, Evelyn came back with a puffy, red eye. A surprise visit from Mrs. Saunder's grade 9 class took our minds off of it for the mean time. My teacher quickly explained the rules to the nines. Gr. 10s eagerly awaited another kill. Those poor, unsuspecting fools. On the go every single ten charged to the center line in slow motion. Not one younger girl moved. A war cry emanated from the seasoned veterans. In seconds, every ball was on our side and the nines were being taken out the by handful. Those savage hyenas picking off first the weak or sick, until the fighters stood alone and died tragically in a mass murder. I will never forget that moment, nor the person I became for under a minute of massacre.
Evelyn was in much better spirits after our repeated wins over the grade 9s, but I'll finish by telling of something she said to me in the hall outside the gym - so far I was the only person who realized she'd been hurt. "It's always the same people," she said, "and it will never change." In some ways the statement is spot on. Those popular, athletic Wankers get away with anything from breaking rules to cheating to making mistakes. I see it all the time. Most of the players are too absorbed to notice, but I see. Of course it was the most popular girl in class that aimed high but never felt the consequences.
You can choose to interpret Dodge Ball however you like; a simple way to get exercise and kicks, or a barbaric, death-match for hell-bent winners with a desire to annihilate. No Big Deal. What does a friendly game of Dodge Ball count for in the end? Or are we destined to forever remain Wankers, Victims and Bystanders? Is the whole thing really a metaphor for life itself? Probably not. But I choose to believe it anyway - it makes PE seem less of a complete waste of time.
