This weekend started out like any other weekend. I got out of work Friday, and headed to the park with the guys for our traditional weekly kickball game. My friend James, who is nothing short of a kickball fanatic, showed us all his new ball. It was a beauty. The ball was a magnificent rubber gem, brand new and free from the usual wear and tear of our usual sporting equipment. It’s amazing how an object so simple, can bring so much childish fun to the hearts of grown men. The game was off to a dull start. The usual teams of the guys from Brown Street vs. York Street have created a predictable groove. Each player has realized the other’s abilities and this created a game where nobody was able to score. That is until I got up to kick (Little had my friends realized that I had been practicing kickball with my sons this week). The pitcher, Mikey D, rolled the ball towards me. I focused on the ball and kicked with all my might. The ball soared through the air, over the fence. It was a home-run! My buddies cheered and jumped for joy as I rounded the bases. It would be the only run scored that game. Our team, Brown Street, would be this week’s victors. It felt great.

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