Ed. Note: Robyn’s post on the defense of Ruby Tuesday’s Salad Bar and Adams Morgan nightlife got a really interesting debate going and it has sparked a new series. You know in DC sometimes we tend to be reflexively negative about certain things. I find myself doing it too from time to time. Like I hate Georgetown. And in reality the last few times I’ve went to Georgetown, I’ve loved it. I love the old homes, the waterfront, etc. But I feel like I said “I hate Georgetown” so often it just became automatic. And not at all true. So with that in mind Robyn has come up with the idea to debunk some of the automatic negative stereotypes about certain things in DC. This is the third in a series.
One of my gigs is photographing events and parties for a local newspaper. It’s fun and easy and it packs my calendar with social endeavors – some pretty cool (House of Sweden), and some bizarre (Hair + SUV fashion show, don’t ask).
A while ago my editor sent me to Adams Morgan’s Grand Central Station to take some pictures of a kickball event. A kickball event?!? I couldn’t have rolled my eyes harder. I was not a fan of these people (even though I didn’t know any). To me, kickballers were just a roving band of meatheads that take over a bar and turn it into a scene out of Animal House. They’re an easy target to hate. They play a game reserved for 8-year-old boys. They are most likely drunk when you encounter them, hence not exactly capable of coherent conversation. And what’s worse – they always look like they are having more fun than you, cheering on their college drinking games, wearing their matching shirts advertising lite beers, and their general sociable comradery. So I ran in, grabbed a couple photos, and ran out before anyone could force me into a “chug this pitcher” contest. Continues after the jump.
After the Grand Central outing, a friend convinced me to try kickball. So I tried it. By “try” I mean walk down to the mall to join my new team, wiff the ball multiple times, and sit on the sideline terrified. My team was composed of 10 dudes men that either worked at a law firm, a financial firm, or real estate, and 20 highlighted, tan, average-looking giggly girls vying for the attention of the one attractive man, rumored to be in a band, who apathetically sat off to the side smoking until it was his turn to kick to the collective sigh of the 20 gals.
Afterwards we went to the bar where we played endless rounds of flip cup – another game I’m horrible at – and I found my opinion of kickballers changing. Sure, they drink till they drop at 3pm on a Sunday, and they might just call each other by their last names. But they were nice to me, gave me an abundance of beer, high-fived me when I finally flipped the dang cup (seriously, that game is hard!), invited me to a Journey concert, and I even got a lesson from one of the gals on how one obtains breast implants that look real. Though she may have been slightly delusional because hers certainly did not.
Nice people though.
Any pro-Kickballers out there?