Hot weather like this always brings back memories of long, intense rounders games on the top field. Rounders is the ideal sport for me, first of all because the exercise to standing around in the sun ratio is good, something along the lines of 1:3. I can live with that. The sun beating down on my face and neck as I watch the bowler sling it direct to the left so I can pick it up and field it right back without the batter glancing it. This trick was an essential part of some rounders games because one of our PE teachers had this insane rule which meant that after two balls you had to run regardless of if you’ve hit it or not. If you missed, it’s first base for you. No one scored any rounders when we played like that. And all the time I’ve hardly moved an inch. Genius.
The other reason I became fond of the game is the strategy. Kids listen up, this is how you win a game of rounders.To win a game of rounders you have to lose a game of rounders. Sounds dumb but think about it, even Shakespeare finished writing something once looked up, read it over and said “this fucking sucks!” Or words to that effect. Why else would there be a missing play? Rounders is exactly like that, if you lost a rounder because you fumbled or didn’t make a decision fast enough then you can learn form that mistake and become a better player. For example, I once hit the ball a reasonable distance and ran to first, the outfield had already thrown it in and I made a wrong decision and ran for second. The outfielder got the ball to the stump just in time to put me out of that game. But I never made that mistake again.
And finally I loved the thrill. That one moment of glory and jubilation as you hit the ball far off into the left field where that one girl whose too busy worrying if one of the boys playing is looking at her in her ugly PE uniform. An FYI ladies, boys aren’t looking at you when they’re playing sports. And as the ball rolled out of her sweaty palms and hit the old chain link fence I ran. I ran like no one else, as if I were on fire. Not even my bullies and tormentors laughing at my awkward run could stop me as I rounded the last hurdle, fourth base stumbled, lost the ball and I tapped in for a sweet taste of victory. No one called me gay for the rest of that day, at least, not the jocks on my team.
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