Despite the fact that I just quoted a horrible ad campaign by Outback, the Steakhouse, I’m sticking with my title on this one (honestly, if you are an AUstralian styled restaurant and you want to give yourself an Aussie image, don’t grab the first schmoe you find off the street that has a semi-crappy accent. Subaru did it right, when they wanted Aussie, they went with Crocodile Dundee. Did you know that Paul Hogan was Australian of the Year in 1985? I bet that Outback dude can’t put that on his resume…).
Because what I have to talk about is Urban Kickball, or alternately the life and times of a bachelor party in Minneapolis last Friday, May 12th. Tall said it right, when he described the depths of the game that is Urban Kickball. In essence, it is a cross between Dodgeball (the movie), Calvinball (the game), and Revenge of the Nerds (when the Frat Boys at Alpha Beta burn their house down by blowing Myers 151 at a torch, and Ogre is drinking beer out of a trophy). And even though the Kaiser made a very decent and respectable effort at describing the rules of the game, I’m still sticking with my theory: no rules, only right.
To tell the truth, I think that the real winner is the kickball itself, which managed to make it through the whole beer-spattered weekened intact and in good form. Oh, and the fact that despite repeated forrays into the streets of downtown Minneapolis, no one was hit by a car. And the taxi that pulled up to the bar we were at and immediately joined in our game of foursquare (who needs drinks when you have foursquare?). And the lack of puking throughout the night. And little Carr, for arranging many repeated writings on Peaches shirt.
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