The urchins who live on our cul-de-sac range in age from seventeen to three; we have mostly girls with a few boys thrown in to spice things up -- and they are all up for a swell kickball game.
Home plate is the fabulous neighbors' driveway. This is the youngest fabulous neighbor -- rocking the cowboy boots, and ready to kick . . . some . . . kickball! First base is our mailbox, second is a manhole cover and third is usually the fabulous neighbors' pickup truck. The pickup often serves double duty as the bleachers.
Here's the fierce pitcher -- check out her scary, take-no-prisoners game face. Footwear for the serious kickball player is clearly based on individual preference. I think the pitcher likes the combination of support and height these flip-flops provide.
I have no action photos (the glamourous iPhone camera is not so much about the sports photography) but I do have a lovely collection of goofballs. Street sisters here.
The small boy is completely uninterested in having his picture taken, because dude! -- it's his turn to kick!
And while my youngest girl shows off her best Top Model moves, the commando behind her proceeds to steal third base. Hey, man -- it's kickball. A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do.
My oldest girl, making sure that all rules are strictly obeyed. The funny thing about the cul-de-sac kickball is that there really are very specific and well-understood rules that nobody fusses about -- and these rules are so obscure, esoteric and intricate that they make my head hurt.
But it seems pretty clear that for at least some players, it's more about the glamour than the kickball.