Another Kickball League Comes to DC

Unless you're completely misanthropic and anti-social you have probably heard that our fair city is home to not one, but two competing kickball organizations, the "corporate" World Adult Kickball Association (WAKA) and the newer, less profit-oriented DC Kickball. Many bytes have been consumed by reporters obsessed with the competition between two organizations that run what is basically an excuse for 20-somethings to drink beer and mack on one another. Hey Pretty has recently learned that a third entity has entered this discourse, possibly adding even more fire to the debate over which-league-is better. Many people who align themselves with DC Kickball feel adamantly that their league is better than WAKA--that playing within an organization devoted less to profit makes for a better overall experience. I wouldn't know. I've played in WAKA for several years and like it well enough to captain a team while paying as little attention as possible to the bureaucratic nuances that keep the operation running.

What I wonder however, is how important is it to have yet another kickball outfit. Isn't two enough? What prompted the creators of Play Nakid to form an entirely new entity? Rumor has it that the league was formed after prominent players from one WAKA league decided to spin off into their own solo endeavor. Sure, I can understand not wanting to be in WAKA, but why can't they just join DC Kickball? Doesn't this seem like much ado about an activity that is basically allowing us to further wallow in impulsive, post-adolescent behavior?

Also of note is that I talked on the phone with the boy for an hour and a half last night! Normally I hate the phone and will do everything in my power to rush my friends off the phone when they happen to call me (certain exceptions do apply here). I don't know why, but I just find them to be very intrusive devices. Moreover, I just don't always enjoy talking that much. Often times, there is very little that I feel like saying outloud. Mostly I prefer to just listen. Anyway, it was a long-ass phone call. I kept on thinking of things I wanted him to know and the more we chatted the more I didn't want to hang up. It's all quite strange.

Of note: I managed to completely avoid the Capital Hill bars this weekend. L swung through in my place and dutifully noted that she ran into I and G, two former paramours, who I will note with disgust, did not bother to ask about me. Outa sight, outa mind, it seems.