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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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The small boy is completely uninterested in having his picture taken, because dude! -- it's his turn to kick!
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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.
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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.
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But it seems pretty clear that for at least some players, it's more about the glamour than the kickball.