Last night dodgeball was intense. We played against a bunch of fuckers. That's right...I'm calling them fuckers. Talk about poor sports. Here's my theory on this: I'm playing against coworkers. Why would I cheat, argue, or trash talk when a) I've never met you and b) I might have to work with you in the future. Obviously, they don't feel the same way that the team members of Our Balls Hurt do.
We lost, 4-3. Not without heroic efforts. I sustained a broken nail and two bruised hands. (I could barely hold the steering wheel to drive home, and typing at work today was painful.) My fear of being the last player standing happened not once but twice. The first time I failed, the second time I triumphed magnificently, much to the delight of my teammates. High-fives all around.
I hope we run into these fuckers during the tournament. Next time, Our Balls Hurt will be out for blood.
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