A get-together with a few friends last week to see a former DC friend who was in town for work got us reminiscing about our kickball days. In 2007, our team captain brought together a rather eclectic group of friends he’d met throughout the years that one way or another all ended up in the greater D.C. area. That first season we quickly bonded over pitchers at our post-game bar, The Bottom Line. Team D.O.B. (a Zoolander reference that I think only we understood) was born.
Team D.O.B. had its ups and downs over the years mixing near championship runs with well, some more challenging seasons in there, but we steadfastly adhered to our no bunting rule, because really, it’s kickball… so kick the freaking ball. The bars changed from season to season bringing us to Irish Times, The Exchage, My Brother’s Place and Hamilton’s, but no matter the location, we always shined on the flip cup tables.
The question came up last week about playing kickball again, but we quickly agreed that we would now be those creepy old people we used to make fun of, not to mention, it’s pretty hard to drink that much on a Tuesday night now. When did we get so old?!
To my fellow DOBers, remember “throw it at your face!” and “flip first, swallow later!”