a girl plays kickball
AROUND TWO YEARS ago, when I was just getting my feet wet in my role as IM’s editor-in-chief, a respected former colleague, Liz Joss, messaged me to suggest a story about the culture surrounding Indy’s Catholic Youth Organization kickball teams. I was instantly transported back to my elementary years, when daily kickball games ruled the schoolyard (or, in the winter, the cafeteria) during recess. I can still hear the thwack of Keds against hollowed, texturized rubber and feel the sting of a well-launched ball striking me out as I frantically scurried to reach the next base.
A sucker for nostalgia, I gave the idea the green light and assumed Liz would write this story she pitched about the matches, the rivalries, and the traditions. But she demurred—repeatedly.
I joke that I’m not Catholic, but I have that level of guilt. When I played roller derby competitively, I used to call fouls on myself under my breath, praying the refs would neither hear me nor catch sight of my transgressions. (Forgive me, Father, for I have just committed a track cut against the opposing team.) My attempts to project even a little of that guilt onto Liz were fruitless—she felt she wasn’t familiar enough with the kickball scene to produce a reliable accounting herself. Instead, though, she did me one better. She delivered Nora Spitznogle, a bona fide Catholic school alumna, writer, and Circle City treasure who expertly recounts the history of CYO girls’ kickball along with her own personal experience on the field. The end result is a story so well-crafted and endearing, it must have been preordained.
