Game 9: The Jolly Dodgers vs. The Incrediballs

I have to actually start this on quite a serious and painful note. After a few beers and in the spirit of learning more about fellow dodgeballers, one player unexpectedly opened up and revealed that some young kids in their family were suffering neglect and abuse. I won’t mention real names for legal reasons as they’re both about six years old but the gist of it is they’re not being fed properly, they’re not washed, they're left to wallow in their own excrement, and they’re confined to a small enclosed space day-in-day-out. As the conversation developed, it came to light that this horrible physical abuse was being coupled with emotional abuse, with neither of the kids ever shown any affection or even being communicated with, which had resulted in them suffering with severe speech and language problems and an inability to walk, dress themselves or even use the bathroom. Everyone looked on completely dumbfounded and pained. Proper Jeremy Kyle. The Dodger Moores were completely unable to believe that this can be allowed to go on in London without authorities stepping in.  James and Pat seemed most upset by it, and without a second thought offered to adopt these innocent, abused youngsters.

The cruel abusers? Let’s just call them Smabbie and Stony (and in some respects, equally guilty onlooker Snicole) from the Sholly Shodgers. The victims? Let’s just call them Chips and Ian. Because they’re goldfish and those are actually their names. 

Of unknown origin, Chips and Ian started their childhoods in an all-male home (not like that) in Tooting along with several other adoptees who didn’t make it past their early years; victims of fish flu, gang warfare and sometimes victims of simply being so stupid they forgot to breathe. Concerned about the effect of bringing up kids in Tooting with so much violence and death around, Stony found them a mum and moved them to a flat in Bermondsey. Like many council estate parents, knowing how tough life was and the fish-eat-fish world we live in, they decided they had to be cruel to be kind. Chips, a poor, orphaned, estate fish clearly wasn’t going to grow up to be Rock Starfish and downtrodden, permanently under-nourished Ian wasn’t going to end up in the diamond-encrusted pond of Elton John’s estate. It just wasn’t on the cards for them. But maybe, just maybe they could become undercover police sting(ray) officers. Or if a career with the filth wasn’t for them, perhaps ruthless, but successful loan sharks. They were treated fairly but with discipline; never given things on a plate and having to work for their survival. It was harsh, but in the mid-naughties in South London, it was necessary. They grew up tough, with a chip on the shoulder (well just Ian, but that’s because the tank was small and he often had to be a chair for his fried-potato friend) and with aggression in their swim. But time had come for them to move on. Doubting their abilities as parents and concerned about their futures, like the Fresh Prince’s mum before them, on this night in the Loft in Clapham, Stony and Smabbie agreed to send their little ones off to the Bel Air of London; the What If! Offices in Baker Street.

So this Wednesday night, Chips and Ian whistled for a cab and when it pulled near, were helped in and driven through Elephant and Castle, Kennington and the grim streets of Stockwell to Clapham Leisure Centre, where their Uncle James was waiting to take them to their new home. We walked in, just casual gym visitors holding a large bottle of water with two frantic goldfish inside. Nothing weird about that, Clapham. Stop looking at us like that.

Yeah, they were going to a new home, but not before they got to watch their first (and probably last) epic game of Dodgeball though.

Just so we could say goodbye properly, we arrived 40minutes early. The goodbyes were cut short though as Abbie and I were roped into playing for a team with too few girls. We ended up playing for the Deadly Donkeys against Dodgy Style. Teams 1 and 2 in the league apparently, and after a whole three sets, it was pretty clear how they’d got to the top of the league. I won’t reveal too many of each team’s tactics and approach, but let’s just say it included a flagrant disregard for rules and sportsmanship, an unpleasant level of aggression, shouting and swearing and a willingness to override any referee decisions regardless of the accuracy of those decisions. The most unpleasant game I’ve ever played. Both teams as bad as each other. The only thing that made it redeemable was the comical reactions from spectators who’d picked up on the unsportsmanly tone of the match and were booing and heckling anytime anyone touched or threw a ball. Never again.

Right. Now down to the serious business of Jolly Dodgers 2.0 vs. The Incrediballs. We’d had subtle word from Go Mammoth's James A. the previous night that we were potentially looking at an easy match, as our opponents were supposedly lurking near the bottom of the league. The actual bottom of the league of course reserved for the lovely (but shit) Dodger Moores. Without wanting to make others complacent, I kept this info to myself ahead of the match, but took in a healthy dose of complacency myself. Error. As the first set began, I realised this team were actually a threat. They had some really strong throwers and catchers, with one girl being particularly lethal in her mopping up of our thoughtless high throws. The first set was fast, fun and finished a close 3-2 in the Jolly Dodgers’ favour.

Knowing this would be the last memory Chips and Ian would ever have of us (with all previous memories presumably forgotten), we made every three seconds count. Less concerned about the fish, Kira and Matt teamed up Canadian style with Matt producing some insanely good throws and Kira probably racking up more on-court minutes than the rest of us; Greg was back in town and as energetic as ever, spending his game creating as many different body shape jumps as he could; Thom had nailed the middle line rule though sadly helpful stand-in Adam hadn’t quite; Tony dropped to the floor a few times in what might now be his signature dodge and did an amazing cross court slice, catching an Incrediball by complete unawares and Abbie also caught the opponents by surprise by abandoning her scoop of a floor ball to catch the opponents long throw mere centimetres to the right. It was actually so mindblowingly unexpected and unlikely, understandably the other team didn’t think it had happened. WE didn’t even quite believe it, but it definitely occurred right there in Clapham on Wednesday 6th March at around 8.40pm. The ref hadn’t seen and our cries of ‘Catch! Catch!’ fell on deaf ears as the Incrediballs presumably thought we were cheating, so played on. Mid next game I took a second to clarify to the thrower that we weren’t trying to cheat, and whilst it looked impossible and ahead of it I would have given Abbie a 5% chance of catching a ball like that (at most), against all odds she really had done it. He appreciated the explanation and apologised for not going off, and we parted laughing about it. Good cross-team banter and honesty. Something other teams – not pointing any of my donkey fingers as that’s not my style – might want to consider. Just saying.

As seems to happen most weeks when he’s not busy *cough*going out with his new lady friend*cough*, Andy hid off court as the game started, just so he could appear mid-game in a dramatic fashion without warning. It’s almost like he just emerges out of the wall like that bit in Terminator 2 where T-1000 liquid-metal shapeshifts out of the floor. Or more realistically like Harry emerging from Kings Cross onto Platform 9 and ¾. Always unexpected and always explosive. He had a great game.

I, on the other hand, got hit in the face. And Matt caught a ball which had deflected off me before I could catch it, thereby getting me out. WE’RE ON THE SAME TEAM, TOE-SHOES.

Thom also showed himself up a bit when we had a near full side against one Incrediballs girl and he lobbed the ball at least 10m away from her, and across to the other court. We asked him to sit the next game out and think about what he had done.

The Incrediballs were fun. We won the second set, but it was still a close match. As well as entertaining by bringing their best dodging, one player also entertained by losing his glasses every few minutes on the floor. One time they slid across to Tony who hilariously put them on and tauntingly continued the game. I mean, it probably sounds like bullying, but it was seriously funny. There didn’t seem to be a lot of laughter from Glasses McGee, but presumably that was because he couldn’t see what was happening. They had the last laugh though as Tony failed to master the Incrediballs superhero ray-glasses and couldn’t see the ball flying straight for him. Well played, Incrediballs. Well played.

Final set flew by and we were 2-1 up and ahead in the next game (the last game of the match as it happened, because we ran out of time). The Incrediballs found themselves with one player against a school of Jolly Dodgers (fish reference. A call back.). The Incrediball knew the only thing you could do in this instance was go for catches so he helpfully passed all the balls back to us. A little too helpfully actually, and in a moment of forgetfulness he just did a gentle underarm throw to Tony. Game over.

Hand shaking to finish and then all off to to the Loft for drinks, where we only just stopped ourselves from agreeing to a hunger games battle-to-the-death wager of Chips and Ian vs the Japanese Fighting Fish at James' office. There was a round of drinks at stake, but after the lives they've led, like 16th Century British nobles who've spent their lives and energies on battle fields fighting the French and Scottish, they deserve to retire to their castle in peace.

Chips and Ian; A Journey:

 The Halcyon days

Literally poo-ing themselves with excitement

The 'tank to jug to bottle via a man-made funnel' manoeuvre

For transit

Editor's note: Some photos aren't real and are intended to demonstrate a stage in the proceedings that wasn't photographed. I'll leave you to spot the fake

Thursday morning. From James's flat to the What If! offices

The Castle, and peace at last...I give those other fish 5 minutes. Tops

Game 7 (Grudge Match): The Jolly Dodgers vs. Balls Deep

Highlights:

• Fancy dress Dodgeball grudge match against our friends and opposition, Balls Deep
• A Mariachi Band
• Tequila and wrestling chaos

The email had come through a few weeks ago announcing that fancy dress week would fall on the night of our match against friends and nemeses, Balls Deep. The ultimate grudge match with both pride and a night of drinks resting on it after a tipsy bet between Jolly Tony and Balls Santi. After last week's games, we'd decided on a Mexican theme but kept it secret even as we tricked other teams into revealing their plans. Let them squirm with suspense 'til Wednesday. 

It was a week of furious emailing. We all couldn't boast quick enough about what Mexican fashion delights we'd discovered. Greg's costume from the internet arrived, Ben sent us a teasing sultry shot of his outfit and Chris announced he could probably get his hand on a pack of nachos. I was optimistic he was fashioning the tortilla chip equivalent of the lady gaga meat dress between emails.  We struck gold when Chaotic Clare told us her new boyfriend had 20 Mexican wrestler masks under his bed. Kinky anonymous orgies or bank robber disguise? Now was not the time to question it. The plan was coming together. I'm no hippie but I somehow managed to pull three ponchos from my wardrobe. Yeah, you heard. Three. They were the onesie of the 2010s, weren't they? Even better was when Ellie announced she'd nicked an armful of sombrero from the school fancy dress cupboards. When the kids celebrate Mexican Day next week and she's forgotten to return them, I think there are going to be a lot of crying ninos in the classroom. You know we mean business when we risk the tears of the innocent.

A certain member of the team used all the musicians and production equipment at his disposal (and a little extra nabbed from a certain national broadcasting company) and called in 27 years worth of favours to put together the finest Mariachi this side of the Atlantic had ever seen. Previous dodgeballers Bateson and Rainbow were joining the fray with bass and standard ukeleles. Ellie's husband Phil volunteered to play some sort of cajon box drum, and Ellie agreed to split her time between dodging and playing Mexican fiddle. But a trumpeter who was free late notice and could play Mexican tunes remained unsurprisingly illusive.

Feeling the anticipation of a male praying mantis on the way to his first and last sexual conquest (one for the naturalists), we awoke on a grey morning with fire and fear in our bellies. Would we beat Balls Deep? Would Matt's toeshoes make an appearance? Would we get a sodding trumpet player?!

Tony arrived early to set up a mini studio and soon after the Mexicans descended on North Clapham Leisure Centre.  We had wrestlers, we had farmers, we had a cool chilli, we had more moustaches than the 1970s and we had the best attempt at a cactus that two pairs of tights, a weeks' worth of Evening Standards and five minutes could produce. Balls Deep arrived, nicely accessorising their signature orange headbands with some orange jumpsuits: 

And with La Bamba playing in the background we danced our way to our starting points. With an UN, DOS, TRES! we were off. 

It took all of our concentration and will power to keep on track during the first set, and our strongest lip muscles to keep the cheap moustaches in place. Somehow we managed to plough through our fits of giggles and hysterics to hit the opposition and catch crucial balls. With my hands buried between crunched newspaper and under tights, as a cactus (or chilli?) I couldn't hold balls long enough to throw them (though boy could I catch) and due to the restrictive material, the mask wearers' sight was limited to whatever was directly in front of them. As the only female wrestler and adorned with a Mexican flag, Kira looked brilliant and Chilli Greg proved as fiery as his costume as he leapt over balls and into catches:

(a catch and the moustache graveyard)

(Check out the strain on that face)

The Ole Dodgers won the first set and casually fell into the second. The ref did his best to keep things ticking along in a timely fashion but we were having none of it as we all took shots of new player Thom's tequila from the sidelines. Ariba!

We were at some point in the second set when some Tony-led chinese whispers came down the line suggesting that if we won the next game, we'd win the match. This was the first taste of victory we'd had since playing the Dodger Moores. I think the tequila was starting to take it's toll though as after the whistle blew we all managed to get out within the first minute. All except for Canadian Matt. Toeshoes now firmly in his past and with his moustache long since stuck on the wall in our makeshift facial hair graveyard, Matt found himself the sole player against five. You might write lesser Dodgeballers off, but with his powerful throws, basketball player leaps and ballet spins we didn't lose hope. One by one he picked off Balls Deep, like a cheetah cruelly snatching the young, weak and innocent buffalo from a herd. Wordlessly the rest of us embodied David Attenborough. Commenting in hushed tones from the sideline but not interferring with this natural course of events even as we heard the cries of wounded Balls Deep players. Then, out of nothing Matt made a catch! The numbers were evening up! Greg pelted back on to the caught only to be hit almost immediately and the whistle blowing seconds later ending the game. What can we say, Matt? Player of the week let down by a slow chilli. 

Ole Dodgers won the next game though, sealing victory. Then, like someone had flicked a switch, the game descended into anarchy. Tequila shots were flying as frequently as the balls and Santiago dived across the line, flooring Tony in the process. We turned to see the lycra-clad Mexican-Wrestler Tony in a rough and tumble with prisoner Santiago. It was like watching two lion cubs, if the lion cubs were middle-aged men in fancy dress tickling each other. The Mariachi band were in a frenzy, and after disengaging himself from the wrestle, Santiago took over the mic to give us some genuine Spanish commentary. Who knows what he was saying? I presume lots of rude things about our mums, but it sounded amazing. The set finished with Tony Kamikazi-ing his way out of every game, a swirl of Ben, Chris and Abbie's ponchos, Thom finally learning not to cross the middle line and Santiago hiding behind a blow-up cactus. 

(more photos of the Mariachi band in the background hopefully to follow)

After sticking around to check out the other teams costumes and watch the brilliant Zombie team stay in character for their first game (Shanes of Grah), we headed to the pub for some well earned beers. 

People sometimes talk about London being too big a city, where it's hard to meet new people and your 20/30 somethings being less about fun, and more about building your career, settling down and being sensible. Go Mammoth Fancy-dress dodgeball, mid-game tequila shots, a mariachi band, cross-team wrestling, Spanish commentary, a win and hundreds of celebratory beers with our favourite teams. We had the night of our bloody lives. We are living the fucking dream. 

P.S. We didn't get a trumpet player. 

Game 6: The Jolly Dodgers vs. Reservoir Dodge

So I've been a little quiet over the past few weeks on a Dodgeball blogging front and if I’m honest I was sulking a little and felt as emotionally battered as we were physically battered on the court. In brief, we were stupendously beaten two weeks in a row and encountered a distinct amount of what we felt was referee bias. Though, in hindsight and with a healthy pinch of sportsmanship I think we can admit that after a few (probably) honest ref mistakes, we were a little overly suspicious and judgemental of further refereeing decisions.

It was ok though; Tactics Greg was back! We were in no doubt why he'd been absent the past week. In a team-building group email chain, we all received some delightfully taunting out-of-offices explaining that unfortunately he couldn't get back to us at present because he'd decided to take a spontaneous holiday to Las Vegas where he was living it up and having the time of his life. Thanks, Greg. That made all of us feel great as we trekked to Clapham in the cold after long days at the office.

Still, the global home of gaming can only have helped him pick up some more TACTICS. Andy was absent once more (another date, eh?) but Dr Ben was present (if wearing non-regulation attire of a noticeably different pantone). Still, after watching a few episodes of BBC Three’s ‘The Year of Making Love’ (IN AN ATTEMPT TO SPOT MY COLLEAGUE, NOT BECAUSE WE LIKE IT. Seriously), we had strong faith in 'Science' and how it could help us win. Thumbs up Science!*

We were nervous about this week though; The Jolly Dodgers 2.0 were facing the one and only Reservoir Dodge, Grammy nominated and two-time Clapham Dodgeball league winners. It was like the Mighty Ducks vs. The Hawks. Or more realistically, like actual ducks trying to beat the Hawks now after they’ve had 21 years of practice at ice hockey. No, more like blindfolded actual ducks trying to beat the 21-year strong Hawks whilst being shot at with machine guns by their substitutes. Not a chance, mate.

Still, we had Greg, Kira and Tony back (who actually sacked off a money-making opportunity to attend) and Matt's toe shoes were nowhere in sight. The referee was late so another team's dodger had stepped up to help out and we were off! Aside from a comical fall over then line into our side by a Reservoir Dodger, and then a nothing-to-see-here backwards worm slither to his own half which we let slide because it was funny, it was an honest and well-fought first set.

Some outstanding catching from our opponents; they often dropped down with no warning and scooped up our best ankle shots. One particular strength in their team was a girl in long shorts who threw and caught amazingly, though was got out time and time again as she turned her back and bent to pick balls up. If she'd remembered to face forward, we wouldn't have stood a chance. The first set reached 2-2, and then a few nifty catches later, Reservoir Dodge were one set up.

Despite another set loss, we were pumped. Both teams were clearly having fun, were playing honestly and were enjoying the fact it was fairly close. Ben, Tony and Greg 1920s-danced their way slowly to the other side in time to the music and we readied ourselves for set 2.

'Put it all on black' yelled Tactics Greg, helpfully. The game began and he must have gone all BlackJack with a ‘Hit me! Hit me!’ as that seemed to happen a few times. After warning Abbie about the perils of the old easily-catchable netball chest pass, during the games where he wasn’t hit, Greg proceeded to follow suit (an unintentional card game reference) with a few ridiculous high balls. Kira just went for it throughout the game, consistently lobbing well aimed low balls to the opponents. Ben kept himself up front on the offensive quite admirably and along with Tony and Greg did some great leaping and diving. Resident statistician and teacher Ellie continued making some great cross court lobs at our opponents and got a fair few out. Abbie made a few catches, but as is now standard hadn’t quite worked out how to not get hit immediately after re-joining the team mid-game. Every time, Abbie!

We were 2-1 down in the second set, and the next game was make or break. Could the Jolly heroes claw a victory after weeks of defeat?

No. Of course they couldn’t. We lost the game without putting up even a hint of a fight. After a brief droop of our muscular shoulders, we resigned ourselves to our fate and resolved to drop the defensive and just bloody go for it. Second set also finished with a 2-3 result. We may have been defeated this time, but it was as close as it could have been.

We had nothing to lose and it seemed that’s when our best play came out. The third set began with laughter and kamikaze spirit. As mentioned in previous weeks (and presumably discussed behind my back by my teammates) I had yet to catch a Dodgeball since I began playing in September 2012. Not one. I think I told you; I’m a dodger, not a catcher (insert own Michael Jackson ‘The Girl is Mine’ spoken banter with Paul McCartney voice). But my time had come. It was fate. One by one my comrades fell and I found myself alone against four eager and ruthless reservoir Dodgers. The noise around me faded and all I could hear was my heartbeat. Guided by some inner genius I suddenly discovered my sixth sense. It was obvious. I just had to catch it. Bam! A ball hit the wall to my right. Wham! A ball shot by my left. Then with slow motion, my eyes locked onto a ball speeding towards me. I braced myself and closed my eyes. Whooomph! Silence fell. I staggered back. Regaining my balance, I opened my eyes and looked down in absolute shock to the dodgeball clutched in my arms. Yes. Victory!

I'm pretty sure a choir started singing 'Hallelujah' in the background as a teammate came back in as a result of my catch (presumably Tony, as he really is one of our best). A few more shots came towards me and with disbelief I caught another ball. I got it. I finally understood Dodgeball. Me and the balls were at one. Admittedly a ball then hit me in the hip and I had to slink off to the side, but that didn’t matter. We won the final set 3-2, and I caught another two balls in that time. We ended on a high and after we warmly thanked the Reservoir Dodge for bringing their best game, we headed to the reserved seating area at the Loft to discuss next week’s game. The ultimate grudge match against our friends ‘Balls Deep’ happened to also be on fancy dress night.

(We presume this was reserved for us and not a outrageously coincentally-named rival company, operating in the Clapham area on a Wednesday evening)

With a bonus point up for grabs for the fancy dress and a night of free drinks waged with Balls Deeps’ Santiago, this was truly going to be the match of the season. The preparation starts now.

League table: see here 

*See the end of this article for some official suspicion of this so-called science.

Week 2: Go Mammoth Circuits

Highlights:

• School electronic gates complete with Stephen Hawkins intercom
• Tyrone the instructor being the only man in the world to work the 3/4 length trouser over leggings look
• The it-must-be-worth-it muscle ache of not being able to get out of the bed normally for a week

Having sacked off my expensive gym membership, caught up in the heady delights of Dodgeball and with the seductively subtle marketing talk of Go Mammoth’s Fitness Manager James, Jolly Dodgerettes Abbie and I had enrolled on the Tuesday night Circuits class in Stockwell (this). Yes, you heard. 100% a good idea. Not one horror story of senior-school circuit training where you couldn’t even do one pull up and you got hit in the face by a medicine ball came to mind. Hello ripped abs and Amazonian strength; we look forward to meeting you.

With a full belly of carb-y pasta, last week (our first class) we hadn’t quite left ourselves enough time to get to the venue. It took us about five minutes to work out local parking, and then ten minutes to work out how to break into the school where the class was held. We eventually found a gate and were patched through an intercom system (with a Stephen Hawkins ‘You. Are. Now. Being. Transferred’ message) to the 24h receptionist (mental! Even my office isn’t manned beyond 5.30pm). After going through the electronic gates, we walked to the main block and signed in. If I’m honest, I was slightly disappointed that this wasn’t one of those schools that had metal detectors on entry. Bloody sensational media! Letting me think that all South London yoofs carried knives and wanted to stab me up so that they could join a gang called All Bout Money*, and schools were now just prisons and teachers over-qualified riot police. Ridiculous. If it’s not true in Stockwell, I don’t think it’s true anywhere.

So that week we arrived with mere tenths of a second before the class started, un-stretched and Abbie with a full bladder. Lesson learnt, Stockwell.

This week we arrived twenty minutes early, and raced over to the fitness studio block to prepare for the class. With the fishy smell of another 24h receptionist’s dinner lurking in the air, we stood lunging/stretching/chatting on the stairs until the Go Mammoth Boxfit class finished. An Australian teacher and classmate turned up and after a brief chat about Caitlin Moran, we watched in disbelief as in Mary Poppins bag/Tardis style, person after person left the studio in what seemed to number bodies well and truly beyond the room's capacity. Perhaps Boxfit was actually some sort of survival of the fittest fist fight for access to the limited amount of air in the studio?

Instructor Tyrone must have quickly swept the oxygen-deprived Go-Mammothers into the cupboard, because the floor was clear when we entered and the only evidence of the hunger games battle was a few open windows with survivors standing by, victoriously breathing in the fresh air.

This was only mine and Abbie’s second week of Circuits, as we’d signed up slightly late to the classes and had nervously joined on week 3 fearing that we’d enter a room full of committed triathletes and sports fanatics who would scoff at our pitiful attempts at a press-up and would have furthered the already gaping fitness gap with those two extra sessions under their maxi-muscle belts. But after an amazing workout, with an enthusiastic and carefree instructor (Ty) and friendly group of Go-Mammothers of varying fitness levels, we were well up for our second week, and the fourth official week.

There were a few less attendees than week 3 but given that our aches from that class had only just subsided (if this were an arrested development episode, it would flick to footage of me repeatedly attempting to lift myself into a sitting position in bed two mornings later, before having to roll onto my front and fall sideways onto the floor, and of Abbie having to be dressed by her boyfriend because she couldn’t get her arms to work) we presumed the muscles of others had put up better protests than our own and were imprisoning their eager-to-work-out bodies to comfy sofas and forcing them to watch bad TV. Tyrone gave us a high-five when Abbie announced her surprise that we’d made two classes in a row before we got down to business and started warming up.

The warm up was different from the previous week (when we’d used skipping ropes) and as the class progressed, we subtly noticed that the instructor had taken everything up a notch, forcing us to all push ourselves a little harder. He went through various circuits, each focussing on something different (be it power, biometrics, resistance or cardio) and being long enough to cause you a little pain, but short enough that you don’t start praying to God to KILL YOU NOW. As a small, insider tip, I found the easiest way to stay focussed was to count the number of repetitions you were doing, rather than spending the 1m work-out wondering how on earth life would ever be the same again and wondering if Tyrone needed the battery in his watch replaced because you’ve clearly been doing lunges from a bench for FIVE HOURS NOW ALREADY.

I won’t reveal the structure of the class, as one of the best parts of the first week was not knowing when the circuits were going to end, and the euphoric relief when Tyrone changed the pop music (which I say with absolute delight is not the sort of dance shi*e that you get at a spinning class) to some calmer numbers for a quick abdominal workout and the warm down.

We're by no means uber fit. Aside from Go Mammoth Dodgeball, Abbie cycles to Uni and I run home from work once a month. And so whilst effective and tough, we found the class in no way intimidating or suited only to the mega fit. The instructor is encouraging, without having to resort to aggressive TOUGH LOVE and doesn't bring group attention on you when you're struggling. In fact, it's such a personal work out and about individual effort that you can't focus on anything but trying to coordinate a press-up hand clap without falling on your face or fighting not to accidentally star-jump backwards into the wall. If you ever are struggling, Tyrone will just come and quietly do the moves next to you to keep you on pace, and when explaining the moves in each circuit, generously lets you ogle his strong, sculpted arm muscles and toned body do the moves for a few minutes without making you feel like a trench-coated man at a children’s playground.

*Note, ABM is actually a real gang, and gang culture amongst children is not something to joke about. I think Dappy and that Bloods and Crips documentary have taught us that.

Game 3: The Jolly Dodgers vs. The Dodger Moores

23rd January 2013

The team arrived full of optimism in Clapham last night. Greg was back from his vague work fieldtrip, and for the first time in Jolly Dodger history in some sort of snow-induced phenomenon, we had a substitute player. Seriously guys,  A SUBSTITUTE. Our opponents were the Dodger Moores, and we all took a moment to reluctantly agree that it was actually a pretty good name. Having dressed themselves in stripper-esque black bowtie against a bare-neck outfits thus far in the league, the Dodger Moores had taken it up a notch and were sporting some company sponsored tux t-shirts. Lined up like a shift of energetic waiters, their intimidating image was only slightly lessened by one male player’s short shorts (if you need visuals see here).

We looked on optimistically as the Dodger Moores took up the referee on her offer of rule explanation. Amateur first-game confusion on their part could only work in our favour. After utilising the referee for her fabulous photography skills and with the music pumping, the game began with the first of many unacknowledged false-starts over the course of the next 45 minutes. With some synchronised attacks from us, some synchronised ball drops by the other team and some invigorating tunes by the Clapham Leisure centre DJ, set one went 5-0 to yours truly.

After a tough game for the Jolly Dodgers 2.0 last week, without doubt we were back on top form. The shame, the horror and the anger all fuelling an onslaught not witnessed since the opening of the Jimmy Saville Abuse hotline. The Dodger Moores put up a worthy fight; one double-oh number (James) was the last-man standing in nearly all games throughout the match. His quick-like-a-cat spin to a sideways-on stance dodging tactic worked a treat, as well as his doubles-tennis-player-near-the-net crouch when left holding the dodge fort single-handedly. Embarrassingly, it had never occurred to us that a reduction of body surface area was a good approach to dodging! The rest of the team too threw themselves about with wild abandon, but time and time again, they found themselves pounded by a Jolly Dodger throw.

From our side, the sulking hero of last week Ellie provided fantastic distraction throughout the game with two horrendous dropping of balls whilst attempting to throw them, followed by a twirl and giggle as she ran away in embarrassment. Amazing, but seriously, twice in one game, Ellie (we need to talk about this).

It really was a week for the girls though. Alongside Ellie’s definitely (cough) deliberate flailing, Abbie made some superb catches, and Kira and I both caught and eliminated more players than ever before. Our female opponents also showed some strong skills and spirit. At one point, one of the Dodger Moorettes appeared to be crying. Abbie took the chance during a game reset to check she was ok and if we’d done anything to offend or hurt her (beyond our crushing Dodgeball play). Fortunately, it wasn’t our doing; her eyes were watering because one of her own players had elbowed her in the face. An accident we presume, rather than a brutal leadership style…

The Jolly Dodgers’ male players had a mixed game. Greg ‘No, seriously guys, WE NEED TO USE TACTICS’ Foot slammed the ball into the face of a girl with glasses (also an accident!), though immediately took himself off-court, visibly laden with guilt. Some great throwing by the rest of the lads though and Ben appeared to have 100% improvement on his dive and catch rate, leaving the game with bruises but also, finally, with eliminations under his belt. Bear Kemp Andy prowled behind Greg, awaiting ball provision to pelt the opponents with and Tony and Matt (without toe shoes) enjoyed the game and team spirit so much, they were actually happy to take their turns as subs. None of their usual frustrated-because-we’re-competitive-but-not-very-good-and-losing-ourageously attitude

We eventually reached the final games. A valiant team, the thrashed Dodger Moores continued to smile and charge at us on the whistle with a lion’s roar. To no avail, and I think during that game the Jolly Dodgers actually had a clean sweep of the balls at the start of the game. Just a little friendly advice Dodger Moores; too much roaring, not enough running.

Presumably to our opponents’ relief, the match finally ended. A 15-0 victory to the JD 2.0s. Then with probably the most sincere and heartfelt sportsmanship seen so far post-game, both sides shook hands and agreed it was one of the most entertaining and honest games we’d ever played. We followed up on this unifying game by heading to the Loft and asking to sit with the team. We spent the evening rubbing each others backs (and more…), talking about innovation and discussing fancy dress ideas for later in the season.

Dodgeball night in statistics (compiled by teacher/Dodgeball statistical analyst, Ellie):

·        Score: 15 v 0 to the Jolly Dodgers (epic)

·        Ellie’s contribution to score: 0

·        Boob shots suffered: 1

·        Face-shots: 2

·        Dropping the ball whilst actually trying to throw it: 2 by Ellie

·        Beers: too many to count

·        Inappropriate collective leg massages: 1

·        Former Channel 4 hit series Teachers cast members met: 1

·        Zombies met: 2 (volunteers for 2.8hours later: http://2.8hourslater.com/)

·        Enjoyment: 100%

Bring on game 4.

Game 2: The Jolly Dodgers vs. Dodgy Style

16th January, 2013

Battling their way through a Michael Fish-esque forecasted arctic storm (!), the Jolly Dodgers 2.0 easily made it to Clapham Leisure Centre for the early 7pm whistle. Defying all TFL delay warnings, they in fact arrived 20minutes early, allowing for a significant warm-up session. After discovering last week with relief that no other team had picked bright green for their team shirts, we finally committed the effort to complete the team strip, aiming to design a logo which would fulfil all appropriate categories (with the exception of comedy) and ideally take no longer than an episode of Miranda to create. After several hours of painful Photoshop tweaking, intricate cutting of transfer paper and green staining of the Bermondsey household’s table through Tony’s unsophisticated ironing technique, we were able to emerge with heads held high and a relevant (if barely adequate) team outfit. We hoped this was a two-fold victory; the skull and crossbones would surely intimidate our opposition to a state of petrified wimbling and by passing over T-shirt ownership to each player, we’d never EVER again have to wash the entire team’s sweaty gear. Abbie – we’re all sorry and utterly grateful that this responsibility fell to you.

We were ready – no – more than ready to face Dodgy Style, a team we presume were named to celebrate one of their players I-finally-feel-like-I’m-winning-at-life successful mash up attempt of 90’s classic ‘Good Enough’ with Psy’s 2012 hit. The Jolly Dodgers had a slightly different structure this week with ‘what do you actually do?’ Greg Foot living up to his name-tag by being absent on suspiciously vague work grounds. Back from Canada, 4-season strong Kira returned to the fold, hardened by the North American weather and invigorated by her first visit home in 18months. After fearing that Matt would be absent because of a ‘work dinner’ he turned up dressed in his finest toe trainers. Yeah, we’re talking these hobbit-like bad-boys http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vibram_FiveFingers. How could we lose with that technology to support us?

We recognised a few of Dodgy Style from last season: Kwai, a threatening, basketball-player like opponent and a girl (whose name I don’t know) with an unusual, but effective side-lobbing throwing style. Both were good, and we knew it was going to be tough game.

And so it began with a 3-2-1 FWEEEEEE (that’s the whistle) from the new referee. The first set was intense and closely fought. In one game, down to two vs. two, Kira was unluckily clipped on the ankle just as the whistle blew, bringing the score to 1-2. In the next game, controversy struck! Ellie received a shot to the back of her head (which was positioned at usual head level) that seemed clear to both us and the referee to be an illegal shot (it was obviously accidental, but still illegal), only to discover our opponents felt hard-done by this decision. A short while later the game ended, with the Jolly Dodgers 2.0 on top. Assuming victory of the game, we retreated to our wall for the final game and stood perplexed as there appeared to be some heated conversation between Dodgy Style and the referee. We’re still not quite sure what the actual argument was (does the back of the head not count as the head?), as when making efforts to discuss, Dodgy Style dismissed our interest and angrily (and ‘generously’) allowed us the game...

Possibly with the exception of Tony, the Jolly Dodgers 2.0 are a relatively uncompetitive team. It’s just a bit of a funny game, isn’t it? You can’t be that competitive when you’re the only person left against a full-side and you find yourself leaping about like a camp lord (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louie_Spence) in the hope that you’ll at least finish the certain-defeat game with some semblance of pride. And we understand that in the heat of the game (which started so closely contested) individual decisions can wind you up slightly, but we were slightly putout by the hostility that this one verdict created. We hadn’t even pressed for the accidental head-shooter to be eliminated, which the Go Mammoth website rules declare was in our right (though this was mainly because we didn’t know about this rule until I just looked it up two minutes ago…)

With childish pride, we can announce that centre-of-controversy Ellie, a primary school teacher from Tooting, responded with equal hostility at what she perceived as un-sportsmanlike, overly-serious conduct (despite my battle terminology of last week, it’s Dodgeball in Clapham not war in the Middle East). In a move presumably learned from her six year old students, she initially refused to continue with the game and then once convinced to rejoin, sulkily lurked at the back of the pitch with a strong level of disinterest, slowly moving out of the way of Dodgeballs. The first set justly went in favour of Dodgy Style, though Ellie staying in until the end, with the other team not realising she was playing at one point due to her deliberate, nonchalant lean against the back wall, felt like a small victory for the downbeat Jolly heroes.

Set two began and perhaps the energising anger of Dodgy Style and the result of 20minutes intense and excessive warming up/pre-game throwing by the Jolly Dodgers 2.0, led to a brutal 5-0 win for the opposition. Their system of substitution was well done, and their team-wide strong throwing meant that most Dodgeballs bounced back to them without interference, allowing for a consistent offensive. No need to say any more about this set.

Aware that we had already lost the game, the Jolly Dodgers 2.0 threw ourselves into set three with abandon. Literally. We all watched in delighted slow motion as just after dealing a front-line throw, Tony dropped into a press-up to avoid an incoming ball and were devastated when it just clipped the back of his ankle. Ben leapt about like a voodoo masked tribesman dancing around a fire and Andy again appeared confused with one or two of the rules. Ellie impressed us as she caught several of fearsome Kwai’s throws and despite a severe case of tendonitis, Abbie proved a solid team mate. With regret though, I must note that Matt’s toe-shoes didn’t seem to improve his game at all. He definitely shouldn’t be embarrassed about wearing them though. Definitely.

As the assault continued, the Jolly Dodgers accepted their crushing defeat with laughter and continued whooping and we hope Dodgy Style’s improved mood was also due to the enjoyment of the game! No hard feelings, and what a team to find yourself up against.

The loft after for commiseration drinks with mutual losers Balls Deep.