So now there’s a Canadian study that says dodgeball is “a tool of oppression used to dehumanize others”
and shouldn’t be played in Physical Education classes.*
and shouldn’t be played in Physical Education classes.*
Is it, though? How is it different than, oh, I don’t know, football or boxing or wrestling? I abhor
dehumanization and oppression as much as the next person, but dodgeball was my salvation in PE class.
dehumanization and oppression as much as the next person, but dodgeball was my salvation in PE class.
I may not be able to tell you what I had for dinner last week, but I do vividly remember high school
PE classes. Like it was yesterday. Let’s just say it wasn’t my best subject, and would in fact have
been my worst if not for a little thing called Math.
PE classes. Like it was yesterday. Let’s just say it wasn’t my best subject, and would in fact have
been my worst if not for a little thing called Math.
I was clumsy. Much later, as an adult, I took a test that verified that I had absolutely no inherent
eye-hand-foot coordination, but as a teenager, we all just knew I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other
without tripping.
eye-hand-foot coordination, but as a teenager, we all just knew I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other
without tripping.
I was slow. I much preferred Hide ‘n Seek to Tag as a child playing with the other kids in the neighborhood.
You’ve heard the old saying, “You can run but you cannot hide?” Well, they didn’t know me. I could hide
but I could not run.
You’ve heard the old saying, “You can run but you cannot hide?” Well, they didn’t know me. I could hide
but I could not run.
I lacked any semblance of a competitive spirit. I didn’t care if I won or not, in athletics or anywhere else.
I was happy if everyone did well.
I was happy if everyone did well.
So, generally I hated almost everything about PE class. The actual activities - you know, sports-like things.
The gym with its unfinished roof that dropped asbestos on our young heads. The ugly gym uniforms.
Having to play on teams. I didn’t mind being chosen last for a team (which I often was) because honestly
I understood. I would have chosen me last too if I were the team “captain” (which I never was). My fantasy
was to not to have to play on the team at all.
The gym with its unfinished roof that dropped asbestos on our young heads. The ugly gym uniforms.
Having to play on teams. I didn’t mind being chosen last for a team (which I often was) because honestly
I understood. I would have chosen me last too if I were the team “captain” (which I never was). My fantasy
was to not to have to play on the team at all.
The only thing I actually liked about PE class was my teacher. Mr. Ralph Compagnone was a great guy,
and a hell of a basketball coach, taking the team to states a few times. Despite my total lack of skill or
interest in his subject, Mr. C. liked me. He teased me a lot, but it was all in good fun. I’d been bullied,
and I knew the difference between bullying and friendly ribbing.
and a hell of a basketball coach, taking the team to states a few times. Despite my total lack of skill or
interest in his subject, Mr. C. liked me. He teased me a lot, but it was all in good fun. I’d been bullied,
and I knew the difference between bullying and friendly ribbing.
Recognizing that I wasn’t an athlete, he celebrated any little win that I made in class. Once we had to put
together an exercise routine, and lead the class through it. I put together what in my humble opinion was
a pretty kick-ass routine to Carole King’s “I Feel the Earth Move.” When I finished, Mr. C. was
uncharacteristically quiet for a minute, then said, clearly surprised, “That was very good,” then quickly
added, “and...you are the only person I know who can project your voice throughout the whole room while
lying flat on your back.” I am sure that was a compliment.
together an exercise routine, and lead the class through it. I put together what in my humble opinion was
a pretty kick-ass routine to Carole King’s “I Feel the Earth Move.” When I finished, Mr. C. was
uncharacteristically quiet for a minute, then said, clearly surprised, “That was very good,” then quickly
added, “and...you are the only person I know who can project your voice throughout the whole room while
lying flat on your back.” I am sure that was a compliment.
Mostly though, Mr. C. has us play kickball and dodgeball in class. Kickball favored coordinated people
who could run, so it wasn’t exactly my sport, but it was better than softball where you had to hit a ball
with a bat. I could sometimes kick the ball, although Mr. C. said that I was the only person he knew who
could strike out in kickball. Maybe that’s why he liked me - I was unlike any other student he had ever seen.
who could run, so it wasn’t exactly my sport, but it was better than softball where you had to hit a ball
with a bat. I could sometimes kick the ball, although Mr. C. said that I was the only person he knew who
could strike out in kickball. Maybe that’s why he liked me - I was unlike any other student he had ever seen.
Oh, but dodgeball? Dodgeball was my favorite. In case you are unfamiliar with the game the goal is to
throw a ball at each other. When you get hit by the ball, you are out. The last person standing is the
winner.
throw a ball at each other. When you get hit by the ball, you are out. The last person standing is the
winner.
Because I was a better academic than I was an athlete, it didn’t take me long to figure out that once I was
hit by the ball, I no longer had to play the game. So then I put a strategy into place. I purposely put
myself in line with that ball so that I would be the second or third person out. Never the first - that
would be too obvious - but neither my classmates nor Mr. C. would doubt that I was too slow to do
well in dodgeball. Once “out,” I sat in the bleachers and watched the rest of them running around
trying to hit each other with a ball.
hit by the ball, I no longer had to play the game. So then I put a strategy into place. I purposely put
myself in line with that ball so that I would be the second or third person out. Never the first - that
would be too obvious - but neither my classmates nor Mr. C. would doubt that I was too slow to do
well in dodgeball. Once “out,” I sat in the bleachers and watched the rest of them running around
trying to hit each other with a ball.
It was kind of like The Hunger Games without any actual death.
*
https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/2019/06/07/dodgeball-is-tool-oppression-used-dehumanize-others-
researchers-argue/?fbclid=IwAR1zZWlm29jeqnYOzZD94kDoPRvigSkYeIVV0kZT6fFkxxDKxJmZc2pqXLk&
amp;utm_term=.5f5e97072336
researchers-argue/?fbclid=IwAR1zZWlm29jeqnYOzZD94kDoPRvigSkYeIVV0kZT6fFkxxDKxJmZc2pqXLk&
amp;utm_term=.5f5e97072336
