Dodgeball Quotes

Now, I figured that the built-up gas in most boys' locker rooms was enough to cause an explosion, so I wasn't surprised when the flaming dodgeball ignited a huge WHOOOOOOOM!

I Play Dodgeball with Cannibals (Chapter 2)

..when the first rubber ball smacked her in the head and made her brains rattle in her skull, she knew that something about this dodgeball game was different

I've never liked the word team. I've always equated it with being picked last and getting nailed in the groin with a dodgeball.

You knocked out Ben McCrary?' he asked, eyes wide. 'It was an accident,' I said again. 'I threw the ball harder than I meant to.' Dex burst into laughter. 'Oh my God, that is the greatest thing I've heard all week. You are my new hero.' Squinting at me, he leaned in and said, 'Serious, I might actually be in love with you now. Would it be awkward if we made out?

You can stay home,” V muttered. “You really can totally f-in’ stay the f home, you f’ed-up mother-f’ing f-twit.” Lassiter clasped his breastplate, and swooned like Julie Andrews. “Don’t you love it when he can’t swear? Warms my cockles—it’s like watching a drunk on roller skates try to play dodgeball in the dark—

I'm not sure who invented dodgeball, but I can almost guarantee you that it wasn't the shortest kid in the class.

Squeak sq-squeak sq-squeak: fifty tennis shoes jumping and skipping against the waxed wood floor. Dodgeball. Perfect. It smells like the armpits of Satan in here.

When something is thrown at someone, why do people shout, "Duck!"? I'll tell you why. It's because SwimmingFlying Birds are the world's greatest dodgeball players, and their name is synonymous with the quick athletic reflex needed to avoid getting hit.

Diana looked doubtful. “Most philosophers agree that mind and body must be in accord.” “Is that like four out of five dentists?” Alia asked. Besides, she doubted most philosophers ever had to play dodgeball in the Bennett Academy gym.

Before playing dodgeball, eat a package of Not Getting Hit. Now available in Duck Soup Flavor!

I PLAY DODGEBALL WITH CANNIBALS

In the meantime, we’re in a kind of compulsory dodgeball game as we free-fall from Wherever to Ain’t Got A Clue.

Victory will be ours!roared Joe Bob the Cannibal. "We will feast on your bones!" I wanted to tell him he was taking the dodgeball game way too seriously,but before I could,he hefted another ball.

Why aren’t boys more engaged in school? According to Sommers, “schools today tend to be run by women for girls. Classrooms can be hostile environments for boys. They like action, competition and adventure stories. Those are not in favor. Games like tag and dodge-ball are out; tug of war has become tug of peace, and male heroes have been replaced by Girl Power.

The truth is that I've never cared anything about sports. In PE, I do my best to get hit with the dodgeball on the first throw so I can sit out and read instead of play. I'd rather eat a hot dog at a baseball game than play baseball. I'd rather paint a soccer ball than kick one. I don't mind running, but only if I'm running toward something wonderful. I don't see the point in running away from anything, ever. But tree climbing is different. Tree climbing is natural and easy and I'm pretty sure I could climb for hours and never get tired. Mama says it's the mountain girl in me. She says mountain girls climb trees and fences and anything else that gets us closer to the stars.

The truth is that I've never cared anything about sports. In PE, I do my best to get hit with the dodgeball on the first throw so I can sit out and read instead of play. I'd rather eat a hot dog at a baseball game than play baseball. I'd rather paint a soccer ball than kick one. I don't mind running, but only if I'm running towards something wonderful. i don't see the point in running away from anything, ever." -Felicity Pickle

A firefly is flying fire, but is a butterfly flying butter? At least ducks are The World Dodgeball Champions, so they live up to their name.

I’m pretty sure dodgeball was invented by some gym teacher who hated kids and just wanted an excuse to throw things at them.

But now the Boy Gender has lost another battle in its age-old war with camp counselors, phys ed teachers, lawyers, and moms. In school district after school district, dodgeball has been banned.

A zebra is the piano of the animal kingdom, and now you can learn to play like Mozart on horseback. If I can coach my ducks to become World Dodgeball Champions, I can make your musical equestrian dreams a reality.

The tracks ran past Murwood Elementary in Walnut Creek, and at recess the kids, hearing a rumble and feeling the ground vibrate, stopped their hopscotch or dodgeball and waved at the passing crews, receiving a horn blow in reply.

Like a lot of gym teachers, Coach Babcock loved to torture his students. He felt he had failed as a teacher if his students didn't cry out for mercy. He often bragged that he held the school district's record for causing the most hysterical breakdowns in one afternoon. He used such classic forms of torture as weight training, wrestling, long-distance running, rope climing, wind spirits, chin-ups, and the occasional game of wet dodgeball (the wet ball was superloud when it hit a kid, and it left a huge red welt). But his favorite device of torment was so horrible, so truly evil, that it would drive most children to the brink of madness. It was the square dance. For six weeks of the school year, his students suffered through the Star Promenade, the Slip the Clutch, and the Ferris Wheel. As Babcock saw it, square dancing was the most embarrassing and uncomfortable form of dancing ever created, and a perfect way to prepare his students for the crushing heartbreak of life. Square dancing was a metaphor for like- you got swung around and just when you thought you were free, you got dragged back into the dance. He really thought he was doing the kids a favor.

We have come a long way to arrive at an age in which one-pound preemies are rescued with heroic surgery, children are not expected to be economically productive until their fourth decade, and violence against children has been defined down to dodgeball.

Zero Hour grew out of Naperville District 203’s unique approach to physical education, which has gained national attention and become the model for a type of gym class that I suspect would be unrecognizable to any adult reading this. No getting nailed in dodgeball, no flunking for not showering, no living in fear of being the last kid picked. The essence of physical education in Naperville 203 is teaching fitness instead of sports. The underlying philosophy is that if physical education class can be used to instruct kids how to monitor and maintain their own health and fitness, then the lessons they learn will serve them for life. And probably a longer and happier life at that. What’s being taught, really, is a lifestyle.

In May 2002, the principal of Franklin Elementary School in Santa Monica, California, sent a newsletter to parents informing them that children could no longer play tag during the lunch recess. As she explained, “The running part of this activity is healthy and encouraged; however, in this game there is a ‘victim’ or ‘it,’ which creates a self-esteem issue.”4 School districts in Texas, Maryland, New York, and Virginia “have banned, limited, or discouraged” dodgeball.5 “Any time you throw an object at somebody,” said an elementary school coach in Cambridge, Massachusetts, “it creates an environment of retaliation and resentment.”6 Coaches who permit children to play dodgeball “should be fired immediately,” according to the physical education chairman at Central High School in Naperville, Illinois.7

The popular girls would never acknowledge that I was destined for respect and high status, so I was happy to go, “Screw those chicks!” and become the leader of the class misfits. Albino boy? Girl with lisp? The “slow one”? Join my gang! We’ll show the cute bow-girls how much more fun it is to play dodgeball when you’re not worried about that expensive outfit that makes you look all rich and adorable! (Not that I was jealous.)

ACEs instead of obesity, exercise and nutrition would still have been an important part of that. It wasn’t our initial intention to treat our patients’ toxic stress with dodgeball and cooking classes, but we were pleasantly surprised to see how much the kids improved when we added healthy diet and exercise incentives to therapy. I sat down to check in with the moms and grandmas each week, and they reported that when they changed their children’s diet and their levels of exercise went up, the kids slept better and felt healthier, and in many cases, their behavioral issues

In every era, the way people raise their children is a window into their conception of human nature. When parents believed in children’s innate depravity, they beat them when they sneezed; when they believed in innate innocence, they banned the game of dodgeball. The other day when I was riding on my bicycle, I was reminded of the latest fashion in human nature when I passed a mother and her two preschoolers strolling on the side of the road. One was fussing and crying, and the other was being admonished by his mother. As I overtook the trio, I heard a stern Mommy voice enunciating one word: “EMPATHY!

People usually live up to their expectations. The kid picked first for dodgeball feels a duty to be the best, and to perform the best, and to be better than anyone else. They feel a need to execute. And, the only way they are going to achieve that is to make their body run faster, jump higher, and move quicker. If more fat kids were chosen first for activities and sports and group/team dynamics, they would automatically start to change their lives to fit into the expectations that surround those moments. Any time a child is picked last, they know it’s because people expect the least of them, and so they never actually have a need to rise above that.

Do you guys ever feel like you're locked inside a car that's moving really fast? "What kinda car?" Chris asks. Like a fucking red Monte Carlo with a black racing stripe cutting through the middle of it, and there's some superintense Fantomas shit jolting from the car speakers, like Mike Patton and Buzz Osbourne just completely losing it, but no steering wheel. The car doesn't have one. And the car is so out of control, right? It's swerving all over the road, and you're crying, pounding your fists against the window trying to jump out of it, trying to bail from it, and then all of these people start popping up on the road, like your parents and your sister and your friends, and the car is playing human dodgeball with them. It's trying to not run anyone over, but it's not slowing down, either, and then some junkie babe pops up in the middle of the road and the car destroys her, leaving her mangled body in its burnt rubber path, and then it keeps on going and going even though it can't maintain anything close to the same speed.

One of the few perks of the shit so monumentally hitting the fan is you discover who your real tribe is. It’s the only way through. So make sure you find yours, Kit.” “Okay,” I say, and start assembling my team in my head. I think back to middle school, when we’d have to pick players for dodgeball in gym. David was always chosen last. I imagine him standing there, looking two feet above everyone else’s heads, his hands flapping at his sides—something he still does occasionally, though I’m not sure he realizes it—and I want to go back in time and hug him, whisper in his ear that he can come stand by me. Tell him if he gets tired of flapping, he can hold my hand instead. “I very much hope you’ll consider including me,” my mom says in her quietest voice, and I realize this is the closest someone like my mother gets to begging. When I don’t immediately respond, she says, “At the very least, hashtag squad goals.” I laugh. My mom loves to try to talk like a teenager. A few weeks ago, I overheard her on the phone complaining about how she was tired of adulting and the last time we watched a romantic comedy together, she wanted to ship all the secondary characters. “Yeah, we can work on that,” I say, and realize just how much I’ve missed my mom recently. How I can’t make it through without her. That there will always be room in my tribe

• I Play Dodgeball with Cannibals

1. You CHEATED to WIN the avant-garde art competition!! 2. You totally RUINED my birthday party by SABOTAGING the chocolate fountain!! 3. You competed in the TALENT SHOW and landed a RECORD DEAL even though your application was INCOMPLETE (like, WHO names their band Actually, I’m Not Really Sure Yet?)!! 4. You WON the “Holiday on Ice” show, and EVERYBODY knows that you CAN’T ice-skate! 5. You TOILET-PAPERED my house!!!! 6. You tricked me into DIGGING through a DUMPSTER filled with GARBAGE in my designer dress at the Sweetheart Dance! 7. You actually KISSED my FBF (future boyfriend), BRANDON!! 8. You pretended to be seriously HURT during dodgeball so that I would get DETENTION (which, BTW, could totally RUIN my chances of getting into an Ivy League university)! 9. You put a nasty STINK BUG in my hair!! And the HORRIBLE THING that I just found out TODAY . . . 10. You’ve completely RUINED my reputation and HUMILIATED me, because now the ENTIRE school is passing around that AWFUL video of me having a meltdown about the bug that YOU put in my hair.

dodgeball

It used to be easy. We would fight about the dumbest things—who got to be which monster truck when we were playing in my bedroom in the first grade, why he got me out in dodgeball, who was faster at the mile. A quick and simple sorry had always fixed it, sometimes with an awkward shoulder pat-hug if it was really bad. But I don’t know how to fix the real things.

Maybe we can arrange a company game of dodgeball, and I can chuck something at his face.

Okay, seriously? Has everyone known who the hell you really were but me? I feel like the kid who was chosen last for dodgeball in school…

if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball.

Don’t play with the humans. Until you’re ready to eat them. They’re easily traumatized, which sours the meat.” They also bruised like peaches. It was why she wasn’t allowed to play dodgeball once she hit puberty. Cry babies. Dexter

Growing up, there were two small letters that sent chills down my spine: PE. Physical Education class was the bane of my awkward, prepubescent existence. The moment I walked into the musky locker room to change, my heart would start to pound. As I surreptitiously tried to change without flashing an inch of skin (sometimes even wearing a second bra as insurance) I would desperately search for any excuse to escape the daily drills and dodgeball games. Paper cut? Haircut? Apocalypse? I tried them all. Looking back, I realize I liked playing outside. What I really dreaded was the moment my coach said, “Line up, let’s pick teams!” Inevitably, the two jockiest kids were assigned as team captains, and then I spent an agonizing few minutes watching them go through my entire class before picking me or my fellow nonathletically inclined buddy, Smelly Matthew. Then one day, my elementary school social life changed. Our coach decided to allow the new girl to be team captain. She had just transferred from a nearby school and didn’t know anyone. In one of the greatest moments in PE history, she picked me first! I was so excited that I ran over to her and then held her hand while she picked the rest of our team. I think we lost in soccer that day, but I was on top of the world. After the game I asked her why she picked me. And then she said one of the greatest things anyone has ever said to me, “I wanted to get to know you.

Okay, dodgeball eighties vampires have to be the weirdest.

I’ll take her thinking I’m good in bed over being good at paint dodgeball any day of the week.

You should block an attack, not get out of the way! This isn’t dodgeball,

If you think of life as a game of dodgeball, Agility is about learning to stay light on your feet and think about what you want to do with all those balls flying at you. In the short term, it can feel easier to duck and avoid them or be more satisfying to throw a ball back even harder, but sometimes the right choice is to call for a time out.

Like my Dad, the gym teacher thought it would toughen us up. I actually think the gym teacher found out that Mutant was not in school today, and that’s why he wanted to try Dodge ball again. We had to play dodgeball . . . again! Me, Skelee, Slimey and Creepy were picked last…again.

His eye started twitching when I told him I’m very good at dodgeball and promised to duck if I saw a cold coming my way....

Not again. The town seemed to hate the idea that I was happily unattached. They'd been throwing single men at me for the last four years and I'd been ducking them like an adolescent kid playing dodgeball.

His eye started twitching when I told him I’m very good at dodgeball and promised to duck if I saw a cold coming my way.

Now, I figured that the built-up gas in most boys’ locker rooms was enough to cause an explosion, so I wasn’t surprised when the flaming dodgeball ignited a huge WHOOOOOOOM!

You pretended to be seriously HURT during dodgeball so that I would get DETENTION (which, BTW, could totally RUIN my chances of getting into an Ivy League university)!