I’m a firm believer in the unifying powers of a good game. You can’t beat that surge of adrenaline and camaraderie that accompanies a rousing round of Pictionary and the toe-curling thrill that every painstakingly organized game of mafia creates. I have a special place in my heart, however, for backyard games.
A lifetime of sweet suburban living has made me something of an aficionado when it comes to these pastimes, and I take pride in my discerning taste in rollicking-good backyard fun. I love the games that turn you into a sweaty gnat magnet, with grass stained knees and twigs in your hair. Capture the flag, sardines (a kind of reverse hide-and-go-seek) and red rover have always been crowd pleasers, but the hands-down best backyard game I’ve ever played is one that I actually had a hand in creating: way-high-up ball.
The concept is a simple one, devised years and years ago on afternoons when my siblings and I were sent outside to expend some extra energy after church. You’ll need a small ball with a little bounce (the Nortons are partial to a ladybug-shaped ball that little Elizabeth got in an Easter basket one year, but a tennis ball does just fine) and wide grassy space (grass is clutch because it offers the only padding available in this game). You play by throwing the ball “way high up” into the air, and then fight, literally tooth and nail, to retrieve it before anyone else does.
All forms of subversion and distraction of opponents are encouraged, though brute force and dirty fighting are the most common (and fun) methods of play. The one rule is that once someone has managed to capture the ball, hands off, for real. The biting, tackling, kicking and punching must cease so that the whole process can begin again. Inextricably linked with July dusk, corn on the cob, and humongous red mosquito bites, this game inevitably finds you scrambling under overturned boats in dewy grass, or running away from your older brother so fast that you crash into the bushes at the far end of the lawn.
This sounds dangerous, and that’s because it is. I’ve seen faces stepped on, toes broken, and my little sister at the bottom of a human pile-up five college students deep. I’ve even been known to draw blood from particularly feisty opponents. However, it’s hard not to go back for more. The thrill of risking serious injury and permanent physical damage in your own back yard has the potential to bring people together in a big way. It’s the kind of game that was once able to turn the awkward kids of your parents’ friends into your best buddies by the end of the night, and that is still fun once you’ve moved out of your parents’ house.
It sounds unlikely, but I know of few better ways to quickly get comfortable with someone than by yanking her hair or by taking him out at the knees in order to get at a little rubber ball. Throughout the years, way-high-up ball has given me the excuse to leap onto the backs of various attractive boys under the guise of competitive play. Slide tackles and kidney punches are way better than awkward getting-to-know-you conversations because they leave you with a handy shared experience to talk about: pain.
