CONFESSIONS OF A WARBALL SADIST

Memories of my youthful indiscretions, give me fitful, sleepless nights filled with bitter remorse. But the first step to recovery is reflective confession, so it is here in this blog that I choose to admit to the world this unsightly fact: I am a recovering Warball Sadist.

(One former victim pictured here)

Yes friends, I strode the gymnasium like an executioner, preying on the meek and the helpless. My victims could have been your friends, your brothers or sisters, your beloved paramour. I relished my role as judge, jury and executioner as I hurled the ball with such velocity I could send the weakest, meekest 6th grader to the nurses office in a torrent of sorrow and tears. I was at the top of my game and the world was my oyster. Only pain and humiliation awaited by foes.

Pick sides, it didn't matter. Anyone across that black centerline was finished before they touched the red, rubber gym ball. Attempt to hit me and I would catch their pathetic, girlish stroke. Attempt to avoid me and it would go harder. I would start with the weakest, the sickest, and the most downtrodden. I would cut them out of the herd with throws so lightning quick that some scarcely saw it coming. Once hit, the fallen would slink, head down to the side of the gym to wait, until I was finished and a new game would begin. Those with glasses were my favorite victims. Head-shots were my favorite cruel, punishment.

Yea friends, I have seen the error of my ways. I was a ruthless bully, the play-yard bruiser everyone silently loathed and feared. Befriended only by the Wormtongues of the school my lot was a lonely, brutish existence where catching the ball and throwing ball gave me hollow victories based on pure, bloody carnage.

For those of you I left sprawling on the hard gym floor I ask forgiveness. For those whose horn-rimmed glasses I have crushed, I plead for clemency. I am a changed man. Let this be a cautionary tale, for the sunset of my youth has come and I have retired from the elementary school gym many harvests ago. But my kind still lurks, hunting your children and grandchildren in a never-ending ballet of disaster. Prey for the children, and for the Warball sadist who hunts them. As for me I make this vow: I shall warball no more forever. Peace be with you always.