Not to be confused with the bitches of broomball (edit: I have no clue what this means), here’s a past post, recounting the dangers of broomball from March 03

So last night was a rather fortuitous evening. I found myself laying face down, my arms and legs bound, a girl biting my back while a man probed his fingers into the darkest sweatiest part of my body. All the while people fighting to get ahold of the two balls that were so close to me, and yet so very far.

My first night at a strange goth S&M club or the first and last Boys 2 Men concert Ill ever go to…

Neither actually… something far more sinister. It was… BROOMBALL. That’s right ladies and Germs, and you’ll be happy to know that North Dorm yet again conquered the horrific mobs that made up West dorm. Which makes it a sweep for my “college life”. There were so many good highlights. One of my favorites was a stray ball catching some kid in the face and inverting him. The kid literally left his feet.

My own battle scars are significantly less manly. They aren’t the scars you show off that get you the ladies. They are the ones you akwardly have to explain in the bedroom.

Battle #1 – (Tiny Tim Turns Twenty) Down by the Westies evil dorm I had attacked one of the ‘scrum’s in an attempt to get the ball. As usually such an attack proved fruitful. Within short moments I had my arms wrapped around some small nerds head and was willing to twist it off like a grape, and this morphed into my ability to grasp onto the ball. Then again, as usually. I found myself the subject of many screaming crazed men’s groping. Not unlike what it would be like for Brad Pit to fall into the GLAD parade while coated in gold, chocolate syrup, and glitter. Everyone wanted my ball. I was ready for that however. I was ready for the hands prying at my arms. For the headbutts, for the guy grinding his chin into my spine. Those were the methods of war. They were sanctioned by the Geneva convention. I was a little worried however when I heard the sound of a girls voice from behind me cry out “Give him a wedgie… somebody do something”. It was a crazed maddened cry as if she had found out I had just told her I was canceling Will and Grace, 90210, and I clubbed a baby seal. It was a matriarchal battle cry. And it chilled me to my bones. One can’t be too terrible concerned with their clothing, my shirt was being pulled up by the mobs of angry peasants. Luckily I wore a belt to keep my pants on. This only exposed part of my back, and my belly, both of which, I assumed, if anything, would deter would be grabbers. What I did not, apparently, consider. Was the possibility that this feral-hearted dark mistress of vile bile would instead choose to see my exposed fleshy back as, not a piece of human flesh, but rather a medium well cooked slab of Fillet Mignon. I can find no other reason in my logic that she would choose to latch her filthy mandibles on my lower back. The bite STILL hurts from where her teeth tugged at my flesh as I simply let out a cry. I believe my choice of words was “WHO THE FUCK IS BITING ME?” I will never know. I will also never know if the chick had rabies, or scabies, or oral syphilis. I do however know that she like bruised a muscle in my back with her teeth. And for that she earns “MAD PROPS”

Battle #2 – (The Battle of Gender Bender Hill) The scene begins much the same as the others. My hands wrapped around the ball, this time attempting to pass it, in the scrum, to a teammate. However there were too many badies clinging to me, so I had to yet again cling to the ball for dear life. With the pain of my back wound throbbing I gritted my teeth, determined to not give up the ball. I did not notice ‘it’ at first. It being the fingers that had been inserted into my armpit. I have no better way to describe what was happening to me then to tell you I looked over my shoulder and saw a guy with a goatee/mustache thing who was roughly fingering my armpit. It was, and shall probably always be, one of the most disturbing feelings of my life. Not only that, but the look of sheer determination on his face was one akin to 16 year old virgin’s their first night with a girl in their mom’s bedroom while she’s away on a business trip. I let go almost immediately of the ball and curled into the fetal position, wanting nothing more than for my life to simply end.

Battle #3 – (Nathan becomes a Martyr) The bite was my most painful injury, but this follows a close second. I found myself yet again atop the ball (you’d think I would have learned). Slowly the teaming masses pulled one of my hands from its Vadar-like death-clutch around the ball. I still held fast with my right hand despite someone pinning my left arm beneath them. Then when my right arm began to be torn free. I simply stuffed the ball under my belly, and used my rock hard abs to pin the ball to my ice. I noticed at this point the rather unpleasant feeling of both of my arms being stretched to the sides as they were pinned under this army of fleshy Kobolds. I fought valiantly but eventually my entrails, er… the ball, was torn from me. I sighed and picked my self up. I should correct that. I tried to pick myself up. But my arms were pinned to the ice. I frowned and began to pull my legs up beneath me. I should correct that too. I tried to pull my legs beneath me, but found them pinned as well. As I began to contemplate this ponderous occurrence I felt the weight of a bunch of sweaty assholes collapse on top of me. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem as I could wriggle free. Instead however my face just got mashed into the ice. I believe I made a comment here about being crucified alive. Yet the battle raged on atop me. I felt like one of the guys at the Great White concert must have felt as he was being trampled alive… pretty fucking shitty. But unlike those who have terrible music tastes, I eventually escaped unscathed, North scored yet again. We won the game 6 to 0, and the forces of evil were shut down.

As a side note one of the West kids was sacrificed after the game and we let the gory ichor of his blood spill across the ice as a thanks to the dark gods for letting us wage our war.