Beersbee

I've never been a fan of outdoor games. Watching or playing. I'm sure it's a direct result of growing up watching my Dad and his brothers play games. Horseshoes? Whose bright idea was that? My Dad and Uncles were carpenters. Decades of swinging hammers, hauling wood, lifting houses up over their heads...I might be exaggerating...these men developed behemoth sized biceps of epic proportion! And I'm supposed to stand idly by while they throw pieces of iron? That's messed up! It didn't matter where I stood because invariably one of those horseshoes would flip out of the pit and start hurtling toward me like a missile. A Jennifer seeking missile. Volleyball? I watched my sister, a jock who thought outdoor games were fun, get squashed like a pancake between two of my Uncles. I swear her nose has never been the same. Croquet? Jarts!?? No thanks. Not for me. 

That's how I felt until my friends brought out the Beersbee game. You throw a frisbee at a pole with a bottle on top of it. If you knock the opposing teams bottle off, you get a point. If you catch the frisbee when they throw it at your pole they don't get a point. Simple enough. I can catch a frisbee. Why not? Because outdoor games lead to trips to the ER, that's why not! 

I've never been competitive or sporty but I was an animal out there. I dove for the Frisbee. Dove and rolled and caught it! If you knew me you'd know how out of character that is for me. In high school I actually failed gym. With a big fat F. But suddenly in my mid forties, in my friend's yard, my competitive gene kicked in and I had to catch that Frisbee! At all costs! I'm not sure exactly when I injured my finger but by the end of the tournament I couldn't close my hand. My team came in second and I did indeed end up in the ER. Torn ligament...sigh.