This story appeared in L.A. Times on July 14, 2005.
While most of my feature stories are written in the first person, this is a traditional third-person feature story.

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The Pregnant Cheerleaders didn't deliver, Ace of Base got trumped and the Coalmine Canaries were snuffed out quickly.

In fact, of the 10 teams in the Hollywood division of the World Adult Kickball Assn., the championship game would be between the two teams with the worst reputations. Some players on D. Sanchez & Pals and the Little Lebowski Urban Achievers were obnoxious, intoxicated, trash-talking jerks. And they were proud of it.

This concerned Orion Walker. More than just the first baseman for Mr. Body Massage Machine, the 31-year-old was WAKA's newly hired regional representative. The winner of this game would advance to a tournament in San Francisco, where state bragging rights, not to mention Walker's personal reputation, were at stake.

So the normally laid-back Walker made an impassioned speech before the recent title game. "The rules we play by," Walker said, "clearly state that 'for the enjoyment of all, proper respect and civility are required of all participants toward one another.' "

A player whined. "But we've ignored it all season!"

Everyone, including Walker, laughed.

Walker sat in the bleachers to watch the game. With a low-budget feature film to his credit, he probably should be directing movies, not a kickball region, but he takes this, and most things, in stride. "I respect people who do something big and absurd," he said. "WAKA organizes kickball at a national level."

For those of you who might have missed (or forgotten) childhood, kickball was created for little kids. It's basically the same as baseball, but the baseball itself (small, hard, painful) has been replaced with an inflated 10-inch red rubber ball (larger, softer, considerably less painful), which is rolled to home plate and kicked.

Because the ball is so soft, there's also a fun dodgeball-like element to the game. Defenders are allowed to hit runners with the ball as they run from base to base.

In 1998, four twentysomething guys in Washington, D.C., brought their love of kickball to grown-ups, and WAKA was born. Since then, more than 40,000 adults have played in the organization's leagues in 41 states, not to mention overseas divisions in Prague, India and a special one for soldiers at CampFallujah. In L.A, the Hollywood division has played four seasons in West Hollywood's PoinsettiaPark since 2003.

But kickball in its purest sense, if there is one, isn't the main objective here. WAKA is more social than athletic — no surprise, then, that the leagues are sponsored by drinking establishments. This season the Hollywood division teamed with Big Wangs, a new sports bar in the heart of Hollywood.

Jen Luna, 29, a veteran captain of the aptly named team Luna, feels comfortable there. "Our team is notorious for singing 'Living on a Prayer' on karaoke night," she says.

Kevin Meister, a 31-year-old rookie pitcher for the Pregnant Cheerleaders, managed to balance his athletic and social priorities. One night he scraped his leg so badly sliding into a base that he eventually had to go to the hospital for a tetanus shot and antibiotics. But first he hit the bar to have some beer with his team. "It was still bleeding when I got home," he said. "Hurt like hell."

The Hollywood division has had its problems. In previous seasons, WAKA attempted to manage the division with representatives living in Washington and San Francisco. "It was so disorganized," said David Spiegel, 24, captain of the Little Lebowskis and a two-season vet. "This year they formed a [local] board, making it much more enjoyable overall."

Among the board's duties is charity work, and this season it arranged to have trading cards manufactured — with the players buying them and the proceeds going to charity.

More than 200 players participate in the Hollywood division, and interest has grown enough to spawn a league in Venice and another in North Hollywood.

Not everyone is in favor of WAKA's domination. Player fees are $65 each for an eight-game season, plus one to four playoff games. Oh, and a T-shirt.

For some, the price isn't worth it. A motley group of deejays from Loyola Marymount's KXLU have held their own so-called "rogue" kickball game at West L.A.'s MarVistaPark for nearly a year. "You just need some phone books taped up [for bases] and a ball and you're good to go," says Jean-Claude, a regular.

But for the WAKA faithful, you can't put a price on the friendships created. "We've gone camping, on pub crawls and pool parties together," says Christiana Celeste, the 32-year-old captain of a team called Tang.

When asked if any romances have popped up, she laughs. "Romance? That's too kind. Inner-squad hook-ups!"

When the last out was called, D. Sanchez & Pals won the championship, 4-2. (They would go on to defeat San Francisco's best to win the state title.) The team rushed to home plate to celebrate as one fan, who had crawled on top of the backstop, showered them with confetti. There had been no fighting, no ejections and the only dirt-kicking came from a mock argument improvised for everyone's amusement.

Orion Walker was relieved. The balance between civility and kickball had been maintained.

World Adult Kickball Association Website