Dodgeball Ninjas resurrect classic

Motley crew gathers at Sheridan Park

08/26/2009 10:00 PM

By MICAH MAIDENBERG
Editor

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A female dodgeball ninja unleashes a throw against the Freakazoids team during recent tournament play at Sheridan Park.
Photos by FRANK PINC/Staff Photographer



The Freakazoids battled at a recent tournament sponsored by the Aberdeen Street Dodgeball Ninjas.

If you enter the world of the Aberdeen Street Dodgeball Ninjas, prepare to compete with passion. Beware the flying rubber balls. Use peripheral vision to guard against sneak attacks. Throw smartly at foes and listen to teammates.

And if your game play includes the ultimate hit, be ready to hug.

Head shots, explains Lizelle Din, one of the original Dodgeball Ninjas (an “elder” in their parlance), sparks an instant timeout. The game stops. The thrower of the head shot and the person whose brain has been made wobbly walk toward each other. They embrace. It keeps tensions and testosterone from boiling over.

“We have a lot of guys here,” Din noted.

While in the middle grades, dodgeball tends to be dominated by the students whose growth spurts have arrived early, allowing them to hurl balls with enough force to terrify peers whose hormones have yet to fully wax, the Ninjas aim for something more universally enjoyable.

“I think for us, it’s just something we can play without people taking it too competitively,” Din said. “We really want to keep the fun aspect.”

Gathering on Tuesday and Thursday nights at the hard court adjacent to Aberdeen Street, in Sheridan Park in Little Italy, the Ninjas divide into two teams for spirited matches.

Teams start near fences at opposite ends of the court, which is divided roughly into thirds, with each team reserving approximately one-third of the court for themselves.

The middle section is a no man’s land. Therein is where players face each other down like shooters in old Western movies or advance together like a tank brigade. Players who get hit come back in if a teammate catches a ball thrown by an opponent.

The group attracts players from the neighborhood and students from the University of Illinois-Chicago, as well as friends of the founders and friends-of-friends who have heard about the matches through word of mouth and the internet.

Like the kickball leagues that have sprung up in Chicago in recent years, the chance to relive a classic middle school gym sport is an appealing prospect to some players.

“It was fun when I was in the sixth grade,” said Frank Relf, who competed in the Ninjas’ mid-August tournament. “That was the last time I played before I came out here.”

The league’s roots were less inspired by nostalgia, however, than provoked by another scourge: boredom.

“It was pretty much we were really bored one night,” Din said. She and roommate Andrew Vilyathong were in the living room, in the summer of 2004, bouncing off the walls, thinking of something they could do outside. “We knew about the [Sheridan Park] court. We went to Target and got a bunch of balls and started playing.”

At least eight people, mostly friends from the neighborhood, showed up. Word got around. Weekly play started drawing up to 30 people a night. Once, more than 65 people came, Din said. The group began sponsoring occasional tournaments and connecting with other dodgeball organizations around Chicago.

In 2006, the official geographic and martial arts-inspired name was adopted, because many players were throwing the balls like a ninja throwing a star, Vilyathong explained — sidearm.

Each player puts a specific twist on their style of throw. Some spin around, seemingly loosing the ball at random. Others focus less on speed than on subtlety: Din explained she preferred sniper-like tosses.

Relf used a sidearm throw to add a subtle “flick” to the ball. What you lose in control you gain in speed, he said.

Molly Fannin made the most of her history with another sport that involves throwing. A former softball pitcher, Fannin whips the rubber balls underhanded. Her throws rise up quickly, presenting particular challenges to male players.

During the August tournament, one of Fannin’s risers connected in the groin area of a male opponent (eliciting this from Sam Alcarze, who provided color commentary during the matches: “He just got emasculated by a woman with red hair! That happens to me every day of my life!”)

“I’ve got a quick release point,” Fannin admitted.

Marco DiPaolo, a St. Ignatius College Prep student and member of the family in charge of Taylor Street’s celebrated Italian lemonade stand, demonstrated, on the other hand, the efficacy of stealth.

In one of the first matches of the tournament, DiPaolo’s team whittled the opposition down to a sole foe, who clutched one of the rubber balls used during game play (slightly larger than a soccer ball, but not so firmly inflated). In spite of his outnumbered state, he advanced cautiously toward the middle of the court, eyes forward. It was then that DiPaolo emerged from a spot near a far fence, armed with a ball of his own. He didn’t have to drill the final opposing player.

“I just waited for him to go past the pole,” DiPaolo said shortly after the final blow, referring to a light post on the court. “Then I went behind him.”

The game was over.

Contact: mmaidenberg@chicagojournal.com


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