First of all, I don't suppose I should assume that everyone knows what foosball even is (or at least recognizes the term), so here's some background info. And a visual representation will probably be more effective than explaining the life-sized version.
So last night I went with Todd and some other people in our church group thingie to play human foosball. It was one of the most surreal things I've ever done, and I used to do improvisational theater. It was also waaaaaaaaaaay more fun than soccer, or football, or even regular foosball. At first I got kind of hung up (no pun intended) by my sportive insecurities, but fortunately I got over that and turned out to not completely suck. I even scored 3 goals! (4 if you count the one I scored on myself when I was goalie.)
It's kind of dangerous, though; at one point someone kicked the ball so that it smacked me right in the face; needless to say, that really hurt. Todd was next to me and he asked me if I was all right, and I said, "I don't know; give me a minute and let me check." So I opened my eyes and they seemed to be functioning normally, and my glasses seemed to be sitting as they usually do on my face, no more crooked than usual, and nothing seemed to be dislodged or rattling around, and I hadn't burst into tears, so I decided that I must be okay, even though the left side of my face was all tingly and throbby, so I continued playing. And yet, I couldn't help but flashback to the last time I got smacked in the face with a ball, so cue the warbly dissolve...
I was in third grade, which means I was nine years old, and I was in P.E. class (that's officially "physical education," but could also be "psychological evisceration"), and we were playing kickball or something like that, and somehow I got smacked in the face with the ball, and it really hurt and I started crying. Now, it happened that that year we had a very handsome, young, male student teacher and I had a big crush on him, and when I got hit in the face he took me aside and kind of held me and said comforting things to me, and I remember thinking that I wished I hadn't been crying so that I could enjoy this, not realizing in my youth and innocence that if I hadn't been crying this wouldn't have been happening at all. I wonder now, if I had realized that, if I would have tried to keep crying after I didn't need to anymore. Even if I had, it probably wouldn't have worked. Anyway, I eventually stopped crying and had to go back into the game, and believe it or not, mere minutes later somebody accidentally elbowed me in the face right where I'd been hit by the ball earlier. Needless to say, I started crying again (class was almost over at this point, though, so no more hugs from the student teacher), and I got quite an impressive black eye, and thank goodness all this happened at school, in the presence of witnesses, so the authorities didn't have to investigate my family for possible abuse...
So anyway, last night when I got smacked in the face with the ball, my face was very tingly and throbby for a long time afterwards, so I imagined that I would probably have a bruise, but no, turns out it didn't leave a mark at all. And fortunately, I managed to stay clear of people's elbows for the rest of the evening so history didn't repeat itself.