My fifth grade year was like no other. Every day, I had something to look forward to. I had a part in what is easily the most fun thing I have ever experienced. In those days, during every recess, I would march in the grand fifth grade army. To war.
WAR.
It was my sworn mission to defend my comrades from the sixth grade menace. Armed with a four-square ball or perhaps a basketball, I appeared innocuous enough. This weapon, though not the most accurate thing, inflicted MASSIVE damage on a direct hit. Some people laughed at us (girls mostly) and could not take us seriously. By the end of the year, however, having a ball tucked under your arm was the equivalent of walking around in public with an AK-47 strapped around your shoulders.
In our wars, it was not some pussy "if you get hit your out" kinda thing. No, it was only considered a loss if your entire army has been backed into a corner of the battlefield and is being pelted by enemy fire to the point of tears. (It was an unspoken rule, though, that we begin in as close to the same positions as we could.) To make it worse, in the event of a complete massacre, those dastardly sixth graders would make us all lie down on our backs while they pelted us with basketballs at point-blank range. These battles were not only exciting, but also intense and at times complete chaos.
That's not to say that we were simply mobs of thugs striking at random. I don't know about our enemies, but the grand army of the fifth grade launched only offensives that were well thought-out and thoroughly planned by our leader and self-proclaimed "General Guy," (from Paper Mario) Thomas. A Filipino, Thomas was much taller than most of us and slightly overweight. However, he was built like a tank and could shrug off crippling blows from the sixth grades greatest warriors like they were foam balls thrown by Ryan Adamson. (more on him later, if I remember) Not only was he a powerhouse in this manner, but he also was a brilliant tactician. Under his leadership, we gained much ground against the sixth graders. I was sporadically his third-in-command, ranking behind a boy named Chandler Gunn.
Despite the nature his name implies, he was quiet and reserved. He was at least a head shorter than most other guys in the grade and had albino hair. When Thomas was absent or deemed "unable to serve" (sitting out recess for throwing food during lunch) Chandler took charge. He was dim and under his command we had a win/loss ratio of about 1:2. We would often find that we would gain ground under Thomas one day and lose twice as much the next under Chandler. Not a very good officer overall. However, he was frequently in trouble and had frail health, so I managed to take charge surprisingly often.
Though I was not the leader Thomas was, I was certainly better than Chandler. When I was in command, we never gained much ground, but we lost ground just as often. As far as I remember, there was only one noteworthy battle that occurred under my authority. At that time, we were being relentlessly pursued by the sinister agents of the sixth grade. We were (forgive the Star Wars reference) in our own Hoth: our "base of operations" was tree atop a gentle slope on the edge of the playground. One final strike by the sixth grade would surely be the end of us. When I saw the sixth graders marching across the blacktop, I prepared for the worst. My army met them in the barren landscape past the slope characterized by wood chips and a fence separating it from the blacktop. We had almost the entire recess left to defend against their relentless onslaught. With my strategy (I was in the ZONE) and a bit of luck, they never made it to the beginning of the slope.
Another memorable battle was under Thomas' command. At that point our base of operations was "the outdoor classroom," a gazebo in the very corner of the big field. (a bit bigger than a typical soccer field) We watched in terror as the sixth grade massed on the opposite corner of the field and charged toward us. Despite our time to prepare for their attack, they overwhelmed us and took our base with ease. Most of my comrades got away, but a friend of mine and I were incapacitated by those fiends, but before they began their ritual of massacring us (as I call it, "bayoneting the survivors") one of them stopped the biggest, meanest, and least merciful lug out there from breaking my nose and knocking out half my teeth. In less than a minute after that, our allies realised we were missing and launched a counter-attack to free us. This, however, was unsuccessful, and though we had not reatreated yet, it was clear the sixth grade was whupping our asses.
BUT, it was at the end of the year when the most epic battle in the history of humankind occurred. Now, I'm not one to just throw around the word "epic." But from the perspective of a fifth grader, it appeared to be the battle of Thermopylae. Since it was the final day of school, we had 2-3 periods of recess. The first ten minutes (or so) were a desperate arms race. Our factions gathered every ball on the playground (many through force) for the impending battle. After that was an awkward calm. It lasted for minutes but seemed like hours. Finally, we struck. Gathering all of our forces thogether for the assult, we charged their stronghold, the same corner they gatehred in before the battle I mentioned earlier.
At first we appeared to be at a stalemate; neither side making much progress. By halfway through our recess, the sixth grade was gaining ground. By this point, all the other grades, including girls, had gathered to watch. Eventually, we were backed into a corner of the field. I prayed Thomas had a plan. While we were definitely in trouble in respect toward losing ground, we had one major tactical advantage: we could always fall back to the gazeebo. I held my ground alongside other proud fifth grade warriors and waited for him to give the order to fall back.
"DOOO NOOOOT
RETREEEEAAAT!"
The words stunned me. I looked back at him in disbelief, to see what the hell he was thinking. He had in hand the large green rocking chair from the gazeebo and flanking him were two of our mightiest soldiers. The warriors in front of him stepped aside to allow him to charge at his target: the informal leader of the sixth graders, John Braucher. (Brauchman? I know it sounded a lot like Bauman...) Our opponents recoiled in shock. We used the opportunity to hammer them, gaining at least fifteen yards in ten seconds. Then, the recess bell rang. The war was over. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, we had survived. It was among the best days of my life. I was told that Thomas and John later signed an informal "peace treaty."
When I entered sixth grade, I was psyched about the wars. This year, we had a new PE coach and recess monitor, but little did I know that this would be the downfall of all fun ever. Ryan Adamson, whose stength is referenced earlier in this post, also played a major role. He was not only weak, but also very overweight. He also would not take orders from ANYONE. If he doesn't take anything from teachers, he certainly didn't tolerate Thomas and I. He frequently tried to fight, but never got anywhere due to these qualities. Therefore, the fag did what he could to be the downfall of the ball wars. More than once he faked injuries delivered by the new fifth graders we were fighting (pushovers, by the way) or other sixth graders who were "acting out violent tendencies." Less than a month into the new school year, our psychotic recess monitor had banned throwing balls at people (punishable by TWO FUCKING WEEKS of suspension)
The ball wars were over. It was among the worst days of my life.
tl;dr
