Dodgeballs & Determination
- Apr 30
- 2 min read
Some towns measure progress in dollars—Gull Lake measures it in dodgeballs and determination.
The morning hum at the Round Table had barely settled when two stories started competing for space between the mugs: the fourth annual dodgeball tournament at the Rec Complex and that Sunday history piece about the 1930 hospital—the one reminding everyone just how much grit this town has always carried.
Mabel topped up the coffees with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times. “Busy week,” she said. “Past and present both showing off.”
Earl stretched like he’d survived a full‑contact sport. “Eight teams,” he said. “Eight. And not one asked me to sub in. Stone—the town’s chronic complainer—was at the post office saying it’s because I "play like a man allergic to cardio."
Edna didn’t look up from her For Posterity notebook. “You threw your shoulder out last year warming up.”
“That’s called enthusiasm,” Earl replied.
“
Enthusiasm,” Edna said, “is not a medical plan.”
Mabel flipped through the team list. “The Ball Fondlers, Dodgy Style, The Mother Duckers… well, the creativity hasn’t faded.”
Edna sniffed. “If people put half that imagination into grant applications, we’d have a new roof on the hall.”
Earl added, “Stone was already grumbling about the names before the first whistle.”
Rita said, “Stone complains about sunshine. Team names never stood a chance.”
Rita arrived with a tray of Dodgeball Victory Muffins—lemon with a red icing dot. “I made these to celebrate the winners,” she said. “And the losers. And the spectators. Really, anyone who showed up.”
Earl nodded. “I’ll give them this—dodgeball brings out the best in people. And the worst. Mostly the worst.”
Mabel smiled. “It brings them out, Earl. That’s the point.”
Hank tapped the hospital article sitting under his mug. “Reading about that 1930 hospital… folks back then were doing the same thing. Pulling together. Furnishing rooms. Donating grain. Keeping the doors open when money was tight.”
The Librarian drifted past, paused just long enough to say, “Technically, the grain donations peaked in ’32, not ’30,” and vanished before anyone could thank her.
The table went quiet. Hank’s hand rested on the edge of the article a moment longer than usual—a small, steady gesture that said more than words.
Rita finally spoke. “It’s funny. The dodgeball tournament is just a few hours on a Saturday. But it’s the same spirit. People showing up. Doing what they can. Keeping something running because it matters.”
Mabel nodded. “Every generation thinks they’re the first to face hard years. Then you read stories like that hospital one, and you remember — we’ve been through worse. And we got through it together.”
Earl sighed. “Fine. Maybe I’ll volunteer next year. But I’m not wearing one of those team shirts. I have standards.”
Edna didn’t miss a beat. “That would be a first.”
Mayor Binder—seven minutes late, right on time—set down his cup. “Different stories, same lesson,” he said. “This town works because people do.”
Hank nodded. “Every brick laid is another step forward.”
Characters at the Round Table are fictional. The dodgeball fundraiser and the historical details of the 1930 Gull Lake Hospital come from real community reporting and archival sources.
Gull Lake Events
Related Reading
1930 Gull Lake Hospital History —
https://www.gulllakeevents.online/post/gull-lake-hospital-1930
Dodgeball Tournament Fundraiser Recap — https://www.gulllakeevents.online/post/dodgeball-tournament-gull-lake-2026
Comments