A long, long, long, long long, long, time ago, when girls drank from the wishing well, when "B.O." island call was truly justified everyday in Nash, there was a man, and his name was Mike Dietrich. A man is not a legend, and his name is not remembered until his actions rise above those of his peers. So was the fate of the man, Mike Dietrich. Until that fateful night, when the sun hung low and the sliver of the moon rose up from the horizon. It was a game , like any other, played a million times by a million people over the years, with Frosty Balls flying o'er the rope line, some were caught, some were not, until Mike Dietrich stepped onto the field.
Clutching the slightly deflated roofball-esque orb in his Paul Bunyan-esque grip, Mike Dietrich moved down the field at full speed, spinning his weapon of choice wind mill style and screaming his own name "Mike Dietrich!" he let the ball fly and as Zeus unleashed his unstoppable lightening bolt, so did the playground equipment soar over the heads of so many boys, connecting square in the chest of a wee Near Souther. Had the players on the field not succumbed to wide and deep sense of shock, one of them, one of the clever ones, would have shouted 'Timber!" as the little boy splayed out on the dusty floor of the North Ball Diamond.
Truly, not even the Manito-wish Square is safe from the Legend of Mike Dietrich. And the game they played that fateful night so long ago is known as FROSTY BALL!
Section Announcement from Girls Camp, August 2006