Cody Powell Traveling Athletic Revue

They're fielding a softball team at my apartment complex. I thought about signing up, but then knowing my mastery of the sport, the team name would quickly change from the Madison Muddawgs (or whatever stupid name we'd have) to the Cody Powell Traveling Athletic Revue. You see, that's irony because I'm widely considered to be the worst baseball player ever. I'm pretty bad at most sports, but I manage to emit a super potent form of ultra crappiness for baseball. If you're fielding teams and your last pick comes down to a bed-ridden leper or me (which it ALWAYS does), just pick the leper. At least the leper could draw a walk or something, while the only sure bet with me is that I'd stab myself in the head with my cleats.

Okay, so softball is out. What else can I do to win over my neighbors? Here are a few ideas I came up with.
1. Macaroni and cheese club. We'd meet once a week, make mac and cheese, then see who can eat the most of it. It sounds fun, but I predict it'd get a little messy, plus we couldn't include the lactose intolerant.
2. Battleship club. We'd meet every night by the pool for a round-robin Battleship tournament. The games would last for hours, ending just in time for everyone to go to work the next morning. Once 5 PM rolls around, the boards come back out, as we attempt to decide that night's Intergalactic Battleship Champion. It sounds like this could evolve into a cult very quickly.
3. Roller Coaster club. I don't know if there are such things as roller coaster clubs, but what would set ours apart is that it's not about riding roller coasters, but building them. There's a large wooded area behind the complex, so once we collect a $2500 materials fee from each member, we could set to work. I recommend we don't plan it out at all; let's just get the saws out and see what happens. Note: the Roller Coaster club is not responsible for any maimings that may result from our labor of love.

I'm a little biased, but I'd much rather do one of those than join some stupid softball team. I urge my neighbors to cast aside their mesh caps and their signed Lenny Dykstra gloves and join me out in the parking lot. All you have to lose is your fingers, your job, and your love of macaroni.