Almost every fair-weather week since I turned 13, I've played the same game—angleball. And almost every fair-weather week since I turned 13, I've been asked the same question: "What the heck is an angleball?"

Admittedly, the name is misleading. It gives the impression that we're either playing with an angled ball (which I guess by definition makes it no longer a ball) or playing a complicated sport where compasses, cosines, and high-school geometry make a comeback. A hint: It's a regular ball, and I'm bad at math.

If you've driven past Laurel Park in the Belhaven neighborhood on a Saturday afternoon, you've probably seen us out there and have probably been confused and/or intrigued. Let me give you the rundown:

Two teams play angleball; the number of people who decide to show up determines the number of players. We've had games as small as five versus five, but one Saturday in December we had a game of 20 versus 20—probably due to the rumor that a news cameraman would be there that day. At each side of the field, a 10-foot pole is planted with a large playground ball perched on top. Teams score points by knocking said ball off said pole using a small leather handball.

The rules are fairly simple. Players can't kick the ball and can't knock it out of another person's hands. If you are tagged while holding the ball, you have three seconds to pass it. And unless the ball lands in the drainage ditch and needs to be fished out, it's not out of bounds. Each pole has a 10-foot circle around it, however, and wandering into the other team's circle is strictly verboten—German for "people will yell at you."

The "angle" in angleball comes from the game's history. Originally called "Engle ball," the name came from its creator, Rip Engle, a Penn State football coach who created the game to keep his players in shape during the off-season. The sport found an avid following in Pittsburgh (my old stomping grounds) and migrated to Jackson with my uncle, Dr. Wynn Kenyon of Belhaven College.

Today, angleball has a cult following. While new faces are always welcome, the glue that holds it together is the dedicated crew that has been playing for years.

Among the newer participants are 12-year-old Dottie and Michelle Reid, adopted sisters from China and India, respectively, who found out about the game through their uncle. Michelle, who told me that the equipment looked like giant white toilet plungers, initially thought the game would be too difficult. She was pleasantly surprised at how quickly she fit in.

When asked if she would be coming back, she answered: "Heck yeah! And if I could swear, I would."

The girls' uncle, Lantz Kuykendall, a graduate of Mississippi State and a local Jackson architect, is one of the few original players still involved. "I've been playing for a little over 20 years now," he says. "The game hasn't changed much; just the people playing. We play in the rain, the snow. ... We're kind of like the Post Office."

The game has its challenges. Weather is always a factor; it's hard to play when the wind keeps knocking the balls off the poles. We have yet to have an "official" angleball field, so the weekly game is at the mercy of Laurel Park scheduling. Recently, we ran into problems with Jackson development. For reasons apparent only to a city engineer, the city erected a fence cutting the entire park in half, despite the fact that the "construction" and equipment only fills a distant corner of the property. But rarely does a problem become so great that we cancel the game.

There are differences in the way the game is played—Jackson angleball is to Pittsburgh angleball as touch football is to Roman gladiators—but the essence of the game is the same.

Anyone can play it, and you get out of it what you put in. If you want it to be a rough-and-tumble romp through the mud, it's all yours. If you want a game of careful strategy, we've got you covered. If you're "that guy" who wants a game where you can call foul every play and loudly complain about how "nobody plays defense anymore," though, we've got a special game just for you: it's Tuesdays at midnight in Tupelo (at least until I can think of a better lie to tell you).

It's an obscure sport, but it's our obscure sport. And above all, it truly is a community sport from whatever "angle" you're looking at it. (Oh, stop your groaning. I deserve at least one pun.)

Play angleball at Laurel Park in Belhaven every Saturday at 4 p.m. (3 p.m. after daylight savings). Unless teams need additional players, participants should be age 13 and up. Bring water—the hose water tastes like a chalkboard.