Save Colby’s Clubhouse!

Once upon a time I was an actor in the Christian musical “Save Colby’s Clubhouse.”

Well, sort of.

This was a play put on by my church.

It involved a robot named Colby (the good guy), the officious Inspector Persnickity (the bad guy), and a bunch of kids who attended said clubhouse.

They had me playing Colby for a while, then the Inspector, then gave up when they realized the boys playing all the other characters were far too undisciplined to ever make putting on a play practical.

All the girls knew every character’s every line cold; the boys knew zilch because they were too busy rassling each other and knocking over folding chairs.

Playing Colby involved a lot of saying “Oh, dear!” in a high, nasal voice. The Inspector said things like, “This is a violation!” in an over-the-top Snidely Whiplash tone.

I don’t remember why they had me switch. Maybe someone else really wanted the Colby part. Or maybe I wasn’t very good. No clue.

We probably still could have pulled it off if the boys hadn’t been such complete goobers.

Girls: “We have completely memorized every line, every cue, every song and key signature, and we have color‑coded our scripts.”

Boys: “What if I jump off the stage and tackle Jason?”

That was the dynamic. The play… did not get past the rehearsals.

In the 80s and 90s (and probably still today), the pattern was almost comically consistent:

• Girls at age 8-12: miniature adults, already running project plans, organizing recess games, and enforcing rules with the precision of a small HR department.

• Boys at age 8-12: feral woodland creatures who communicate primarily via taunts, wrestling holds, and the sound of slamming doors.

I remember hanging out with the girls at recess and playing foursquare while all the boys were roughhousing. I liked that better.

Which reminds me of the “Men’s Party” and “Women’s Party” that West Publishing used to put on every year while I worked there:

• Men’s Party: Pinball machines, unlimited free beer, packs of playing cards, and cigars, scattered around with wild abandon.

• Women’s Party: A night out with a hired comedian at a nice restaurant.

Yeah, I would have much preferred the latter.