Well, it’s chilly California December and school Volleyball is done, over, finished, and we can have beautiful self-manicures and regular shaving routines again! …Or can we?
It’s time for Club Volleyball. Yes, I’m about to explain. Club Vball is the BIG mamma of all competitive sports teams outside of the sissy Public Education System sports. You’ve got MJB, Comp Soccer, and Little League all helplessly lost in the shadow of Club Volleyball.
High School volleyball is quiet behaved. Cliques hang with cliques during water breaks, there’s about a teaspoon of team spirit, and the coach is a fifty-year-old, belly scratching, ex-setter from the eighties who sits in a camping chair hollering, “USE YOUR APPROACH WOMEN!” (In most cases.)
But CLUB is down, down deep to the core, down to blood and shoe skids on the court… extremely fit coaches screaming, purple neck veins bulging, stomping like fire-breathing ogres yelling commands to girls and at the poor poor refs. Parents with bullhorns and Subway sandwhiches, players ramming each other and getting the most Be•AU•tiful kills and dives this planet has ever seen all while Gatorade bottles litter the sleek golden floors. Oh, and college scouts infest the stands, with their noses in their little notebooks scribbling down, we hope and pray, OUR jersey numbers.
Well I am here at open gym which is some middle-school gym somewhere with it’s doors open. This gym is filled with a hundred nervous girls with their spanking-new white kneepads. Our supportive parents mingle with checkbooks in hand. I spot familiar faces from schools of present and old, neighborhood… and I’m slowly getting comfy with the insanity.
FLASHBACK to three months ago, (If that’s alright with you.)
I’m at BYU volleyball camp. Walking across campus with my water bottle and gym bag with a few chatty friends. Checking the time. Running across campus. Hitting lines and ten-second water breaks. Diving Liners (BLEch.) and peppering with a sweet new friend. Finding another sweet friend to walk to dinner hall with. Gathering sweet friends to eat with. Inhaling AMAZING food. Eyeing lacrosse camp boys across the room. Going back to dorms with sweet roommates… passing out five sweet nights in a row. Alarm going off and painfully raising my stiff sore body from bed, not at all ready for another day of hitting lines and diving liners (blecheddy blech).
Absolutely the best camp ever known to volleyball obsessants.
I still keep in touch with my amazing roommate. Nessy lives in the potato and snow state and I live in the state of Palm trees and really good Mexican food. So we haven’t seen each other in person for three months. (Which really hurts when this is your long-distance bestie) Pen pals are a dying breed and we, the next generation, are “texting pals”, which is which is a million times more convenient than finding a stamp. And so that’s what Nessy and I do. We text each other frequently about, well Volleyball.
So Ness shot me a text during open gym and told me that she jammed her thumb during practice that day and was really bummed (I’m not sure how she sent that text then…) but I sent back words of sympathy and comfort anyway and went back to practice, watching my thumbs a little more cautiously.
And in case you’re eyes got lazy and you skimmed to this point:
•Club is downright dirty but incredible.
•Sweet friends can prevent injury to your thumbs.
•When I’m done here a new quote’s going on my wall:
“Give a girl a volleyball, and she will be merry!”
(Unless she likes golf or something)
It was incredibly worth it :) Love you Cyclone Women!