Volleyball

Saturday morning began at 6:30 with three women running through our shower and primping for an 8:00 volleyball game. Favorite Niece B (FNB) came from college with her mom and sister to watch, cheer and give some advice.  Favorite Niece A (FNA) is on one of these traveling volleyball teams.  She and her teammates are coached by Favorite Sister C (FSC) and are headquartered in Abilene.  Let me tell you, this is not volleyball as I remember it from high school.  Oh, no.  This is serious business.

Parents pay several hundred dollars for their daughters to play in this league.  They then buy the spandex uniforms with the killer names on them (Aces, Explosion, Swarm, Elite, Nightmares and yes, the Annihilators), headbands, socks and shoes.  The league is based out of Kansas City, but it seems every town from eastern to western Kansas has one of these volleyball teams.  In FNA's league of 13 year olds, there were somewhere around 100 teams.  This is a travelling league, so on top of the uniform cost, you have long distances to drive, gasoline, motel (unless you have a favorite Aunt [FAH] to stay with) and food.  And the tournaments last all day long; 8 - 5 and longer if you're in bracket play; Saturday and/or Sunday.  These parents are serious about their daughter's volleyball.

Saturday's games were the most intense volleyball games I've ever attended.  FNA's team was still savoring a 1st place finish in a recent tournament.  Looking at the teams they were going to have to play, they were the highest ranked team of the group.  This should be easy.  Well, if you've paid any attention to the NCAA men's basketball tournament this year, you know better than to think anything will be a cake walk. 

In the first game you could tell the girls were not having an easy time of things.  They were flat, no life in them and losing.  Everyone looked confused, including the Coach.  Coach FSC calls a time out and sends the teammates sprinting across the floor.  Wow!  Right there in front of the other team and all of the parents.  Wake up call.  I'm impressed.  It didn't help much.  They were winning games, but without the "take that" attitude.

Then came the meltdown.  Parents were complaining about FSC's coaching.  One parent told several of the girls not to listen to the coach and to do whatever it is setters are to do.  FSC got word of this and after the game was over, went to the parent and told her she was the coach and the parents should not be telling the girls not to listen to their coach.  FSC grabbed her things and headed off to rest with her team.  As we were eating apple slices, the mom showed up wanting to talk to FSC.  Coach said she'd talk as soon as she cooled down.  Which was some time later.  FSC was not looking forward to this little chat.  As older sisters sometimes do, I gave my unasked for advice: The parents should not be coaching these girls and certainly should not tell them to ignore the coaches instructions.  Listen to the mom and don't lose your temper.

I left.  I needed some quiet time with the hubby.  And I asked FNB to call me if the girls made it to the championship games.  They did, ranked number one.  So I quickly headed back to the tournament.  In bracket play the top three teams play.  Lose and you're done.  And that's how the day ended for FNA's team.  Third place. 

The girls congratulated the other team and then headed to corners of the court to seek comfort from their parents.  One mom met her daughter on the floor and proceeded to let her know how disappointed she was in her daughter's play.  I watched as the already sad girls mouth dropped open, her shoulders sagged another two inches and the mom walked off.  Another girl was on her knees in front of her seated mom, crying on her shoulder.  FNB walked by, patted the girl on the shoulder and said "good serves".  And then I saw FNA.  She was on her knees putting volleyballs in the bag, sobbing.  Her dad walked over, patted her on the back, got her to stand up and they stood there in a bear hug while FNA cried her eyes out.

FNB and I walked to the edge of the court and waited for FSC.  As we waited, FNA and her dad came over.  FNA came and cried on my shoulder for a bit and then said "It's all my fault we lost."  She felt badly and was worried that her coach/mom was going to be mad at her.  She didn't want to go home.  I gave her a hug, patted her on the back and told her that it was not her fault.  It was an entire team playing out there.  And about that time FSC came over and told her daughter not to cry.  No, FNA's mom told her, it was not her fault the team lost.  Several players missed plays.  And FNA's tears began to subside.  Mine were still at the corners of my eyes.  I needed to get out of there.  I needed my evening blood pressure medicine.

Then, to add salt to the wounds, the team that loses has to referee the championship game.  OMG!

FNB and I headed to the house and relaxed a bit.  When FSC and FNA returned from the tournament they were both in better moods.  We talked about the game and laughed a bit.  FNA wanted to stay the night.  She was tired and didn't want to go home.  But there was church to attend in the morning, so they left.  They pulled into their driveway around 11:45 p.m. 

It's recognized by this blogger that things have changed since I was in high school.  We played with nine girls on the floor and rotated around in a perfectly understandable path.  We had our nice little 3' X 3' square to protect.  They now play with six on a team and you run around like a chicken with your head cut off.  I'm sure there's a rhyme and reason to this, but it's not taking hold in my brain yet.  There were no traveling leagues that cost a bundle to participate.  It was not so difficult or expensive to get into college that your parents were counting on this extracurricular league to get their daughter a college volleyball scholarship.  If you played volleyball after school it was for fun.  Fun.  I'll say it again.  Fun.  These are 13 year old girls playing volleyball from January to April during the school year, simultaneously playing school softball or running track.  Those that play on Sunday arrive home late only to get up early for school the next morning.  They have such pressure and expectations put on them that when they win, it's absolutely wonderful, but the losses are painful.  Excruciatingly painful.  Both for the girls and this spectator.