Wherein I Am Saved From Ruining Something Beautiful by a Cadre of Teenage Girls
When the news breaks regarding volleyball's demise, one particular group of incredibly motivated, successful, driven young ladies -- the ones I am no longer smart enough to communicate with -- want to know why. I break down the budget, the relative costs of sports, the absurdly high cost of transportation ($189 to travel 6 miles!). They literally take notes and then devise a plan to save the season. They take surveys of potential male interest, hold informational meetings, convince a teacher to coach, and essentially resurrect both the girls and boys teams from the my evil cost-cutting clutches.
Although successful by our school's less than stellar volleyball standards, the girls fell one loss short of the playoffs. The boys on the other hand, sneak in as the last seed, upset a 1-seed on their home floor, beat a 2-seed, and yesterday played for the county championship in this big, bright gym with expensive banners hanging from the ceiling and a polished shine on the floor. The girls have traveled with them to every game, making signs and cheering, and its been this big positive rush of good feelings. Boys volleyball? In the championship? "And to think," muse several of my colleagues, "we almost didn't have a season..."
They lost. In three sets. A lot of nerves, a lot of frustration, some impressive spiking by the other squad, and they fall a few points short of a goal nobody even considered possible.
Except maybe those girls.