Mr. Shores knew how to coach a winning volleyball team. He wasn't particularly friendly or nice, but he was good. He was competitive. He meant to win and he drove us hard to achieve that goal. Most of us were eleven years old; a few had already turned twelve. We were in the sixth grade.
I'd barely made the team, and he only put me into the game after we had a significant lead. I played every game though because the other girls on the team were that good. I didn't mind the bench. I was never alone on it. There were four of us who bench-sat until he was confident that we could do no harm regardless of how many balls we let sail past us. I loved playing volleyball and was thrilled to have made the "A" team even if it was to primarily watch from the sidelines. It's fun to be part of a winning team regardless of how a small a part you play.
In this mode, I became adept at cheering my team on to its many victories that year. This was "back in the day" when parents rarely came to watch their kids play sports - a dance recital? They (well, at least my mom) was there in a heartbeat. A volleyball game? Ain't gonna happen. The stands typically held a sparse sprinkling of parents, nothing like the crowds that show up for today's little league and school sporting events. So cheering had to come from the bench-warmer crowd or the gym would have been silent except for the thump of the ball as a player smacked it.
I wasn't considered boisterous or loud by any stretch. I didn't like being the center of the attention of a crowd (a crowd being any number above three). I know the stereotypical baby-of-the-family-syndrome states that I should have loved attention, but slinking into the background was more my style. In those days, I wouldn't even raise my hand in class to answer unless I was 99% positive that I knew the answer. On the occasions when I found myself in that 1%, I'd blink back the tears of embarrassment as the teacher oh-so-patiently explained why my answer was incorrect, thus prolonging the attention on me. If I was right, the teacher just said some single, positive word to acknowledge my brilliant answer. Then the spotlight moved somewhere else in the room.
The referees at one particular game had made some pretty bad calls. No, we weren't losing, but time was running out, and I hadn't played yet. The situation was getting desperate - at least for me and the three other bench-warmers. For some reason, the wooden benches that typically lined one side of the court were absent, and we sat huddled on the stage of our elementary school gym that doubled as our auditorium. We were yelling and cheering with a little more enthusiasm than normal when one of those "bad calls" came. I yelled out my disapproval along with . . . absolutely no one else. The gym went from the sounds of a lively volleyball game to total silence. I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I watched the ref come towards me in slow motion. His eyes never leaving my face, he bore a hole through my all too thin-skin. He quite sternly warned me that one more outburst and I was out of the game. Me? I never even got my name on the board for talking in class (well, okay, rarely anyway) and now I was threatened with being thrown out of a volleyball game!
I learned my lesson well that day - make sure you yell with the crowd and not above it unless you really do want to be heard and you're willing to risk getting thrown out of the game.
I'd barely made the team, and he only put me into the game after we had a significant lead. I played every game though because the other girls on the team were that good. I didn't mind the bench. I was never alone on it. There were four of us who bench-sat until he was confident that we could do no harm regardless of how many balls we let sail past us. I loved playing volleyball and was thrilled to have made the "A" team even if it was to primarily watch from the sidelines. It's fun to be part of a winning team regardless of how a small a part you play.
In this mode, I became adept at cheering my team on to its many victories that year. This was "back in the day" when parents rarely came to watch their kids play sports - a dance recital? They (well, at least my mom) was there in a heartbeat. A volleyball game? Ain't gonna happen. The stands typically held a sparse sprinkling of parents, nothing like the crowds that show up for today's little league and school sporting events. So cheering had to come from the bench-warmer crowd or the gym would have been silent except for the thump of the ball as a player smacked it.
I wasn't considered boisterous or loud by any stretch. I didn't like being the center of the attention of a crowd (a crowd being any number above three). I know the stereotypical baby-of-the-family-syndrome states that I should have loved attention, but slinking into the background was more my style. In those days, I wouldn't even raise my hand in class to answer unless I was 99% positive that I knew the answer. On the occasions when I found myself in that 1%, I'd blink back the tears of embarrassment as the teacher oh-so-patiently explained why my answer was incorrect, thus prolonging the attention on me. If I was right, the teacher just said some single, positive word to acknowledge my brilliant answer. Then the spotlight moved somewhere else in the room.
The referees at one particular game had made some pretty bad calls. No, we weren't losing, but time was running out, and I hadn't played yet. The situation was getting desperate - at least for me and the three other bench-warmers. For some reason, the wooden benches that typically lined one side of the court were absent, and we sat huddled on the stage of our elementary school gym that doubled as our auditorium. We were yelling and cheering with a little more enthusiasm than normal when one of those "bad calls" came. I yelled out my disapproval along with . . . absolutely no one else. The gym went from the sounds of a lively volleyball game to total silence. I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I watched the ref come towards me in slow motion. His eyes never leaving my face, he bore a hole through my all too thin-skin. He quite sternly warned me that one more outburst and I was out of the game. Me? I never even got my name on the board for talking in class (well, okay, rarely anyway) and now I was threatened with being thrown out of a volleyball game!
I learned my lesson well that day - make sure you yell with the crowd and not above it unless you really do want to be heard and you're willing to risk getting thrown out of the game.
Some stories show your heart can't tolerate injustice...
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