Back on the Bleachers
Oh, my gosh. I’m back on the bleachers again. Watching a volleyball game. But instead of watching oldest daughter, Christine, playing on the court below, I was watching her team play their hearts out. Yep. Tempus sure does “fugits.” (See mangled Latin references). Now, my former star volleyball-playing daughter is old enough to have kids of her own–and coach a high school varsity volleyball team here in Northern Virginia. In her spare time, yet. (Tongue firmly in cheek).
Sitting there on the bleachers tonight brought back a lot of memories. Cheering for the team, the heartbreak of watching a close-but-not-quite-there, almost-won-but-didn’t loss. Volleyball is one of those heart attack sports for spectators. Only folks who’re familiar with the game understand what I mean.
You watch your team darn near kill themselves, diving for the ball, sprawling across the courts, digging impossible shots, making incredible saves, blocking like the devil—–and—-GETTING THE BALL ACROSS THE NET!!! Yea!!!
But—-that’s not the end—–oh, no. Not in volleyball. The damn ball comes back over the net! Again! And again! Until someone misses a shot or the ball goes over the line or . . .well, you get the picture.
I figure there’s no way I will ever die of a heart attack. I am heart-attack proof. How do I know this? Because I am the parent of a volleyball player and as such have spent countless hours over the years watching those heart-attack provoking, heartbreaking games. Believe me, if I was susceptible, I would have dropped dead years ago.
Meanwhile, I’m still enjoying. And still cheering. Way to go! Good job! Great save! Good hustle out there!
Okay—-now it’s time for your “sports spectator” stories. Jump in there, guys.
