The Student News Site of University Prep

The Puma Press

The Student News Site of University Prep

The Puma Press

The Student News Site of University Prep

The Puma Press

Blood, Sweat and, Volleyball

Photo+Credit%3A+Jacob+Kauff
Photo Credit: Jacob Kauff

My day as a Varsity Volleyball player. It was interesting…

I was scared. Like, really really scared.

Even though I had three strenuous years of middle school PE under my belt, my confidence was low. After watching the Varsity Volleyball team play against SAAS, I learned that these ladies hit the ball hard. When I say hard, I mean hard. The smack of the ball against skin made me cringe in fear.

I was given a XXL jersey, which was surprisingly tight in the arms but shamingly loose in the bosom. Equipped with a neon green headband, I stepped into the gym and introduced myself to the coach. I had been told that he was a bit cocky and known on the team for being overtly intense. His name was Dylan, but apparently is more affectionately known on the team as “Diva.”

Before practice, we started a little game of six-on-six. I was told to stand in the back left of the court, and only hit the ball if it were in front of me, that’s it. Somehow, the ball somehow always found its way near to me. Coincidence? I think not.

We got straight into a drill about covering. Covering is when someone hits the ball over the net, and we all get behind them so the ball doesn’t drop. Dylan briefed us that we were working on this drill because “you guys suck at this.” Yeah, he was a real diva.

After a sweaty ten minutes, we breaked for water. As I was sauntering my way over to the bench to cool off, I heard “eleven, ten, nine.” We only had fifteen second to get water! What the hell! After the brief oasis of a sip of water, we continued the drill. Luckily, during the second half of the drill, I found a way to mainly stay off to the side shagging stray balls.

Junior Merone Hadush asked me, “Do you want to learn how to block?” I had no idea what that was, so of course my answer was, “Sure, why not?” I learned to sweep my feet and stick my hand up so I could “block” the ball if it gets hit over.

Dylan gave me a quick, non-demoralizing recap of what I was supposed to do. Then, we started to block. He was hitting the ball harder and harder in the general area to which my hands were hopelessly flailing. I had miss after miss until, finally, I blocked one! Everyone was cheering, and then there was sarcastically funny Dylan, “You see that, Shakirah! This idiot can block better than you can!”

We ended practice with a short scrimmage. I was supposed to play the front right position, but was told to stand in the back left. Apparently, when the other team is serving, you have a “rotation” in which after the ball is served, you run to your position, which makes absolutely no sense at all. I was so out of place, I looked like Mr. Jaffe trying to dance. Then, when your team is serving, you have to start in the middle, then run to your spot. You do this without looking at the serve behind you, all the while, living in constant fear of a ball connecting with the back of your head.

After every single point, there is some kind of cheer. If we lose the point, we meet up in the middle in a quick huddle. If we win the point, we do some kind of humiliating cheer which runs down my manhood, or whatever manhood I had left after 90 minutes surrounded by girls hitting a ball and me cowering in a corner.

To be honest, I thought I would be spending an hour and a half socializing and checking out the upper class ladies, but it turned out to be one hell of a workout.

By: Mahir Piyarali