Midfield Sucks

I was introduced to a new sport the other day. This is very unusual for me, but I loved it. It's called walleyball, and if you haven't tried it out, you really should.

I certainly wasn't a pro, but it was highly entertaining. It's one of those sports that you can't take too seriously, so it's perfect for people brave enough to be on a team with me. I texted my friend Brandt  to tell him that my arms were sore. He replied with, "Haha, you don't play sports very much do you." The truth is, I have troubles with sports. That's really all there is to it. I love watching sports and I know the theory behind all of it, but it's the application of that theory that I have my troubles with. When I played volleyball at church, every few minutes someone would stop me, position my hands, and explain to me what I was doing wrong. I knew exactly what I was doing wrong, I just stopped physically functioning whenever the volleyball came within a few feet of my face.

I played soccer in high school, and usually it went something like this:

Ok, I'm just gonna run towards the ball. No harm there. Oh! Going the other direction. Ok, gonna follow it back. Shoot! There's a defender running at me! Kick, Mary, kick! Bah! My feet! Do I even have feet? The coach is yelling at me. What am I doing here? Who's idea was this? Oh, it's going the other direction again. Better follow it. Midfield sucks.

That's why I'd much rather sit around and tell these guys what to do.

And with the way they've been playing the Yankees lately, they haven't been listening to me.

Several months ago, a boy asked me to play volleyball with him and his friends one Saturday. I protested that I was terrible at volleyball, but he brushed me off with the "Oh, I'm sure you're fine" that I so dread. I tried a couple more times, but he simply wouldn't believe the deep truths I was throwing at him. So, because I liked him, I agreed to play volleyball.

When I got there, I realized that he and all of his friends had played club and school volleyball in high school and apparently got together to play volleyball rather regularly. It was an odd number as we warmed up and stretched and I was all ready to take one for the team and sit it out, but some fool showed up late.

But don't worry. My clumsiness saved me a few minutes in when I fell into the boy I was with and twisted my ankle. I was finally allowed to sit on the sidelines, as I did every time he and his friends played sports around me thereafter.