Just got home from my Monday night ritual of volleyball. Tonight was a big game, we were playing the only other team to have lost 1 game. The competitive side that resides so heavily in me was fired up to go. A couple of other girls from different teams told us that they were going to come and cheer us on which of course we appreciated but curiously wondered why.
After having just played this very good team, I completely understand why everyone wanted our team to bring the beat down on them. Talk about a bunch of sorry, pain-in-the-butt, smack-talkin’, ball carrying, incessant whiners that were some of the poorest sports I’ve ever played against. And I hate to say this but they were all of a certain Island persuasion, if you know what I mean.
One particular girl on their team, I’ll call her Gigantor, was one mean biddy who was looking for a fight any chance she could get. They’d hit the ball out of bounds, she scream at the ref, “It was in, ref! IN!” Um, no Gigantor, it most certainly wasn’t. If you could see beyond the large girth that protudes from beneath your wide open trap you would’ve been able to observe that the ball was clearly a good TWO FEET out of bounds.
I happened to hit a ball directly at her one play. She got a pretty good dig but sent it directly back my way. Bam! I hit it again and she missed. She glared at me and claimed, “She was in the net! She was in the net!” I just looked at her, smiled, and shook my head. She flipped me off. Sweet. Come closer to the net, dearest, so I can accidentally kick you in the shins.
We won the first game by default because their team didn’t show up until almost 6:20, twenty minutes after we were supposed to start. They beat us the “second” game 11 to 9 but really we beat ourselves with just some dumb errors. The “third” game was rally scoring of course. Everytime Gigantor would agree with the ref’s call, she would clap obnoxiously and say, “Good call, ref. Good call.” Annnnd of course when the calls went our way, “This game is rigged. They don’t want us to win first place.” Yeah, honey, a little city league is out to get you.
I ended up serving the last two points (one which was an ace – booyah for me!) and when the score flipped to 15-12, we all let out a loud joyful scream – as did many spectators in the stands. After giving them a cheer, we walked towards the net to give them a high five and Gigantor just walked away. No high fives. No congratulations on playing a good game. Just decided to wallow in her big fat pity and be mad at the world. Sheesh, what sore sportsmanship.
Besides stickin’ it to a team that everyone hated, we also clinched first place in our league. That lofty perch means we get to split $50 between the six of us (we are so RICH!). We’re going out for ice cream. 🙂 Poor Gigantor will just have to cry herself to sleep over her lost double fudge brownie sundae.
I’m terribly despondent over the fact that I only have one game left to play next week however…