I played volleyball with a small church team, part of the youth program. As the team leader by default, I was the oldest, the biggest, and the most athletic, so I tried to take the role seriously. I was vocal (I’m blessed with a loud voice) with my encouragement, and that often worked in our favour. There were times when we really rose to the occasion, and there were other times when my lack of maturity shone through.
Opposing teams often figured out that keeping the ball away from the tall, skinny guy was a good strategy. A few of our games turned into a frustrating game of keep away. I had one of the best spikes in the league, but I can’t set the ball for myself. My teammates struggled to set me up for the intimidating kill shot. I got frustrated, and one day I learned to keep my mouth in check by embarrassing myself.
We were playing a match in front of a churchgoer audience, and keep away was the name of the game. I started to get frustrated. We might even have been winning, but I was feeling uninvolved. “C’mon, let’s set it up!” I would yell, trying to encourage my teammates. Things devolved from there. My encouragement started to become increasingly more bellicose. At some point, because no one seemed to be paying much attention, I started yelling, “C’mon, let’s have some sets!” I started getting annoyed sideways glances from some of my teammates. I got louder. People started looking at me funny.
Finally, one of my younger brothers, who was on the team, had had enough. He stomped over to me. “Will you shut up. It sounds like you’re yelling, let’s have some sex!” I was real quiet after that.
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