Two young beach players with taut muscles, raging hormones, endless energy and fire in their eyes showed up at their volleyball match. They arrived early to ensure enough warm time, their top spin had been a little weak and they wanted to be at their best.
They took turns hitting as they anticipated their next challenge, which was now approaching in the distance. Turning their attention from their dedicated practise, they stood with mouths agape as they sized up the competition.
A middle-aged couple in outdated clothing came slowly lumbering across the sand, carrying beach chairs, pails and buckets, a big bag full of juice boxes, sunscreen and bug spray. Two small girls followed the pair shouting, "Yeah! Balleyball! Let's go!" The dad who had a slight pot belly, slowed his pace to help his daughter with her sandal.
While the parents got the children settled with chairs, drinks and sand toys on the side of the court, the teenagers smiled. It was the same grin which appears just before one devours a delicious meal, in fact , they may have salivated just a little. Just what they needed, a couple of chumps for an easy game so they could work on some of their more sophisticated plays.
The first game was a little tougher than they had imagined. Although the old guy didn't like to run very much he was surprisingly agile, and he hit disturbingly hard. The mom could keep her attention away from her kids just long enough to find the empty spots on their court. Although it was tough, the teenagers had their egos sated by winning the match. They shook hands and said "good game" as they should, and began to plan the next attack. The strategy included a few easy dumps, hitting harder and being sure to get their digs up high. With any luck, they'll have the game finished off in 10 minutes and could get home in time for the new episode of "Punk'd".
Their plan was foolproof! Except for the few glitches that the young don't yet consider. While the young begin to tire after one match, the older players begin to warm up. The stiff joints and aches of years of play get washed away in a tidal wave of adrenaline which is quite relaxing. Suddenly, the older players started to laugh, then they began to run, and then they started to shout things the youngsters hadn't heard before.
The young players had a will of iron, they buckled down with fierce determination. They ran hard for every ball, they yelled out every play, and yelled at each other. As the imaginary points they had already counted began to vanish, so did their smiles. How could this be? What are we doing wrong? We can't lose to a couple of old farts! Come on! Pull it together!
The second match ended with frustration, and a sense of indignation. More strategic planning helped bolster the dwindling spirits of the youngsters. The older couple got their children drinks, and gave each other five. As they spun the ball to begin the tie-breaking match, they whispered something to each other and smiled. What were they saying?
With nervous energy and trepidation, the teenagers began the final match. The youngsters pushed harder than ever trying not to lose, while the older couple laughed and tried to play their best. From the teenager's court one could hear the grunts of frustration, which almost drown out the giggling from the older couple.
As the final serve landed on experienced arms, the set was made and the ball hit the sand with a thump that spelled defeat for the young players.
The old couple came over to shake hands, which the teenagers did with reluctant, forced smiles. The old man said, "don't worry, you played well." The mom said, "you did well, keep at it" and she smiled a little too wide for the teenagers liking. The teenagers went to their water bottles, to talk about the game and discuss their weaknesses. They picked up their ball and went back to their practising. As they hit, run, and passed the ball to each other, their determination began to eat away at the dark cloud of loss hanging over their heads. They began to sweat, and ache and smile again.
The older couple gathered up their children, toys, and other luggage and began to make their way home. They walked away slowly as the rush of adrenaline wore off, and they could feel reality creeping into their joints again. Just as they walked off the sand, onto the concrete that would take them home, the mother looked back one more time at the determined teens and smiled. That's what she would have done...a few years, and another lifetime ago.
PS...We beat them! We beat them! Ha! Ha! Ha! Am I proud of beating up on poor little 16 year olds? You bet your butt!
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home