Exercise

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It’s Wednesday and school is cancelled. It’s the day of the Facchochschule Kaernten (read: Carinthia University) annual Volleyball and Football tournament. Anyone from the University can register a team, just submit your team name by the deadline. Manu, Filipe and Andrii are playing for the football team sponsored by Infineon, a local engineering firm that employs a lot of student interns.They even get nice uniforms.

Yesterday, I had talked to a guy named Dominik in the Geoinformatics department. I had been told he was registering a team. He was and was happy to have me join. Our team is No Use For a Teamname. Apparently Dominik was into American punk music when he was a teenager. Go figure. We are one of three volleyball teams from the Geoinformatics department and one of eight in total. We have no uniforms. Hell, we don’t even match. We’re the scrubs of Geoinformation volleyball. But I like being a scrub team. Unassuming, unthreatening, then BAM! Suddenly you’re being used to wipe up the court. At least that’s how I hope it goes.

The rules for team registration are that teams must have two men and two women. We have five players: Myself, Dominik, Evelina, Andrew (from LSU) and his wife Jessie. So the guys will rotate out. Noncompeting teams will officiate the two courts. The tournament is one giant 8 team pool followed by the top 4 going to playoffs and then two rounds of playoffs to determine the winner. Pool play is one game to 21. Playoffs are best of 3, all games to 15. Rally scoring. Shit, this tournament is going to be scrubby.

Looks like we’re up first. Opponent: a team of…two dudes? Looks like they’re either illiterate or the tournament organizer doesn’t give a shit. I’m going to pause for a moment and be judgmental. It’s probably both. These guys are complete tools and the tournament organizer looks like he can’t remember the last time he was sober. Screw it. We’ll beat them anyway, even if they have the advantage of numbers. Yes, it’s much easier to play with two people than four. Trust me on this.

My confidence is broken within the first five minutes. First, the officiating is terrible. Mostly because none of these people have ever played volleyball outside the annual tournament and have no idea what the rules are. And I can’t speak German so I can’t tell them they’re complete idiots. I’m going up to block and tool #1 broad-jumps into the net, knocks me down and then comes completely under the net on my side of the court. The ref gives them the point! I’m gesticulating like crazy. Maybe they’ll figure it out. Ah, there it is, a glimmer of understanding. They call a replay. It’s going to be a long day. Second, I have completely overestimated my teams’ athletic ability. Only one of them has ever played volleyball before (Andrew's wife Jessie for a couple years in highschool). She’s also the least athletic of the group. But she can pass, so that’s something. The other three? Well, whatever. Tool #2 goes on a serving run. He definitely isn’t going to serve me and the only other person that can pass is at the net. But she can’t set or run down any of the passes that are getting shanked. So much for that. I manage to get us the sideout eventually, but it’s too late at that point.

We lose 22-20. Damnit. I hate losing.

The next two games progress in similar fashion. Up next is the second team from Geoinformatics. At least they have proper team composition. Two girls, two guys, all athletic. They’re the champs from last year. I love dethroning champs. Again, I spend the game trying to be a team player. I’m the most recent member, it’s supposed to be a fun tournament, so I’m exercising patience and humility and letting my team get a lot of touches. The two guys on the other side? Not so nice. They just pass and set each other the whole time and are athletic enough to pull it off without having played much. My team doesn’t even understand the concept of setting. Every perfect pass I make goes over on two. I only get set on the lucky occasion when Dominik is at the net and doesn’t feel like trying to sneak the ball over. The handful of times I’ve been set I’ve either drilled the ball into the ground or tooled a shitty block. Hello? Set me. They pull out the win, 21-19. Well, this sucks.

Game 3. I don’t know who they are. They’ve got one really athletic guy, an average athletic guy, and two girls that pass nails, even though their small. This could be tough. And it was. Another loss. 21-17. Now I’m really frustrated. 0-3 is not a good start to the day when only the top four teams make playoffs. We’ve got some time before our next game so we grab lunch. My teams asks what our chances of making payoffs are. I tell them we have to win everything else. They look like they understand, but I can’t be sure. Lunch is a steak and potato salad. The steak is tender, but the potato salad is heavy on vinegar. Interesting, but tasty. And cheap.

Reality check: Food here in Austria is really cheap. And mostly delicious. I am now hooked on Kebabs. The Turkish style of rotisserie meat where it’s cooked vertically and they shave meat off to stuff in a roll or thin tortilla (called a Durum) with cheese, veggies and sauce. It’s big, awesome and under 4 euros usually.

Back to the tournament. Game 4. We’re playing the other Geoinformatics team. Also 0-3 and don’t look like they’ll be winning a game. I opt to sit this one out. My team can’t possibly lose. Wrong. Score is 12-12. I’ve seen better volleyball from…well, nevermind. I sub back in. Don’t remember the score, but we finally won. Everybody’s excited. The taste of victory is sweet on everybody’s tongues. “Let’s do it again!” they say. Sure, where was the fire during game 1 I wonder? No matter, I’ll take it late than never. Game 5, another victory. And Game 6. And 7. Shit, we went on a bit of a run. Suddenly, we’re 4-3. I walk over to the bracket. The team crowds around. Looks like we snuck into 4^th place. Barely. Cheers and highfives all around. First round of playoffs? The first seed, undefeated Geoinformation team. I watch the smiles droop, the energy dissipate. Am I worried? No. I know this team’s strategy and weaknesses now and I still love dethroning champions.

The two tools got second seed and are playing the team with the two girls who pass nails. But I’m not watching it, I’ve got a game to win. I pull Dominik aside. “Dom, this is the part of the day where I get selfish. Every chance you get, set me.” He nods. Jessie understands too, but her ability to set is somewhat limited. Game 1, we’re playing into the sun. It’s late afternoon now (4:30 ish) and the glare is rough. We lose game 1. It’s close. Side change. Game on. Now they have the sun and I’m using it to my advantage. Their passing deteriorates. I’ve got a wall of a block up. My team gets a surge of energy and are suddenly scrapping every ball up, forcing our opponents to make errors. It’s working. Suddenly, we’ve won. 21-18. Looks like we’re playing another one.

Game 3. The deciding factor. The other team goes to switch sides. Uh-uh. We’re staying on this side, you can have serve. There’s some consternation. “But every game there is a switch!” Nope, not in real volleyball. Tiebreaker is decided by chance. I offer to rock-paper-scissors. I guess they don’t understand. Ref (surprisingly) rules in my favor. We get to keep the shady side. This game is tough. There are no leads. It’s neck and neck the whole way. The guys figured they need to step up their game, they might actually lose. They’re working harder (the girls still aren’t getting to touch the ball much) which means I’m working harder to put up blocks and digs. I’m doing everything I possibly can to get those two guys out of system. Serving seam, tipping short, hitting corners. It’s working so far and keeping us in the game. But I have three other x-factors behind me. And then they pull ahead an extra point. 11-13. I wish I could call a timeout right now. I’ll have to settle for a little pep up and positive energy instead. The guys think that because their girls are their weak points, ours must be too. They serve Jessie, the one other player on my team that can pass. Sweet, thanks. Dom sets! Double sweet, thanks. Poor block, no defensive adjustment and the ball gets buried angle. Dom’s at the service line. He’s been inconsistent all day. I consider telling him who to serve, but figure he doesn’t have the means to place an underhanded serve and I don’t want to put extra pressure on him anyway. Time to just play it out. He serves. Shank. 13-13. Awesome. He serves again. Pass, set, stuffed! Straight down. The guys got frustrated and tried to wail on a tight set. Mistake. 14-13. Dom serves. Pass…wait, overpass. Oh hell yes. The guy in front is tracking the ball, waiting to set it. Denied. It floats right over the net and gets buried in the big hole in the middle of the court. Game over. Sorry champs. How does defeat taste? We have risen from the depths of diversity, tasted defeat and despair, and emerged victorious. You can go fight for third with someone. We’re going to the finals.

To face the same two tools we played in the first game. Awesome. I really wanted to wipe the idiot smiles from their faces. The pattern here is the same. I’m done being a team player at this point. This is the finals. I’m passing two thirds of the court and hoping my team mates decide to try and set. I’m really picking on these guys. I know they’re tired and I’m employing the same strategies. Hitting deep corners, sharp angles, finding the open spots. And it’s working. I can see the fatigue. But we still lose the first game. We switch sides. The sun isn’t a factor at this point, the clouds have moved in again. Game 2 starts. More of the same. Moving the ball around, forcing them to make errors, letting them lose to fatigue. It works. Game 2 is ours.

Game 3. So incredibly reminiscent of the day’s first game. I’m soaked in sweat at this point. I’m surprised it isn’t covered in grass stains. Grass courts, I’ve decided, are the worst courts for diving. You get none of the impact cushion from sand and none of the sliding from a court. Just jarring impact. If I could see a chiropractor tomorrow, I would. But it’s paying off. Tool #1 misses his serve. We’ve got the lead, a couple points early on. The guys have adapted a little bit, grudgingly forcing me to admit they understand the game well enough, even if their technique is sloppy. I’m passing from the middle, hitting and staying to block. The guys are shooting the ball deep middle and tipping short angle to get around me and find the open spots. I take a minute to tell the team and encourage them to shift their defense to pick these balls up. We’ve still got a lead of a couple points, it should be ok.

Except it’s not. I watch as my side of the court Chernobyls, like so many games during the SDSU season. Just a giant implosion leaving nothing but a bitter wasteland of excuses and disappointments. Dom picks a fight through the net with Tool #1. There’s physical contact. It’s not even a slap, just a hand on the face, pulled away. I don’t even remember what it was about. I’m embarrassed either way. You just told the guy you want to fight him, but are too chicken to actually hit him. And you’re admitting you’re frustrated. Never show weakness. On top of the, the defense isn’t shifting. I’m watching balls drop in the same spots every time. I can’t leave the net to pick these digs up because the serving isn’t tough enough to force them out of system. An empty net will result in the ball being drilled into the ground or at someone with no chance of digging. They go on a serving run. They still don’t serve me. They’ve figured out Jess can pass. I watch as ball after ball gets shanked away. It’s 13-14. They serve, I watch the ball go back over in two. Crap. I sprint to the net. Good pass. Tight set. I leap. I press. If he swings, I’m building him a new roof. But this isn’t the beach. You can tip with an open hand. I watch the ball tipped just over my left hand. Dom, please tell me you remembered, just this once, to shift your defense up to cover this. My feet touch the ground and I turn to see Dom leaping from deep court, trying to lay out and get the dig. He gets an A for effort, but fails the course miserably none the less. I watch the two tools jump in celebration. High fives, fist pumps, smiles. My team just hangs their heads. Watches their shoes.

I’ve kept my mouth shut the whole day and at this point I just want to scream from pure, concentrated frustration. I loathe second place. I worked my ass off to get us into the finals, to keep us in the finals. I watched my team mate pick a fight with the opponent and then get schooled over and over again by the same play. I watched two absolute tools who shouldn’t have been in the tournament in the first place due to the illegitimacy of their team celebrate an undeserved victory. It was more than I could stand. I went and grabbed a beer and watched the football finals enter penalty kicks to cool down. In the end, we got our picture taken with some local politician and were handed ten cent silver medals along with a small trophy. Woo. Team Hangover got some gold medals and a glass plaque declaring their victory. Ah well. Afterwards, my team told me they were all extremely happy because they had come into the tournament with one goal: not to get last. They completely exceeded their expectations in that regard. But it’s mentality that separates true competitors. If you aren’t first, you ARE last.



Word of the Blog: Semmel

It means roll. Like a piece of bread.

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