Drowning in nerves at my very first varsity volleyball game at POP, I was getting more and more anxious to play. When the whistle blew for my substation, I thought to myself "I'm going to wow the crowd, the new girl is going to make her name." The serve came over, and the middle back passed the ball perfectly to the setter. I was so ready to hit the ball, and called for it as loudly as I believed I could.
Everything was in slow motion, but my heart was racing 1,000 miles an hour. I watched the setter shoot the ball to the outside where my anxious self was in position. "Time to shine," I thought as I jumped. My arms were up and ready to go, feet moving, right left right. What? Wait, what hit my head?
No, please don't tell me, did the ball just hit my head? Mortified wouldn't cover my feeling at the moment, being a new kid on the team, not only missing the ball so badly, but hitting my head with it. I looked to my teammates laughing hysterically, while the crowed, divided evenly with laughter and cheers. Why were they cheering? A point for the home team went up on the scoreboard. What just happened to me? My teammates all came up and hit my hand and patted my back, explaining that the ball went off my head and hit the ground on the other side. How could such a wrong action that ending up worked out too be okay? Just like the story of the Balloon Fest '86, things went hilariously wrong. Laughing with embarrassment, I did for a fact, make a name for myself.
