Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Pallavolo, volente o nolente/ Volleyball, like it or not

(T has 2 braids and is number 7)

We promised you an update on the volleyball and we are fulfilling it with great reluctance.  If you ever had anything ugly happen to you in middle school, and if you didn't --really you can't be our friend, then you would have just wanted to die during this match. Let me premise all of this by saying that we are awed by T's bravery in just showing up to this dreadful thing, for practicing beforehand, and for taking her turn on the field even though she would rather have been anywhere else.

That said, T's class comes on to the field wearing their fancy black matching T-shirts. Several of the girls are fully formed and are quite tall and curvy for sixth graders, even for sixth graders who have been left back a time or two.  Whereas the three boys who they dragged in to participate, despite that fact that boys are not supposed to play on the girls' volleyball team, were all fairly tiny.  Except if you count the big belly on the loudest mouthed boy who was supposed to take T's place on the team up until yesterday.

The tough girl group who come off like the pink ladies from GREASE entered with their cronies aka cheerleaders in matching baby blue t-shirts and with very sad, floppy pom-poms.  The other team was composed of miniature girls all sporting little girl pastels. They made T look like a giant. The pastel team are terrified of T's team, but during warm up when they practiced their cute little drills and slapped each other five you could see that they were going to beat the crap out of T's team. And T's team/class deserved to lose. They never called for the ball; they argued amongst themselves, they cursed, and they had terrible attitudes.  Plus also the big kids who were supposed to be good, totally sucked. They let T play one quick minute where she never was anywhere near the ball. Only once when the ball finally in T's peripheral vision and she tried to hit it, she hit it more horizontally than vertically, but at least she tried.

The bully girl who I will call "Rizzo" who has a marijuana-smoking, thuggish boyfriend three years ahead of her, called the team captain before the match to say she wasn't coming because she had her period.  None of the teachers call her on this all though she is the only female on earth to have her period as an excuse practically every day of the year. She showed up anyhow and hit one fairly fierce serve over the net, but that is all she did.  The girl who told T she couldn't play two days ago was not that great a player either and she took offense when the cheerleaders didn't call her name out the way they did for the rest of their clique and stamped around pouting for the rest of the time. The little tiny pastel team celebrated and as they left the court it sounded like they were singing that song that the mice sing in the middle of Cinderella when they bring her all the sewing shit. I'm so mad.

First of all, what's up with the gym teacher who only trains the boys and lets the big mouthed girls be in charge of volleyball and making team decisions? He didn't even come to the game. The pastel girls' teacher was there, of course. And how can these kids who aren't even any good make my kid feel terrible for not knowing how to play when she has all the tools to be able to learn how to play if someone just gave her a chance?

Anyway, next time we are going to have Lucia or Gabrielle go and cheer for T and make sure any mean Italian things that need to get said, get said. I suffered in near silence, relived my own middle school traumas, and wished  I could go up and punch a couple of kids in the nose.

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