Thursday, Jan. 27, 2000:
Our v-ball opponents aggravate me considerably. The whole co-ed point is that one should not bully the beginners, especially when they’re women. Happily, this bilious attitude I have toward sports is brightened by a spectacular mishap. One of our female opponents walloped a serve over. __, a good natured and good sported fellow, was on the back line, wavering about whether to play it or not. Yes, no, yes, no—he appeared to get hung up on the brink of his choice. So he did both, or tried anyway. Just before impact he opened his arms wide and jumped to let the ball go between his legs. And it did, directly between. To the trained eye it was clear that this was a direct hit—the bow/buckle-legged stance, the hunched posture, the hunted eyes all bespoke that special, exquisite pain. But how to express or overcome it when 6 women are howling hilariously at you? Meaning no disrespect, there are different ways that through one’s stripes we can be healed.
Sunday, January 19: 2003
At this point, a little free time seems appropriate. Later we have scones. Later we play games. How sad it will be when all these kids are gone.