Who started this cruel, cruel tradition? I don't care, they are my favorite human being on the planet.
It's a fun game, right? Yeah, yeah, whatever.
As a nearly thirty-eight year-old
aging and ever-expanding woman I get very few chances to be truly competitive. As a coach at a Catholic school you have to be a good sport (I'm a role model). As a consultant you have to be very non-competitive with the people you are working or they will forget your number (I need money). On our once-a-month volleyball games (for coaches and other recovering athletes) you can compete but only until someone's knee gives out.
But tomorrow in front of my own awestruck little princesses...just for fun. We kill 'em. We take no prisoners. We beat them like a drum. We set (that's a volleyball term for setting the ball up close to the net so someone can strike it with such force that someone on the other side is injured) only the truly gifted "hitters". We overlap the weaker teachers so they never have to touch the ball. We play to win, baby. It's so wrong (on soooo many levels) but it feels GREAT!
So, tomorrow say a little prayer for the eighth grade girls at Saint Whotheheck, they are the sweetest girls ever. But tomorrow I will crush them on the volleyball court because moments of glory are few and far between these days. few. and. far. between.