バレーボール (bareboru)

Last Monday I was handed a sign-up sheet for a volleyball match to be held on Sunday. Reflecting on how dull most of my weekends are, I quickly drew my maru (a circle, a sign of agreement) without hesitation. I began to doubt myself later in the day when the first year English teacher, the kind Sasaki-sensei, approached me, list in hand. "You don't have to do it, you know. It's not required." I told her that I thought it would be fun. She seemed wary. Becoming cautious myself, I asked for more details. Sunday morning, from 9-12, teachers and parents from the PTA were going to gather to play games of soft volleyball (which I later found out is volleyball played with a kick ball over a badminton net). Some students would be there. It was a casual thing. Awash with good feelings stemming from my upcoming birthday, I assured her that it all sounded great.

It was hard to wake up that early on a Sunday, but I managed. I was even early by a few minutes. I was greeted by the sight of members of the school volleyball team pumping air into kick balls, dozens of middle aged women milling about, some flexing, some rummaging through the innumerable boxes that filled the stage, others sipping sports drinks and hot tea. I definitely stood out. As soon as I was noticed, I was taken under wing by Hashiba-sensei who propelled me close to the stage where a member of the PTA began to introduce the event.

We separated into teams. I was on the teacher's team. The three other ones were comprised of parents. We spent the first half hour practicing in a circle at keeping the ball in the air. Our kick ball had been leaking air, so they taped gobs of duct tape over the hole making the ball lop-sided. It refused to be aimed. After that exercise in futility, we were set up for our first match. Our opponents looked tough. Wearing near identical track suits, they looked like a team. We were more rag-tag, though we did have a principal, a vice-principal, a science teacher, a volleyball coach, and a home ec teacher on our side. We were soundly beaten.

Our next opponent was more like us. They didn't have matching uniforms. They didn't know how to serve. It was a close match. We just managed to squeak by.

Our last match was with ringers. Wearing matching track suits and knee pads, the ladies were pros. In our first game they wracked up 20 points before we got 1. I managed to focus a bit for our second game, and came to the realization that I was at least four inches taller than every member on their team. I was able to block every attempt they made to spike the ball. It was, however, not enough, and they beat us by a small margin.

Points were tallied and prizes were awarded. The team of knee-pad wearing ringers came in first. They were given a carton of Asahi Beer. My team came in third. We got a carton of sport drinks. Everyone was given a bag of presents that contained salty snacks, iced tea, Kleenex, plastic cling wrap, and liquid dish soap.

Gifts in hand, we bowed, and turned to leave. Sasaki-sensei's doubts were misplaced. Not only did I have fun, get exercise, and commune with teachers and parents, I also now have doubles of some basic kitchen supplies!