Events and Highlights

A mostly accurate account of the games on Wednesday August 19th

The late August weather smiled upon the Fireside Social Volleyball League once again. Wednesday, August 19th, brought a mild but warm evening, with just enough uncertainty hanging in the air to make a fellow wonder what the night might hold.

Opportunity was on the menu. So was an upset.

The Chosen vs. Cool Beans

Fresh from two crushing victories over Serves Him Right, the Frisian giants of The Chosen strode boldly onto the court.

The Monee aggregation was once again helmed by Captain Bethany, with sturdy Scott, quick Emily, colossal Chris, willowy Steve, and substitute James forming the remainder of the giant contingent.

Across the net gathered the Joliet bruisers of Cool Beans. Captain Jeremy was back at the helm, with Zoe, Zach, Adam, and Erik alongside him. Sam was running behind, so Zack was pressed into service as a substitute.

Captain Jeremy had reason for confidence. If Cool Beans could sweep both games, they would pull their record to 8–4, just one game behind The Chosen at 9–3. The Joliet club had its chance to make the standings interesting.

Erik opened the evening with the serve—a fitting choice, considering his serve had closed the previous meeting. This time, however, fortune was not with him. His opening ball sailed astray and handed The Chosen the early advantage.

From there, the battle was on. The Monee giants displayed their customary skill, but Cool Beans refused to be pushed around. In one particularly hard-fought rally, the Joliet crew kept the ball alive through a series of stubborn returns until The Chosen finally dropped it.

Captain Jeremy stepped behind the line and served his club through three points.

The Chosen would not permit the whirlwind captain to run wild, however. They halted the advance and brought the score level at 3–3.

From there, the giants began to pull away. Cool Beans fought with grit, but the towering Monee club seemed to have just a little more room for error. The score climbed to 14–5 in favor of The Chosen.

Then the Joliet club began its counterattack. Adam, Zach, and the returning Sam pooled their strength and started dragging Cool Beans back into the affair. The rallying was rough, energetic business, but the scoreboard began to move. 12–17.

At twelve, however, Adam’s serving run ended and the ball returned to Scott.

Scott was no soft customer. The Chosen ace promptly pushed his side toward the finish line, and within moments the score stood at 20–12. Game point.

Captain Jeremy rallied his troops. Scott sent the ball over for what could have been the winning rally. Zach, Jeremy, and Zoe combined to hammer it back into Monee territory. The giants couldn’t quite get there.

Point, Cool Beans. Zack, the substitute, stepped behind the line for his first serve of the night. The pressure was on.

He tossed the ball. He swung. The direction was good. The lift was not. The ball rushed straight into the net and dropped harmlessly to the ground. The game belonged to The Chosen, 21–13.

The Monee giants celebrated with their customary thunder, while the Joliet club solemnly switched sides.

The second game opened on even terms. At 2–2, the bruisers of Cool Beans were still locked with the mythic Monee giants. Then The Chosen began to pull ahead.

At 12–3, it appeared the gallery might be witnessing another Goliathian demolition. But Captain Bethany made a costly mistake. Her short serve handed possession to Cool Beans, and the ball fell into the capable hands of borrowed giant Adam.

Adam went to work. He served Cool Beans from 3–12 to 7–12, and though The Chosen eventually reclaimed possession, something had changed.

The Joliet club had found its footing. The next several points were fierce affairs.

At 15–9, Scott sent over a solid serve. Cool Beans was ready. Captain Jeremy hammered the return into an open patch of Monee grass, and the ball fell into the hands of Erik. Then the Joliet club took off.

Like an air conditioner under the ocean, Cool Beans began rising at a pace nobody quite expected.

15–all.

Then they moved ahead. Captain Bethany called timeout at 16–15, hoping to interrupt the charge. It didn’t work. Cool Beans had found its groove.

The Chosen managed three more points, but Captain Jeremy and his scrappy band would not be denied. Cool Beans won the second game 21–18.

The giants had been bloodied. Captain Bethany looked upon the mismatched underdogs with a fury that could have melted the yellow tape on the net.

The dope around the grounds suggested that her irritation was compounded by the knowledge that a certain small-time reporter would doubtless be putting the whole affair into print.

Captain Jeremy and his club celebrated. It was not the sweep they had wanted, but it was enough to keep the standings within striking distance.

And already the whispers had begun. The Chosen and Cool Beans would almost certainly meet again. This time, the stakes would be higher.

Net+ vs. Serves Him Right

The second-hour clubs were already assembled when the bell tolled.

The blue battalion of Wheaton’s Net+ and the midnight-shaded dwarves of Serves Him Right had arrived early, using the warm-up period for a series of serious rallies.

Captain Sherri and her bright-spirited warriors were ready.

Captain Ian, meanwhile, was a different man from the fellow who had taken the field two weeks earlier. The sour expression was gone. The angry silence was gone. In its place stood a quiet and humble skipper. The reliable dope was that the Oak Forest club had finally had it out with its captain. Whatever had been said, it appeared to have produced a new understanding between Ian and his little aggregation. Only the volleyball could tell the whole story.

Net+ opened with its customary huddle, chant, and break before taking the field. Serves Him Right answered with stiff returns and determined serves.

The early battle was close:

1–2.
2–4.
3–5.

But Net+ held the advantage. At five points, the blue battalion unleashed a coordinated attack of crisp sets and killing returns. Jackson, the Jackhammer, finished rally after rally with his familiar coup de grace.

Net+ pulled steadily away and took the opening game 21–10. Captain Ian had been shoved. But he had not been shaken.

Watching from the sidelines was Sam of Cool Beans. The sight brought back memories of the previous meeting between his own club and Net+. On that occasion, Sam had borrowed members of The Chosen in an attempt to overpower the blue battalion. Tonight, he felt differently. He had been greedy before. He intended to give something back.

Sam once again joined Captain Ian’s squad, this time playing beneath the shorter banner of Serves Him Right.

The second game began with the Oak Forest club serving. Immediately, something felt different. Captain Ian, Owen, Noah, Arden, Ashley, Jenna, and Grace—along with their borrowed bruiser Sam—played with renewed confidence.

Serves Him Right raced ahead to 8–2. Net+ refused to fold. The blue battalion clawed its way back until the score stood 11–all. Then came a genuine volleyball contest.

Every rally was played with precision. Neither side was willing to surrender an inch.

14–all

15–all

16–all

At sixteen, something appeared in the eyes of the Oak Forest dwarves. A spark. Net+ saw it. Captain Ian’s little band pressed forward with everything they had.

Grace, Owen, and Noah produced a series of crucial plays, and at last Serves Him Right broke through. They took the second game 21–18.

The losing streak was over. The blue battalion, ever gracious, celebrated with their opponents and acknowledged the Oak Forest club’s hard-fought charge.

Captain Ian had finally led his dwarves back into the winner’s circle.

Looking Forward

And with that, Week Six came to a close. More importantly, the regular season of the Fireside Social Volleyball League was finished.

The standings would now be set aside. The records would matter less. Tonight, the whole campaign comes down to one final question: Who will be left standing when the dust settles?

The finals are upon us. Reliable dope has it that the evening will begin with a round-robin affair, giving every club one final opportunity to settle old scores. From there, the two winningest outfits will advance to a final best-of-three championship series.

And if the reports around the grounds are correct, the opening tilt will feature Cool Beans against Serves Him Right.

That means the bruisers, dwarves, giants, and blue battalion all have one last chance to write their names into the history of this fledgling circuit.

The Chosen have spent much of the season looking like an immovable mountain. Cool Beans have spent the last several weeks proving that mountains can be climbed. Net+ has already shown that giants can bleed. And Serves Him Right, after taking its share of hard knocks, has finally found its footing at the very moment it matters most.

The regular season is over. The slate is nearly clean. Tonight there will be no tomorrow to blame, no next week to wait for, and no later meeting to settle unfinished business.

There is only the court. There is only the ball. And there is only one trophy. This reporter will be there with notebook in hand to record the final chapter of this extraordinary little campaign. Until then, keep your ear to the ground and your eye on the circuit.

Legends are waiting to be made.

A gray haze hung over the heavens on Wednesday, August 5. If radio static had somehow become a feature of nature, it would have sounded much like the sky above Stonebridge Park.

Once again, the threat of rain had taken up residence over the young Volleyball circuit. Moisture was in the air. So was revenge. And, if the reliable dope around the grounds could be trusted, more than a little unfinished business.

The Chosen vs. Serves Him Right

The call went forth at 6:30, and two of the circuit’s most opposite aggregations took the field. The Chosen arrived in their familiar assortment of flamboyant colors—tall, imposing, and looking every inch the powerhouse they had become. Across the net stood Serves Him Right, a smaller band dressed largely in dark green.

In appearance, they could scarcely have been more different. In purpose, they were remarkably alike. Both had something to prove. Captain Bethany of The Chosen was absent once again. Reliable scuttlebutt suggests she has developed a healthy respect for a certain small-time reporter who, despite several attempts upon his person, remained inconveniently alive and quite probably on the volleyball field. In her place stood sturdy Scott, backed by the dependable Dutch-tree-frog contingent from Monee.

Across the net lined up the weary but determined dwarves of Serves Him Right. Grace, Jenna, Arden, Ashley, Brynn, Noah, and Owen stood behind their skipper. Captain Ian, however, was a changed man. The furious fire that had so often marked the Oak Forest field general seemed to have burned itself down to the last ember. His face was gray and haggard. He looked less like a field marshal and more like a fellow who had spent the previous evening losing an argument with a freight train. Still, the whistle blew.

Serves Him Right had the opening serve. Noah, one of the taller and more confident of the halflings, swung hard and sent the ball sailing out of bounds. The ball went to The Chosen. And with it came the old Monee rhythm.

The giants reeled off seven straight points before Serves Him Right could answer. It was rough medicine for the Oak Forest aggregation. Captain Ian called orders, but the customary thunder was missing from his voice. Arden and Grace managed a series of excellent rallies, pulling their side back into the contest at 5–10, but The Chosen remained firmly in command.

Chris, the Monee ace, retained his trademark good humor. Emily and Rachel brought their usual intensity. Scott, Matt, and Brian continued hammering the ball across the net with the regularity of factory presses. The Chosen reached game point with Serves Him Right sitting at eight.

Then Brian, after a phenomenal run of serves, finally made a mistake and sent one astray. The ball came back to the green-clad battalion. A brief rally followed. Captain Ian, looking like a fellow recently raised from the grave but moving with the precision of an Olympian, threw himself into the play. He executed a beautiful set only to have an uncomfortable realization. The ball was going nowhere.

It sailed beautifully through the air and dropped onto the clear green grass beneath the shadow of the net on his own side. Ian simply stared at it. No shout. No gesture. Not even a grimace. He merely looked upon the impotent sphere and, by all appearances, began wondering about next Friday’s weather.

It was not the Oak Forest club’s evening. The second affair proved scarcely kinder. The Chosen stormed to ten points while Serves Him Right had managed only three. The green-clad campaigners continued swinging hard, but the cohesion necessary to halt the Monee machine simply wasn’t there.

Game point came at 20–8. Matt, a dexterous Nephilim, stepped to the line and served cleanly into open green grass. Game over. The Chosen had taken both tilts with clean brutality.

Heads hanging low, even allowing for their diminutive stature, Serves Him Right left the field. Captain Ian shook his head slowly. Reports indicate his disappointment was directed not at his men but at himself. That may have been the lowest point yet for the Oak Forest aggregation. Yet there was something encouraging in what followed. As the players gathered around their skipper, they began quietly discussing what could be done. For weeks Ian had lifted them when they were down. Now it appeared to be their turn to lift him.

Meanwhile, The Chosen departed the field with their confidence restored. The Monee giants intended to put their recent setback against Net+ behind them and march through the remainder of the campaign without another blemish. Or so they figured.

Cool Beans vs. Net+

For the second hour, the blue battalion of Net+ arrived beneath a much brighter cloud of morale. The Wheaton outfit was still riding high from its spectacular upset of the previously undefeated Monee club. A few dirty looks drifted their way from the departing members of The Chosen. The blue battalion either failed to notice or answered each glare with a friendly smile.

Cool Beans, meanwhile, arrived in somewhat less orderly fashion. Captain Jeremy, fresh from two victories over Serves Him Right at the previous engagement, was absent. Family business had claimed the Joliet skipper, and the captaincy had passed to the reliable Sam. As 7:30 approached, only Sam, Erik, and Adam were present. Three men. Three men do not make a volleyball team.

The league officials would require at least four. Just as the whistle was about to sound, steadfast Zach arrived, bringing the Joliet contingent up to the minimum. League officials David and Audrey permitted acting Captain Sam to select willing substitutes from the teams of the previous hour.

Several members of The Chosen stepped forward. There was opportunity in the offer. There was also revenge. Sam was not blind to the glint in the eyes of the Monee monsters. He remembered well what it felt like to stand across the net from them. He glanced toward the remaining members of Serves Him Right, but saw a battered and exhausted aggregation.
The temptation was too great. Sam accepted the help. Surely, he reasoned, borrowing members of the league’s winningest club could only improve his chances. He took on Emily, Rachel, Chris, and in a surprise choice Brynn, the only member from Serves Him Right.

The rock-paper-scissors contest went to Cool Beans, and Sam took the opening serve for his curious coalition of Joliet bruisers and Monee giants, plus a Oak Forest serving strong-woman. Emily, one of the borrowed Chosen aces, served first. Cool Beans claimed the opening point.

Net+ answered immediately. Jackson delivered a return that landed in open grass on the Joliet side, and the blue battalion took possession. Eric, known around the circuit as a serve master, then began dealing in trouble of his own. The score reached 3–3.

A fierce serve from one of the borrowed giants produced a long rally, but Jackson eventually delivered another killing blow into open territory. Net+ took the ball. Deepthi stepped behind the line and began a powerful serving run. The blue club moved to 8–3 before scrappy Adam finally stopped the procession. Cool Beans picked up two points before Net+ regained possession at 9–5.

From there the game settled into a steady pattern. Cool Beans fought. Net+ answered. The Joliet aggregation, despite its borrowed muscle, could not quite find the communication necessary to operate as a single machine. Net+, meanwhile, moved with the confidence of a club that had been playing together all season.

The Wheaton battalion took the first game, 21–14. Sam stood afterward with sweat running down his face. The victory had not come. The help had not been enough. And somewhere in the back of his mind, the acting skipper knew he’d borrowed trouble from the very fellows he’d soon have to fight. He felt, in his own words, a little like Faust.

The second game began with an omen. Cool Beans had the first serve, and Rachel, another borrowed Chosen ace, sent it immediately out of bounds. Net+ took the first two points.

The Joliet outfit answered with grit. The score climbed to 4–4. Cool Beans reclaimed the lead briefly, reaching eight before Net+ answered with eight of their own.
At 8–8, something changed. The blue battalion found a new gear. Net+ moved ahead 10–9. Then 11–10. 14–11. 15–12. 17–13. Cool Beans fought, but the blue machine was rolling. Finally Net+ reached game point at 20–14.

Sam looked across at Zach, Adam, and Erik. The four longtime teammates exchanged concentrated nods. No borrowed giant could win this for them. If Cool Beans was going to make its stand, it would have to come from the unit they had built themselves over the course of four league meetings.

Erik stepped behind the line. He knew the Joliet club’s evening—and perhaps its standing in the league—was hanging by a thread. He took a breath and clenched a fist. Then he served.

15–20

16–20

17–20

18–20

19–20

The gallery began to stir. Nobody had expected it. Adam and Sam worked furiously to keep the ball alive while Zach began dropping one punishing return after another.

Erik kept serving. Sweat rolled down his temples. The pressure mounted with every toss. Net+ returned the next ball. Sam and borrowed Rachel combined to hammer it down. 20–20.
The comeback was complete. The scrappy Joliet quartet had dragged themselves all the way back from the brink.

Erik lined up for the deciding serve. He exhaled. The ball rose. Net+ returned it. Sam refused to let it settle. One exchange. Another. Then a miscalculated strike from the blue battalion sent the ball down into its own court. The ball hit grass. Game.

Cool Beans 21, Net+ 20. The Joliet club erupted. Across the court, Captain Sherri and Aleia could only acknowledge the achievement. The blue battalion had been beaten in a fight it had nearly finished twice. The players shook hands. Sam admitted that the baby-blue battlers had given them one devil of a run. And the scorebook recorded one of the greatest comebacks of the young campaign.

Looking Forward

With the league tilts finished, the evening relaxed into mixed-team games. For a few minutes, there were no Joliet bruisers, no Monee giants, no Wheaton battalions, and no Oak Forest dwarves. Just volleyball.

Sam breathed easier. He had not completely let down Captain Jeremy. Yet as he watched Chris—the ever-jovial Monee giant—laughing across the net during the informal play, another thought occurred to him. Some of the very fellows who had helped him tonight would soon be standing across the net from him. The next league engagement would be Cool Beans against The Chosen. And this one would count.

As matters presently stand, The Chosen sit at 9–1, while Cool Beans have climbed to 6–4 in total win. Two victories over the Monee giants in the coming tilts could bring the Joliet club almost neck and neck with the powerhouse heading into the finals. The opportunity is there. Whether Captain Jeremy’s aggregation can seize it remains to be seen.

Elsewhere, Captain Ian sat at the edge of the street staring into nothing in particular. He looked thoroughly put out. After some time, Sam approached and sat beside him. For a while there was nothing but the quiet sounds of the summer evening. Then Sam placed a firm hand upon Ian’s shoulder.

“There’s always time for a comeback.”

With that, Sam rose and walked away. Witnesses report that the shadow upon Captain Ian’s face lifted, if only slightly. Perhaps the Oak Forest skipper isn’t finished yet.

And now, faithful readers, we come to tonight. At 6:30, the two winningest clubs will finally meet again. The Chosen vs. Cool Beans.

The Monee giants will attempt to prove their recent stumble was nothing more than a bad break in an otherwise magnificent campaign. Captain Jeremy’s Joliet bruisers, meanwhile, will have their chance to show that the club which nearly toppled The Chosen once is now ready to finish the job.

At 7:30, the marching sunrise of Net+ will square off against the Oak Forest campaigners of Serves Him Right. Can Captain Ian summon one more reserve of strength? Can his little green or black clad aggregation recover from the bruising defeat suffered last meeting? Or will the Wheaton battalion continue its remarkable late-season surge?

Tonight represents the final regular-season set of tilts before the finals. And if the first weeks of this campaign have taught us anything, it is that the circuit has a few more shocks tucked away in its back pocket.

This reporter owes the faithful an apology for the tardiness of this account. It ought to have been in print considerably sooner. Life, however, has been somewhat more stringent since a certain Monee giant placed this humble correspondent upon a rather undesirable list. Nevertheless, duty remains duty. Until there is no longer air in these lungs, this reporter intends to bring the faithful the accurate account—no matter how many alleys must be crossed, how many collars must be raised, or how many suspiciously large fellows in tie-dye shirts happen to be waiting around the corner.

I intend to be there tonight. Hopefully, I’ll see you there. Hopefully, you won’t see me. Until then, keep your ear to the ground and your eye on the circuit. The championship is coming into view. And if the dope around the grounds is worth a nickel, there are still a few shockers waiting just over the horizon.

A mostly accurate report from the volleyball games Wednesday July 22nd

Some pages of history are written by men storming fortress walls beneath flying banners. Others are penned by conquering armies riding through the broken gates of fallen capitals. Yet there are stranger chapters still—chapters written quietly, on forgotten fields, by unlikely hands while the rest of the world scarcely notices.

The mightiest revolutions often begin with no trumpet sounding. A single stone slips from the mountainside.
A lone crack creeps across a mighty dam. A pebble starts rolling downhill, and before long the whole hillside follows after it.

So it is with every established order. When the old foundations shift, they do not merely rearrange themselves. They shake the earth beneath them. Great victories have a curious way of leaving behind great upheaval. It is enough to make a fellow wonder whether every glorious triumph carries a reckoning in its wake.

Your correspondent has wrestled mightily with whether this account ought to be committed to print at all. Certain interested parties have made the personal cost of honest reporting abundantly clear. Under sufficient pressure, even a steel-backed citizen may find himself tempted to trade truth for comfort. The easy tale is often the safest one to tell.

But newspapers are not built upon easy tales. A reporter who bends his account to suit the powerful is soon forgotten. A reporter who tells events as they truly unfolded earns something altogether harder to obtain than popularity. He earns trust.

And so, whatever consequences may arrive upon this humble scribe’s doorstep, the faithful readers of this sporting page deserve the whole account—straight, unvarnished, and without so much as a teaspoon of watered-down truth of what happened two weeks ago.

July itself seemed to have mistaken the calendar for September. The evening breeze carried scarcely a hint of summer’s usual oppression. The sun settled comfortably overhead, white clouds drifted lazily across a blue sky, and every sign pointed toward one of those rare evenings when Providence appears inclined to smile upon outdoor sport.
No one present could have guessed they were about to witness the most astonishing evening yet produced by this fledgling volleyball circuit.

Net+ vs. The Chosen

Prompt as church folk arriving early for the potluck supper, the towering champions from Monee marched onto the north court. There came Captain Bethany at the head of her formidable aggregation, accompanied by Emily, Valerie, Stephen, Jimmy, Scott, Brian, and, of course, their towering ace, Chris.
For six straight league tilts the colorful giants had known nothing but victory. They strode about the grounds with the calm assurance of campaigners who had forgotten what defeat even looked like.

Across the net, the blue battalion from Wheaton assembled with rather less certainty. Net+ still possessed all the sunshine for which they had become famous around the circuit, yet the brightness seemed slightly dimmed. They resembled an old prizefighter who had absorbed one slug too many but stubbornly refused to answer the referee’s count.

Trouble soon appeared.
The hour for first whistle crept ever nearer, yet Captain Sherri was nowhere in evidence. Only Aleia, Deepthi, Eric, Jackson, and Anran stood ready beneath the blue standard. Five players. One short. League officials David and Audrey exchanged uneasy glances.
The ugly word “forfeit” began floating through the gathering like cigar smoke in a pool hall. The blue campaigners kept stealing anxious looks toward the roadway, hoping against hope another automobile might round the bend before the official’s whistle ended matters before they had begun.

Then, at the very last moment, salvation came wearing white instead of blue. Out stepped Adam of the Cool Beans outfit—the Monee defector himself. Reliable scuttlebutt around the circuit insists the lad secured Captain Jeremy’s blessing before volunteering his services, hoping to settle unfinished business with the towering club from his home congregation. Whatever his reasons, Net+ suddenly had six campaigners instead of five. The battle would be fought after all.

League official David summoned Captain Bethany and Aleia, standing in for the absent Captain Sherri, to determine first serve.
Bethany’s rock crushed Aleia’s scissors with the same authority her club had displayed all season. Moments later the Monee skipper calmly stepped behind the service line. There was not the slightest trace of doubt in her manner. Why should there have been? Her colorful regiment had yet to lose so much as a single league contest.

The opening serve sailed over the tape with all the confidence of a club that had forgotten defeat. The Chosen immediately made use of that first-service advantage, marching smartly out to a three-point lead while the blue battalion searched for its footing.

At three-love, Captain Bethany floated another stout serve into Net+ territory. This time the Wheaton aggregation answered. Adam met the ball cleanly. Aleia calmly lifted it skyward. Jackson came charging through and drove it back with authority. Chris lunged in hopes of rescuing the rally with one of his trademark kicks, but the effort came a heartbeat too late. The point belonged to Net+.

It was only a single tally on the scoresheet. Yet some in the gallery afterward insisted the afternoon suddenly felt different. The score tightened to three-two before The Chosen briefly reclaimed the serve. Their answer, however, lacked its customary sharpness. An errant delivery promptly returned possession to the boys and girls in blue. One could almost imagine an unfamiliar feeling creeping through the Monee ranks. Not fear. Certainly not panic. But perhaps the faintest whisper of uncertainty.

When Net+ leveled matters at four-all after another overanxious return from the giants drifted long, more than one spectator rubbed his eyes to make certain the scoreboard had not gone haywire. Then Adam went to work. The Cool Beans loaner climbed behind the service line and began dealing out points with remarkable precision. One clean serve followed another as the blue battalion steadily stretched its advantage.

Only at seven to four did his ambition finally outrun his accuracy, a bold attempt sailing just beyond the boundary. The Chosen eagerly seized two quick markers. Their revival proved short-lived.

Net+ answered almost immediately. Aleia took command of the next service, calmly steering her companions through one successful exchange after another until the scoreboard suddenly read eleven to six in favor of the Wheaton outfit. For the first time all season, perspiration appeared upon the brows of the mighty Monee aggregation.

The giants reclaimed possession. They scored once. Then surrendered it again. Jackson next took charge from the service stripe, and the blue battalion continued its relentless march. Fourteen to eight.

The Chosen clawed back another point. Lost the serve. Recovered it. Lost it once more. The same strange pattern repeated itself until even the gallery began exchanging puzzled glances. Every time the colorful champions appeared ready to seize command, Net+ answered with three or four points of its own. The old order, so steady for six straight contests, suddenly seemed to wobble ever so slightly.

Still, few believed what their eyes were telling them. Surely the giants would awaken. Surely experience would prevail. Surely champions did not simply surrender sixteen-point games to pleasant young folks dressed in baby blue. Yet the scoreboard remained unmoved by reputation.

With Eric now handling the serve, Net+ climbed relentlessly to twenty while The Chosen could claim only sixteen. Game point had arrived. A hush settled over the grounds. Captain Bethany immediately signaled for her club’s allotted time-out.

The colorful giants gathered shoulder to shoulder while their skipper addressed them with unmistakable urgency. Boots stomped the turf. Voices rose together. Hands clapped backs in an effort to rekindle the confidence that had carried them through six perfect victories.

Across the net there was no shouting. No grand speeches. The blue battalion merely gathered quietly around one another. A few smiles. A few nods. Their famous sunshine spirit seemed, somehow, brighter than ever.

When play resumed, Eric returned to the service line with exactly the same calm expression he had worn before the interruption. The whistle sounded. His serve climbed high into the evening air. It cleared the net by comfortable measure, dropped neatly into an inviting patch of open court, and—without so much as a fingertip laid upon it—kissed the grass inside The Chosen’s lines.

For one long heartbeat, nobody moved. Then the realization swept across the grounds like a prairie wind. The unbeaten champions had fallen. The blue battalion exploded into cheers. Caps flew skyward. High fives landed from every direction. Even the gallery, having just witnessed the impossible, could scarcely contain its astonishment. Net+ had done what no club before them had managed. The giants had finally bled.

Captain Bethany’s expression, meanwhile, might have frozen boiling water. Her gaze slowly swept across the assembled witnesses before she delivered a warning in a tone that would have made a Chicago racketeer proud.

“Not one of you mugs breathes a word of this outside these grounds, see? Anybody flapping his gums is liable to wake up sleeping with the fishes. And that meddling Smalltime reporter had better forget he was ever here.”

The threat was delivered with sufficient conviction that to make this corresponant think not only twice but perhaps four or five times.

The second affair opened beneath an altogether different atmosphere. Only moments earlier the mighty aggregation from Monee had suffered the first blemish upon an otherwise spotless campaign. One could almost forgive the gallery for believing the spell had been broken. Captain Bethany, however, had no intention of allowing one upset to become two.

Gathering her colorful campaigners into a tight circle, she urged them to shake off the surprise and play the sort of volleyball that had carried them to six consecutive victories. Around the grounds the prevailing opinion was much the same. Net+ had caught lightning in a bottle once; surely the champions would now restore order. The opening moments suggested exactly that.

The Chosen claimed the first serve and scratched out an early point before surrendering the ball. Then something curious happened. Neither club could gain so much as an inch of lasting ground. Every rally seemed to produce another deadlock. One all. Two all. Four all.

The volleys lengthened until players from both clubs were diving, sprawling, and scrambling across the grass like infielders chasing bunts on a muddy diamond. Spikes were answered with impossible digs. Delicate placements met desperate recoveries. Hard-earned advantages disappeared as quickly as they were won.

The evening air grew heavy with the sound of leather palms striking stitched rubber. Perspiration glistened upon every brow. The score climbed. Eight all. Eleven all. Fifteen all. The spectators, who had arrived expecting another routine procession for the giants, now found themselves standing closer and closer to the boundary lines, scarcely daring to blink lest they miss the deciding exchange.

Neither outfit yielded. The Chosen leaned upon their height and experience. Net+ answered with cheerful determination and the kind of stubborn teamwork that has rescued many an underdog from certain defeat. Sixteen all. Seventeen all. Eighteen all. Nineteen all.

When the scoreboard finally reached twenty all, every conversation around the grounds simply ceased. Even the breeze seemed to pause for the occasion. One point. That was all that separated another miracle from the restoration of the old order.

The serve belonged to The Chosen. The ball sailed cleanly across the tape and disappeared into a scramble worthy of the occasion. Players converged from every direction. The rally was neither especially long nor especially graceful. It was like twelve hungry wolves tearing in on a perfectly cooked Salisbury steak. Hands flashed. Feet shuffled. Bodies lunged. The ball ricocheted from one side to the other with remarkable speed while every soul in attendance followed it as though watching the final lap of the Indianapolis Speedway.

Nineteen seconds. Perhaps twenty. Then, quite suddenly, it was over. The ball settled upon the grass inside Net+’s court. The point belonged to The Chosen. So did the game.

For the first time all evening, the colorful champions permitted themselves a long breath. Captain Bethany exchanged quiet smiles with her companions and rested a reassuring hand upon more than one shoulder. Order, though badly shaken, had at least been preserved.

Across the net there were no complaints. No hanging heads. Only tired smiles. Aleia stepped forward first and offered Captain Bethany a cordial handshake.

“Good game.”

Bethany returned the gesture without hesitation. Champions know another worthy competitor when they meet one.

Reliable dope from the grounds further suggests that, sometime after the handshakes concluded, Captain Bethany quietly announced a reward for information leading to the whereabouts of one Smalltime reporter responsible for spreading altogether too much inconvenient truth around the circuit. She insisted she merely wished to “have a friendly conversation.” The wording of the offer, however, suggested she was prepared to accept said reporter dead or alive. This correspondent therefore found it advisable to turn up his coat collar, lower his hat brim, and avoid unnecessary eye contact for the remainder of the evening.

Cool Beans vs. Serves Him Right

If the opening hour had resembled the fall of an empire, the second promised something rather different. An old-fashioned grudge match.

Captain Ian and his Oak Forest campaigners arrived well before the appointed hour, having witnessed every astonishing moment of The Chosen’s stumble. The little black-clad aggregation assembled in silence—Jenna, Grace, Noah, Owen, Arden, Brynn, Ashley, and their stern field general himself.

Ian spoke not a word. He simply watched Captain Jeremy’s Cool Beans outfit gathering across the grounds and slowly ground the turf beneath his boots. He knew full well that the Joliet bruisers had swept their previous engagement. He knew equally well they were climbing steadily toward the top of the standings. The captain had no intention of allowing their ascent to continue without resistance.

Across the court, Captain Jeremy gathered his own campaigners with noticeably lighter spirits. The Joliet outfit had begun the season looking every bit a patchwork aggregation, but weeks of steady drilling had transformed the bruisers into a remarkably smooth-working club.

Beneath Jeremy’s banner stood the faithful Zach, the hard-hitting Sam, dependable Zoe, Luke, Adam, Erik, and Eric—a roster stout enough to give any skipper in the circuit pause.

The customary contest of rock, paper, and scissors handed first service to Serves Him Right. Captain Ian accepted the little triumph with a grim nod. Ashley stepped smartly behind the line, lofted the opening serve, and immediately the little black-clad campaigners sprang into action. Before Cool Beans could properly settle into formation, Ian’s outfit had scratched out the evening’s first two tallies.

For a fleeting moment, it appeared the undersized underdogs might seize the initiative. Captain Jeremy quickly put an end to that notion. Meeting the next return with practiced precision, the Joliet skipper drove the ball cleanly through the Oak Forest defense to reclaim the serve. The point seemed to awaken something inside the Cool Beans aggregation.

The bruisers found their familiar rhythm. The score tightened at two all. Soon afterward it stood four all. Then the tide began flowing only one direction. Every successful volley seemed to strengthen the Joliet club’s confidence. Communication came crisply. Rotations were smooth. Sets arrived exactly where they were needed, and hard slaps found open patches of grass with remarkable regularity.

Meanwhile, Captain Ian watched the scoreboard climb with mounting frustration. Ten to three. Thirteen to five. Sixteen to seven.

The little black campaigners fought for every point as though defending the last hill before home, but Cool Beans simply refused to loosen their grip.

Game point arrived at twenty to ten. One final exchange followed. Adam kept the rally alive with steady hands. Sam calmly lifted the ball into perfect position, and Zach hammered it home with authority, driving the deciding point squarely inside Serves Him Right territory. Twenty-one to ten ended the game. Cool Beans had claimed the opening affair.

The Oak Forest aggregation crossed quietly to the opposite court, their expressions long enough to sour fresh milk. Across the net there were no extravagant celebrations. Jeremy’s bruisers exchanged a few hearty pats upon the back, took a welcome drink of water, and calmly prepared for the second engagement.

If the first game had belonged almost entirely to Cool Beans, the second proved a much sterner scrap. Ashley again opened proceedings with a stout serve, and from the first whistle the dwarfish little campaigners showed considerably more fight. Two all. Four all. Seven all. Nine all.

Every time Cool Beans appeared ready to break free, Captain Ian’s little aggregation answered with another hard-earned point. The gallery sensed that pride, if nothing else, was very much on the line.

The bruisers finally edged ahead by two. Serves Him Right answered. Cool Beans stretched the margin again. Ian’s club stubbornly clawed it back.

The scoreboard crept steadily upward until Cool Beans reached twenty while the Oak Forest outfit stood at seventeen. One last rally gave Serves Him Right another tally. Twenty to eighteen. The little black-clad campaigners had delayed the inevitable, but not escaped it. On the next exchange, Cool Beans calmly secured the deciding point. Another victory. Another sweep. Captain Jeremy’s aggregation had now established itself beyond any reasonable doubt as one of the circuit’s most dangerous clubs.

Captain Ian remained rooted where he stood for several moments after the final whistle. His jaw tightened. His fists closed. Reliable scuttlebutt insists more than one spectator expected the fiery skipper to march directly across the grass and challenge somebody to settle matters without benefit of a volleyball. Instead, after collecting himself, he strode purposefully toward Captain Jeremy. The gallery collectively held its breath. For one uneasy instant, it looked as though the evening might conclude with something other than handshakes.

Ian stopped. Extended his hand. And with teeth still clenched, gave the minutest of nods to the Cool Beans skipper. Jeremy accepted the handshake with a broad grin.

Rivalry, it seems, can still be fierce without forgetting sportsmanship.

Looking Forward

When the final volleyball had been packed away and the last motorcar rattled out of the grounds, the talk was no longer merely of scores. It was of history.

For six straight tilts, The Chosen had marched through the circuit as though the championship had already been engraved with their name. Opponents came and went. Victories piled up. The giants from Monee seemed as inevitable as sunrise.

Then came the blue battalion. Net+ did not conquer the champions outright, but they accomplished something no club before them had managed. They proved the giants could bleed. That lone triumph may, in time, prove no more than a curious footnote. Or it may be remembered as the first crack in a wall everyone believed could never fall.

Meanwhile, Cool Beans continues to gather steam. Captain Jeremy’s once-patchwork aggregation has become one of the smoothest-working clubs in the circuit, and reliable scuttlebutt says more than one skipper has begun keeping a wary eye on the Joliet bruisers.

Captain Ian, for his part, has taken defeat about as pleasantly as a bulldog takes a bath.

Those acquainted with the Oak Forest field marshal insist he has already resumed drilling his little black-clad campaigners with renewed determination. If perspiration alone decided championships, Serves Him Right would already have the pennant sewn up.

As for Captain Bethany… Victory remained hers. Invincibility did not. One suspects the captain has spent the days since the tilt trying to determine precisely how news of that lone defeat escaped the grounds.

Your correspondent has declined several invitations to “step into a quiet alley for a friendly conversation,” has developed the habit of checking over both shoulders before entering any restaurant, and has become increasingly suspicious of unusually large fellows wearing tie-dye shirts. Reliable dope further suggests there is presently a modest bounty upon the identity of one Smalltime reporter. Whether the reward is payable in cash or concrete overshoes could not be confirmed before press time.

Nevertheless, the news must go out. A reporter who hides the truth behind locked doors is no reporter at all. Accordingly, this humble scribe intends to attend tonight’s engagements as scheduled—provided, of course, he can slip past Captain Bethany’s collection of hired gorillas without being bundled into the trunk of a motorcar.

Should fortune smile, tomorrow’s edition will contain the full account of Bethany’s giants facing off against Ian’s black clad halflings in the first hour while the second hour will feature the Joliet unit facing off against the fresh heroes of Net+.

Should tomorrow’s edition fail to appear… Kindly inquire around Monee. Until then, keep your ear to the ground and your eye on the circuit.

This season has become far too interesting to miss.

A mostly accurate report from this past Wednesday’s volleyball games

Out of clear blue sky shone radiant sunshine. A gentle breeze whispered through the green grass where the Social Lights circuit’s net stood waiting. For the first time this campaign, Heaven smiled upon the hardy campaigners. But the sunshine brought its own hardships. Muggy heat settled over the grounds, while clouds of buzzing pests laid siege to players and spectators alike. It only proved an old truth: troubles are traded, never abolished.

Cool Beans vs. Net+

The first affair of the evening paired the Joliet scrappers of Cool Beans against the radiant blue battalion of Net+ (Net Positive). The Cool Beans outfit answered the bell in greater strength than ever before. The faithful Zach, mighty Erik, quick-handed Zoe, powerhouse Sam, determined Monika, sharp-eyed Anna, and all-star Luke took the court beneath the command of their whirlwind skipper, Captain Jeremy.

It marked the first appearance of Luke and Anna this season, previous engagements having kept them from the opening tilts. Missing, however, was the borrowed Nephilim Adam. Rumor around the circuit held that he was still nursing the sting of helping his adopted club fall to his own home church the previous week.

Across the net assembled Net+ (Net Positive), the cheerful contingent from Wheaton. Their trademark sunshine had lost none of its brilliance despite last week’s bruising engagement. Captain Sherrie kept spirits high while her blue-clad campaigners warmed up with the easy confidence of a club fresh off victory. Everything pointed toward a lively scrap.

After the customary rock-paper-scissors ceremony, Net+ earned the opening serve from the southern court. Marissa stepped to the line while Nathan, Eric, Jackson, Aleia, Anran, Laura, Deepthi, and Captain Sherrie stood ready. The whistle sounded. The first serve of the evening climbed high into the summer sky. It was a stout one.

The opening exchanges proved every bit as stubborn as advertised. Long volleys carried the ball back and forth while neither outfit gave an inch. The score crept steadily upward until both clubs found themselves deadlocked at four all.

Then the complexion of the affair changed. Since their last appearance, Captain Jeremy had plainly put his outfit through its paces. The patchwork aggregation that had once struggled to communicate now moved with growing purpose. Serves were called. Sets came cleanly. Players trusted one another.

Cool Beans caught fire. Point by point the Joliet club pulled away until the scoreboard showed a commanding 20 to 13 advantage. Game point, in the bruiser’s favor.

Yet the blue battalion had no intention of folding its colors. With characteristic optimism, Net+ mounted a stirring rally. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. The pressure shifted squarely onto Captain Jeremy’s shoulders. One more point would finish the affair, but the serve remained in blue hands.

Jackson answered the challenge. The Net+ standout floated a sharp-angled salvo that barely skimmed above the tape. Anna refused to let it die. With a crisp thwunk she kept the ball alive. Erik hurried beneath it and delivered a perfect set. Reliable Zach rose and hammered a vicious downward slap over the net. Net+ scrambled desperately. Too late. The point—and the game—belonged to Cool Beans. 21 to 16.

Little time was wasted before the clubs exchanged courts for the second tilt. If the first game hinted that Cool Beans had discovered its identity, the second removed all doubt.

Communication flowed as smoothly as a practiced orchestra. Every player seemed to know precisely where the next touch would come from. Against the bright blue sunshine warriors, the Joliet bruisers looked transformed. They stormed ahead 10 to 4.

Then came Net+’s answer. Star server Eric stepped behind the line and began sending missiles across the net. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Each serve found another crack in the Cool Beans defenses, and the blue battalion roared louder with every point. The tide threatened to turn.

Sam and Luke exchanged determined glances. As the next ball arrived, Luke calmly set it high above the tape. Sam thundered it back. Net+ returned. Monika, Anna, and Erik answered together in perfect rhythm. The blue battalion managed one final touch before the ball slipped away.

The score stood 15 to 11 in favor of Cool Beans. From there the rallies only grew longer. Neither outfit surrendered easy points. Boots dug into the turf. Voices rang across the court.

The blue battalion fought with every ounce of its trademark spirit, but the Joliet club had discovered something it had been searching for since opening day. Unity. The wild dogs had become a pack. Cool Beans marched steadily to a 21 to 13 triumph, sweeping the evening’s engagement in straight games.

The customary handshakes followed, warm and sincere. Though defeated, Net+ lost none of the sunshine that had made them one of the circuit’s most beloved outfits.

Captain Jeremy gathered his victorious campaigners near the sideline, where cheers and laughter broke out in earnest. The whirlwind skipper declared that his club had every intention of chasing the circuit championship.

With the official business concluded, players from both outfits mixed together for several friendly affairs outside the league standings, proving once again that fierce competition and cheerful fellowship can comfortably occupy the same field.

Serves Him Right vs. The Chosen

As the first hour drew to a close, the second-hour outfits had already begun filtering onto the grounds.

Serves Him Right answered the bell clad in black, the Oak Forest contingent resembling a patch of charcoal scattered across the emerald grass. Other witnesses insisted they looked more like a crop of dark mushrooms after a summer rain. Reports vary.

Captain Ian spared only a passing glance toward the celebrating Cool Beans club. Their triumph mattered little to him tonight. His thoughts were fixed upon a greater challenge.

Across the grounds, the undefeated giants from Monee were arriving. The Chosen emerged once again like figures from some enchanted woodland—towering, colorful, and more than a shade intimidating. Their coordinated pink and tie-dye jerseys only added to the spectacle. If vampires truly sparkle in the sunshine, this reporter imagines they would look something like the Monee club.

League officials Audrey and David summoned Captain Ian and acting Captain Matt beneath the net to determine first serve. Ian’s rock made short work of Matt’s scissors. With a satisfied growl and what several spectators described as a decidedly feral grin, the Oak Forest skipper claimed the opening serve.

Jacklyn accepted the ball and prepared to serve it.

Just before the opening volley, an unexpected reinforcement arrived. Cool Beans standout Sam crossed the grounds, pausing play, and quietly asked Captain Ian whether he might join the Oak Forest outfit for the evening. Ian rested a hand upon his shoulder and nodded. He was willing to temporarily put aside his rivalry. Unable to aid his own club in its previous defeat at the hands of The Chosen, Sam had come seeking redemption. If he could not beat the giants with Cool Beans, perhaps he might help the halflings accomplish the feat. Sam took his place on the field.

Ian met server Jacklyn’s eyes and gave a solemn nod. The serve went up. The affair was underway. The onyx-clad little folk squared their shoulders against the towering prismatic giants. Though they had to look up, they never once blinked.

The opening exchanges crackled with tension. Serves Him Right held the advantage through the first two points before one of The Chosen’s towering pink-clad beanstalks casually swatted the ball.

Two all. The little outfit held stubborn determination. Ian, Ed, and Sam combined for several well-placed returns, reclaiming the serve and steadily building a modest lead.

Soon the scoreboard read four to two in favor of Serves Him Right. The gallery stirred. Could the little black-clad campaigners truly halt the relentless march of the Monee powerhouse? For a few shining moments, it appeared possible.

Then the giants awakened. One of Captain Ian’s stars misplayed a difficult return, surrendering the serve. The opening proved costly. Point by point, The Chosen seized control.

Their height, timing, and effortless communication gradually overwhelmed the determined little outfit. Every rally demanded heroic effort from Serves Him Right, while the Monee club appeared almost graceful in its efficiency. The scoreboard tilted steadily in pink’s favor. The first affair closed with The Chosen carrying off a 21 to 14 victory.

The little folk gathered tightly beneath the net. Captain Ian did not speak a word to his team. Instead he offered steady nods and determined looks that carried more weight than speeches ever could. The encouragement stiffened weary spirits. Whether it could overcome weary bodies remained another question altogether.

The second tilt proved an altogether sterner proposition. Captain Ian, Sam, and the stubborn little campaigners answered the bell with every intention of evening the score, but the towering Monee outfit gave them scarcely a moment’s hope. The Chosen played with the smooth precision of a veteran club, their height and grace making every difficult play appear almost effortless.

From the the northern court came the cheerful refrain of one of The Chosen’s smaller lasses.

“Kill it, Chris!”

The command became the evening’s chorus. Chris, by all accounts one of the friendliest fellows in the circuit, required only the slightest motion of his wrist. Time and again he brushed at the ball as though swatting away a troublesome fly, sending it darting to the grass before the little folk could answer.

The scoreboard climbed with alarming speed. Still, Serves Him Right refused to quit. Every point was chased. Every loose ball was contested. Every rally was met with fresh determination.

During one especially spirited exchange, the diminutive Oak Forest contingent finally appeared to have caught the giants out of position. A sharply driven return nearly found the grass untouched. Nearly. One of The Chosen’s stars somehow flung himself backward, catching the ball with a remarkable scissor kick that sent it floating safely back into play.

The gallery gasped. Serves Him Right, momentarily stunned by the feat, could not recover before the return came sailing back. The point belonged to The Chosen.

Soon the giants stood at game point, leading 20 to 9.

Captain Ian gathered his little band one last time. If defeat was inevitable, he was determined they would not leave the court with a single-digit tally beside their name. The halflings answered. Digging deep, Serves Him Right reclaimed the serve and scratched across another point.

Ashley stepped behind the line and delivered a fine serve. The Chosen handled it cleanly. The ball crossed once more. The dwarves fought desperately to keep the rally alive, but the return drifted toward the towering figure of Chris. His teammates exchanged knowing glances. Chris answered them with a friendly smile. Then, with scarcely more effort than one might use to brush dust from a sleeve, he snapped his wrist. The ball struck the grass with a sharp thwunk. The affair was finished. The Chosen carried away the second game, 21 to 11.

Cheers rang across the grounds as the pink-and-tie-dye giants celebrated their sixth victory in as many league tilts. They whooped, laughed, and shook the earth with enthusiastic leaps before crossing the court to exchange warm handshakes and genuine smiles with their worthy opponents.

Captain Ian accepted the congratulations in good spirit. He found he could not resent the colorful conquerors. To him, battling The Chosen had been less like facing another volleyball club than attempting to joust a mountain. All the same, the defeat was bitter.

The Monee juggernaut remained unbeaten, and the rest of the circuit would once again be left searching for the club capable of bringing its remarkable victory march to an end.

Looking Forward

As the dust settled upon the evening’s final affair, thoughts throughout the circuit turned toward the road ahead. Captain Ian wasted little time mourning defeat. His disappointment quickly hardened into resolve.

Across the grounds stood Sam of Cool Beans, still serving as the evening’s temporary ally. The two exchanged a long look. Captain Ian made it clear with a narrow eyed look that he was no longer welcome near his team. Sam stood his ground for several seconds before he quietly made his way off the field.

Ian’s thoughts had already outrun the present. At the league’s next gathering, his old rivals from Joliet would once again be waiting across the net. Serves Him Right versus Cool Beans.

The Chosen had proved too steep a mountain to climb this week, but Captain Jeremy’s scrappy outfit was another matter entirely. Ian clenched his fist. Reliable scuttlebutt around the circuit says the Oak Forest skipper intends nothing less than a sweep. He believes his rabid little midnight campaigners can outfight, outlast, and outplay the Joliet bruisers when next they meet.

Yet another story was unfolding on the opposite side of the grounds. As Sam departed, his thoughts lingered not upon Cool Beans’ victory over Net+, but upon the towering club from Monee. He carried with him the sting of having missed his own team’s first encounter with The Chosen—a match many believe might have ended differently had he been present.

This evening had given him something more valuable than revenge. It had given him a close look at the circuit’s reigning giants. Captain Ian regarded The Chosen as a force of nature. Sam did not. He had seen cracks beneath the polished surface. Height could be countered. Power could be redirected. Communication could be disrupted.

By the time he reached the parking lot, one suspects a strategy had already begun taking shape. When Cool Beans next squares off against the undefeated Monee powerhouse, Sam believes Captain Jeremy’s outfit will be ready. Perhaps, at long last, it will be time for David to bring down Goliath.

The circuit resumes on Wednesday, July 22.

This reporter intends to be on hand once again, notebook in pocket, keeping an ear open for every whisper of scuttlebutt and an eye on every spirited volley. For an amateur league, this campaign has begun to simmer hotter than a skillet at suppertime.

Until next edition, keep your ear to the ground, your eye on the circuit, and remember: The best stories are still waiting to be written.

Week #2

A mostly accurate report from Wednesday June 24th’s volleyball games

The sunshine trickled out of the heavens like water from a leaky bucket. Beneath the blue-black sky, the poles of a wind-tossed net stretched upward toward realms inhabited by birds and angels alike. A storm was brewing. It wasn’t just the weatherman who knew it.

Cool Beans vs. The Chosen

The scrappy core of the Cool Beans outfit strode onto the grounds. Six sturdy campaigners—steadfast Zach, stalwart Adam, spirited Zoe, strong Eric, and speedy Monika—all followed the blazing whirlwind that was Captain Jeremy. The Joliet club has exceptional bones and a body full of promise, perhaps unmatched anywhere in the Social Lights Volleyball Circuit.

Standing across the net was a decidedly unusual opponent. The eclectic turnout from the previous engagement had almost entirely vanished, replaced by what looked to be an altogether different aggregation. The outfit that emerged that Wednesday resembled some exotic jungle frog—bright, colorful, quirky, and unmistakably dangerous. Though, they maintained their penchant for gigantism. They appeared as polychromatic Frisian Nephilim crowned with birthday hats.

The two Captains met beneath the net. Captain Bethany’s scissors neatly dispatched Captain Jeremy’s paper, handing the opening serve to The Chosen—a small portent of things yet to come.

The opening tilt began with the Monee club bearing down heavily upon Cool Beans. Point after point piled onto their side of the ledger while the Joliet scrappers struggled to answer. Tactical chatter came slowly from Cool Beans’ southern court. The chromatic giants were having things almost entirely their own way.

Captain Jeremy loosed one of his trademark battle cries. It wakened both him and his bruisers. Suddenly he seemed to be everywhere at once, flashing across the court like summer lightning. The tide began to shift. Confidence wavered among the bedazzled Nephilim as Cool Beans fought tooth and nail for every point. But The Chosen had no intention of surrendering the advantage they believed rightfully theirs. They battered and clawed their way to game point, leading 20 to 17.

Determined to prove their mettle, the Cool Beans contingent took possession and started on a tear. Against the odds, with Captain Jeremy volleying shots to every corner of the southern court, the Joliet outfit rallied furiously.

Twenty all. The gallery fell silent. Players and spectators alike seemed unwilling to breathe.

Then came the decisive moment. Serving for Cool Beans stood the lone Monee defector now wearing Joliet colors—a tall, fleet-footed campaigner preparing perhaps the biggest serve of the evening. It was a beauty.

The many-hued mythic beings received it awkwardly and nearly let the ball die where it fell. A nervous current swept across the northern court. They knew full well that surrendering this point would end the victory march they had begun the previous meeting. Two hurried volleys kept the ball alive. Then a desperate reverse strike sent it soaring toward the Cool Beans side. Immediately Captain Jeremy recognized the ball’s path.

“Out!” he called.

Its course plainly carried it beyond the boundary. Yet instinct can be a dangerous thing. One determined Cool Beans performer stepped beyond the line and reflexively popped the ball back into play with both hands. At an awkward angle the return sailed harmlessly beyond the northern boundary.

For one frozen instant nobody moved. Then the Monee contingent exploded. Like glitter on a rolling boulder, The Chosen erupted into celebration, having escaped with a razor-thin 21-20 triumph over one of the grittiest outfits in the circuit. The near miss landed like a prizefighter’s right hook square to Cool Beans’ midsection.

Shaken but not broken, the Joliet club exchanged sides with The Chosen and prepared for the second affair. The rainbow-clad giants again insisted upon dictating the pace. They surged ahead early. Cool Beans staggered but stood. Bit by bit the scrappers battled back until the scoreboard read ten all. It would prove the high-water mark.

The Chosen found another gear. Their towering performers rattled off point after point while Cool Beans struggled to wedge so much as a single tally between them. The Joliet contingent scratched out a handful of hard-earned markers, climbing to fifteen, but every gain was answered immediately by the Monee powerhouse. Soon enough The Chosen stood at game point once again.

Captain Jeremy flew from sideline to sideline like a tornado tearing across the Oklahoma plains, defending impossible shots and refusing to yield. But even whirlwinds can miss a strike. A single fatal error ended the contest. Heads lowered across the Cool Beans court as the bruisers dropped the second tilt by a count of 21 to 15.

The Chosen slipped quietly from the grounds like mystic elves disappearing between the trees of an enchanted forest. Their mission had been accomplished. Their honor remained intact. Their undefeated standing within the circuit lived to see another week.

Captain Jeremy gathered his outfit together after the affair. The conversation was earnest. Determined faces met determined faces. Before the club dispersed, each member vowed to do whatever was necessary to settle accounts the next time The Chosen stood across the net. The dope around the circuit says that rematch cannot come soon enough.

Serves Him Right vs. Net+

Meanwhile, the second-hour outfits began filtering onto the grounds. Serves Him Right, the determined contingent from Oak Forest, answered the bell early and took to the field behind the Cool Beans–Chosen affair for a bit of practice.

Several rooters claimed to have spotted Captain Ian casting long glances toward the neighboring court as Cool Beans absorbed its second defeat of the evening. One can only speculate what sort of wicked grin may have slashed his face as his chief rivals found themselves twice on the short end of the ledger.

League officials David and Audrey, meanwhile, kept a wary eye fixed upon the northern horizon. The black clouds were growing. League official David carelessly waved away concern, assuring everyone that the storms would pass harmlessly by. League official Audrey appeared unconvinced.

Not long afterward, the blue army of Wheaton, Net+ (Net Positive), answered the bell ahead of its scheduled 7:30 engagement. With the preceding contest already concluded, league officials urged Net+ and Serves Him Right to take the court early in hopes of stealing a game before the weather could steal the evening. Though a bit disappointed by the hurried proceedings, Net+ took up positions on the northern court. Their bright blue shirts shimmered beneath the gray sky like a patch of clear Kansas heaven.

Overhead the clouds remained little more than a silver haze. To the north, however, enormous walls of black thunderheads stood watch like an advancing army. League official Audrey glanced skyward once more.

The blue battalion occupied the north. Across from them stood the Serves Him Right outfit—vertically challenged perhaps, but carrying themselves with all the confidence of giants.

The opening serve was struck. Heavy electricity seemed to fill both the air and the atmosphere. Serves Him Right seized the initiative almost immediately. The darkness overhead appeared to sap some of the sunshine usually radiated by the blue-clad contingent. Point by point the Oak Forest club widened its advantage. As the affair continued, worried eyes drifted from the ball toward the northern sky and back again.

Captain Ian alone seemed untouched by the growing unease. Noticing uncertainty creeping into the faces of his own mini performers, he fixed them with a fierce stare and let out a low growl that carried clear across the court. The effect was immediate. His little outfit straightened as though snapped to attention.
Several members of Net+ appeared to catch the same fiery glance. Some witnesses insist they visibly wilted. Whether true or not, the scoreboard tells the tale. Serves Him Right carried off the opening contest by a commanding count of 21 to 9.

The blue battalion trudged toward the southern side of the court for the second game. Their brilliant sea of blue seemed almost faded beneath the gathering clouds. Between the approaching storm, the hurried pace of the evening, and the sting of defeat, spirits had plainly sunk. If a downpour had begun at that moment, it’d have been hard to determine whether raindrops or tears fell down their faces. Even Aleia, usually the brightest light in the Net+ contingent, wore an expression as gray as the sky itself.

The second tilt began in haste. League official David spent nearly as much time studying the northern horizon as he did the court before him. The players found themselves doing much the same. Serves drifted thoughtlessly into the grass while anxious glances darted skyward between volleys.

The affair scarcely had an opportunity to find its footing. At the first flash of distant lightning, David called the stillborn game to a halt. Some insist the whistle only came after Audrey opened his eyes to exactly what was unfolding overhead.

Expecting a cloudburst at any moment, everyone sprang into action. The league net came down in record time. Equipment disappeared into the league official’s vehicle. Players scattered. The unfinished contest seemed destined to become a casualty of the weather. Many felt they had been robbed of a proper scrap.

Yet the evening had one more surprise tucked beneath its rain clouds. When the grassy dust settled, Audrey had already departed for home. David stood alone beside his vehicle, having packed away the last of the league equipment. It was then that he noticed something unexpected. The entire Serves Him Right contingent. The entire Net+ contingent. Every last performer. They were all standing before him. Waiting.

Captain Ian stepped forward to communicate what was on the hearts and minds of all present. He seized league official David by the collar of his shirt and raised him high as his arms reached. Some present insist the league official’s feet actually left the ground. Without a word spoken, Ian made one thing abundantly clear. His club intended to finish the contest. There were no two ways about it.

League official David posed one final question. Was everyone willing to accept the risk of lightning in order to finish the evening’s business? A forest of raised hands answered him. Each and every athlete present proved willing to hazard the storm for one more crack at victory.

David declined to reassemble the official court. Instead, the clubs marched across the grounds to the sand volleyball court nearby. There, beneath a sky that threatened everything but delivered nothing, Serves Him Right and Net+ took their places once again.

The contest began anew. Whatever had been left behind on the abandoned court remained there. The score. The frustration. Even the looming threat of the storm itself. Both outfits took the sand as though answering the bell for an entirely new engagement. The risks had been accepted. Death had received its courteous nod. Lightning and thunder now amounted to little more than background music. League official David looked from the determined dwarfish contingent of Serves Him Right to the gleaming blue battalion of Net+ and appeared just a shade uneasy at the intensity he had inadvertently unleashed.

Whatever cloud had hung over Net+ during the first contest had vanished. The drizzle struck their bright blue jerseys only to flee again like steam from a locomotive. Their celebrated sunshine strategy was roaring back to life. Captain Ian, however, had no intention of surrendering so much as an inch of sand without a vicious struggle.
From the opening serve it was plain that this would be no runaway affair. The points came hard. Each outfit earned every inch of ground. Though the blue battalion had recovered much of its former fire, Serves Him Right continued to hold a narrow advantage through the early going. Net+ refused to be left in the dust by the vertically unencumbered Oak Forest club. Instead they dug in. The score crept steadily upward. Rain began to fall. Not a soul paid it the slightest mind. The tally reached sixteen all.

Each splash of rain kicked sand across the court, coating bare hobbit feet in the south and blue uniforms in the north. The tension hung over the grounds so thick that a butter knife would have struggled to cut it. Point by point the two outfits battled onward. Seventeen all. Eighteen all. Nineteen all.

The gallery—what few faithful had remained beneath the threatening heavens—stood rooted to the spot. On one side, the sunny warriors of Net+ answered every challenge thrown before them. On the other, the determined Lilliputians of Serves Him Right stubbornly refused to yield. The pressure bore down equally upon both clubs.

Serves Him Right sent up a solid serve. Net+ received it cleanly. What followed may well have been the volley of the evening. Three crisp touches carried the ball back across the net. Serves Him Right answered with a tidy set and a driving return. Net+ calmly kept it alive. Again the ball crossed. Again it returned. Neither outfit showed the slightest willingness to blink.

Then came the decisive moment. Nathan, stalwart conscript for the blue battalion, saw his opening. Charging forward with admirable speed and, observing every applicable rule, he hammered the ball sharply into the little folk’s territory.

The point belonged to Net+. Nathan celebrated with a cry that one witness described as sounding remarkably like a hyena attempting to imitate a donkey. Whether this account survives careful investigation remains uncertain.

His comrades rushed to congratulate him, and the blue battalion seemed to radiate enough sunshine to blind the opposition. The point brought Net+ to game point, 20 to 19.

Aleia, Nathan, and Captain Sherrie stood poised as Laura stepped to the service line. She launched a stout serve sailing high over the net.

Captain Ian and his diminutive campaigners found themselves nearly blinded by the brilliant nimbus surrounding the Wheaton contingent. Trusting instinct more than sight, the little outfit dove as one toward where they reckoned the ball must surely descend. Their dogpile was all for naught. The nearly transcendent serve kissed the very corner of the court and settled safely inside the line. The affair was over. Serves Him Right had fallen.

A mighty chorus of jubilation rose from the blue battalion. Players embraced one another from every direction as their trademark bright spirits finally carried them into the victory column.

Captain Ian slowly disentangled himself from his pint-sized campaigners and looked across the court. There before him unfolded a sight difficult for even the hardest competitor to resist. The Net+ contingent celebrated not with arrogance or self-aggrandizement, but with the unrestrained delight of athletes who had fought long and finally earned their reward.

Even a serious operator like Ian appeared touched. The dope making the rounds afterward held that the Oak Forest skipper bore not the slightest grudge against his conquerors. Indeed, some particularly imaginative witnesses insisted the captain even shed a tear of happiness on Net+’s behalf. This reporter remains highly skeptical of that last claim. After all, everyone knows real men don’t cry.

Looking Forward

With the official business concluded, the two outfits mixed their performers together for several friendly affairs outside the league standings. Laughter replaced battle cries as the evening wound toward its close.

Captain Ian, however, betrayed little more emotion. As his travel-sized aggregation laughed and fraternized with the victorious blue battalion, the Oak Forest field general appeared to be engaged in sterner business. He was preparing himself. His thoughts had already marched ahead to the next engagement.

Awaiting his little outfit stood the still-undefeated powerhouse from Monee—The Chosen The coming affair promises to be nothing short of David versus Goliath. Ian knows well that standing across the net from the towering Frisian giants will be the stiffest test yet faced by his determined little band.

Yet reliable scuttlebutt says the captain’s confidence has not wavered a whit. He believes that enough sweat, enough practice, and enough stubborn resolve will enable his underdog elves to accomplish the impossible and sweep both league tilts from the mighty Monee club. Ordinary victory will not satisfy Captain Ian. Nothing short of legendary triumph will do.

This reporter owes the faithful an apology for the tardiness of this account. It should have reached your doorstep more than a week ago. Nevertheless, it arrives just in time for tomorrow’s engagements.

The saga resumes at 6:30 when the radiant blue battalion of Net+ squares off against the scrappy Cool Beans outfit.

Then, at 7:30, all eyes will turn toward what may prove the hottest scrap of the young campaign as Captain Ian and his determined little aggregation attempt to topple Captain Bethany and her towering assemblage of giants.

Until then, keep your ear to the ground, your eye on the circuit, and stay tuned. This campaign is only beginning.

Games from Week #1

Games from Week #3

A mostly accurate report from this past Wednesday’s volleyball games

The Fireside Social Interchurch Volleyball Circuit burst onto the scene between two gulley-washer storms on Wednesday evening. The dukes were raised and four tough-as-nails outfits went at one another like dogs scrapping over the last steak in the icebox.
According to the athletes themselves, the evening was a rip-roaring success. But bigger questions linger. Are monumental feuds already brewing? Which club is truly the champion of the circuit? And where, when the chips are down, do loyalties really lie?
Social Lights recently put out a call for hard-boiled champions willing to represent their churches in an epic campaign of volleyballmanship and volleyball-ladyship. From that summons emerged four remarkable aggregations, each eager to establish its standing in the young circuit.

Meet The Outfits

Serves Him Right

Serves Him Right hails from a church in Oak Forest on the southeast edge of the suburbs. Leadership of the outfit is shared among three siblings: Ian, the field general; Jenna, chief wrangler; and Grace, tactician extraordinaire. Though rooted in Oak Forest, this aggregation assembled the most far-flung contingent in the circuit. Athletes answered the call from as far south as Crown Point, Indiana, and as far north as Inverness. The distance between those two points would keep a motorcar occupied for nearly two hours. Such dedication speaks volumes.

The Chosen

The Chosen represent a church in Monee. Scuttlebutt around the circuit paints them as a crack volleyball outfit loaded with talent. Though unable to answer the bell on opening night, team captain Bethany already enjoys a reputation as one of the premier aces in the league. The Monee contingent also received several unattached athletes from the circuit office. Whether these newcomers can quickly fall into step with the rest of the aggregation is one of the early storylines of the campaign.

Cool Beans

Cool Beans comes out of Joliet. Captain Jeremy assembled a contingent of close friends to carry the banner for their church. The circuit office supplemented the club with a healthy helping of unattached talent—more than any other outfit in the league. As a result, Cool Beans may prove one of the most fascinating clubs to watch as the campaign unfolds. Will the lads and lasses learn to pull on the same rope? Only time will tell.

Net+ (net positive)

Net+ may be the most unusual aggregation in the entire circuit. Rather than drawing from a single church, the club is composed of Christian athletes from an Ultimate Frisbee association in Wheaton. Their core consists of dedicated performers with a history of tackling personal and athletic challenges together. Reliable dope suggests that morale within the club is second to none. If enthusiasm alone won championships, Net+ would already have one hand on the trophy.

Wednesday’s Opening Tilts

The original start time called for six o’clock. Then Mother Nature intervened. A goose-drowner of a storm rolled through the region and forced officials to push proceedings back by thirty minutes. Members of Cool Beans and Serves Him Right nevertheless arrived before the appointed hour and found a wet but sturdy field of play awaiting them.
Several of Cool Beans’ more distant campaigners were prevented from coming by the storm aftermath. To round out the lineup, the club borrowed two capable women from the Net+ contingent.
According to several athletes, league official Audrey had previously indicated that each time slot would feature three contests. The official on site, David, appeared blissfully unaware of this arrangement.
“You think I read the email?” multiple witnesses reported hearing him remark.
David ruled that clubs would contest only two official tilts, with a third affair available on a voluntary basis and excluded from the standings. The ruling did not appear to delight the assembled athletes.

Cool Beans Vs. Serves Him Right

Shortly before half-past six, the first athletes took their positions. Cool Beans and their borrowed Net+ reinforcements occupied the south side of the court. Serves Him Right dug in on the north.
A fierce rock-paper-scissors struggle determined the opening serve. Not a single eye wandered from the yellow-and-brown sphere. The whistle sounded. The campaign was underway.
From the very first volley, the affair developed into a genuine melee. Before either club could scratch across a point, the ball crossed the net no fewer than a dozen times. The score remained deadlocked for much of the opening tilt.
At six-all, Jeremy unleashed a battle cry that reportedly startled nearby wildlife. Cool Beans caught fire. Serves Him Right found themselves trapped in a rut. Though they battled gamely and managed to reach seven points, Cool Beans surged ahead and carried off the opening contest.
During the intermission, several observers claimed they witnessed Ian gathering his contingent into a tight huddle and delivering what could only have been a fiery address. Whatever words were exchanged, they worked.
When the second set-to commenced, a new steel had entered the Oak Forest outfit. The score once again remained neck-and-neck. This time, however, Serves Him Right refused to yield an inch. The clubs battled all the way to a deadlock at nineteen-all. Then disaster struck for Cool Beans. Ian and his warriors unleashed a thunderous rally. Brimstone seemed to rain from the heavens as Serves Him Right stormed ahead and captured the second affair.
Jeremy later characterized the result as an encouraging near-victory and expressed optimism that additional practice would help his club round into shape. Whether he truly appreciated the fury his lads and lasses awakened in Ian’s contingent remains uncertain. Reliable dope suggests the feud may not be over. Not by a long shot.

The Chosen Vs. Net+

As the first hour drew to a close, athletes from the second slate of contests began arriving. Word circulated that captain Bethany would miss opening night due to an out-of-town engagement. In her absence, command of The Chosen fell to acting captain Gabe.
Then Net+ arrived. And what an arrival it was. Bursting onto the grounds in matching bright-blue shirts, the Wheaton contingent answered the bell in force.bSome observers even claimed to detect visible sunshine following several of the club’s star performers. These reports remain unconfirmed. Nowhere was Net+’s remarkable morale more evident than in captain Sherri, whose enthusiasm appeared capable of powering small machinery.
At half-past seven the athletes took the court. Net+ occupied the south side. The Chosen took the north. Another high-stakes rock-paper-scissors encounter determined opening serve rights. The Chosen emerged victorious and took the ball.
What followed can only be described as murder in the first degree. Net+’s pep never wavered. Unfortunately, neither did The Chosen.
The towering Monee aggregation stormed onto the court like conquerors. With a lineup seemingly composed of giants, The Chosen overwhelmed their opposition from the opening whistle.
Some witnesses claimed acting captain Gabe possessed the uncanny ability to whisper instructions directly to the ball itself. Whether this is true remains under investigation. The Chosen captured the first contest by a staggering score of 21-6.
Facing the reality of the powerhouse before them, Net+ regrouped. The second tilt proved far more competitive. The score remained close through the early going. At ten-all, however, The Chosen caught fire. A blistering rally carried them all the way to game point at twenty.
Then came one of the evening’s most impressive displays of determination. Net+ refused to fold. The blue-clad performers mounted a stirring comeback and rattled off point after point. For a brief and glorious moment, the gallery dared to imagine the impossible. But champions finish. With one of their trademark jackhammer spikes, The Chosen slammed the door shut and claimed the contest 21-13.
No hard feelings appeared in evidence afterward. Players exchanged handshakes and congratulations. Net+ clearly recognized that they had encountered a worthy adversary. They also demonstrated the value of loosening up beforehand, nearly defeating The Chosen in an unofficial third affair played after the standings were settled.

Supper, Scuttlebutt, and Suspicion

As the net came down and the athletes departed, the storms apparently decided their turn had arrived. Dark clouds rolled back in and reclaimed the field.
Many athletes gathered afterward for supper. Jeremy and the Cool Beans contingent celebrated the evening’s success with gusto. Several members of Net+ joined enthusiastically. The Serves Him Right contingent appeared somewhat more reserved. One witness insists Ian spent much of the evening brooding in a corner while occasionally directing death stares toward the back of Jeremy’s head. This report also remains unconfirmed.
Few members of The Chosen attended the meal. However, one particularly interesting morsel of scuttlebutt emerged. A Cool Beans performer revealed that he actually belonged to the Monee church represented by The Chosen. Through an apparent misunderstanding, he found himself placed in a different club than many of his lifelong friends and churchmates.
Coincidentally, the circuit schedule has Cool Beans and The Chosen squaring off in the very next slate of contests. Draw your own conclusions.

Looking Forward

According to the official schedule, the circuit resumes action on Wednesday, June 24.
The opening hour will feature Cool Beans versus The Chosen. The two biggest winners from opening night will finally collide. Can Cool Beans halt The Chosen’s victory march? Will captain Bethany answer the bell and perhaps outshine her smooth-handed stand-in, Gabe? Will borrowed loyalties become divided loyalties? The dope around the circuit suggests this may be the hottest scrap of the entire campaign.
The second hour will feature Net+ against Serves Him Right. Can Net+’s unmatched morale carry the blue battalion to a double triumph? Or will Ian and his iron-willed contingent impose their resolve upon the Wheaton club?
No date has yet been announced for a rematch between Serves Him Right and Cool Beans, though several rooters have already begun clamoring for one.
When questioned after supper, Jeremy and Sherri expressed enthusiasm for the young campaign.
“There’s a lot of talent out there. We saw it today. I’m just excited to play some friendly ball against fellow brothers and sisters. To me, it’s less about winning than it is about playing our best for our teammates, churches, and ultimately to glorify the Lord who gave us these talents,” Jeremy remarked.
When approached for comment, Ian reportedly grunted, crushed the cinder block he had been curling, and walked into the night while a trail of dust followed behind him. He offered no further statement.

One thing is certain. The campaign is underway. And this reporter intends to remain on the scene, gathering every scrap of dope and every morsel of scuttlebutt available.
The faithful are invited to join the excitement on June 24, July 8, July 22, August 5, August 19, and September 2 for the championship finals. All contests will be held at Stonebridge Park in Homer Glen on Stonebridge Drive. Until then, keep your eyes on the circuit.

Games from Week #2