Confession of a lame man | Gwyn Topham

A few years back, I commissioned a young adventurer to write about his attempt to cycle round the world. Having duly completed his bike ride, he became a motivational speaker, with his own motivational website, sending out regular motivational mailings, even to those of us who were previously doing just fine. Last month’s email included a link to an article listing 50 lessons an author had learned in 50 years of life. I perused it avidly. And there, at number 27, was the bombshell. “Four things that most people think are lame but really are a lot of fun: barn dancing, charades, volleyball and sing-alongs.”

I was stunned. Volleyball, lame? My world – a world made bearable largely by weekly volleyball – started to disintegrate a little. I remember a Gary Larson cartoon of two German soldiers talking, one asking the other in disbelief: “Wait – you’re saying WE’RE the bad guys?” After all my time, money and effort perfecting the art, I was suddenly confronted by a similar revelation: most people think volleyball is lame.

For months, years, I had blithely walked out of the office calling cheerily to colleagues, “See you later – off to volleyball!” I had long told my girlfriend I wouldn’t be around on Mondays – that’s volleyball night! I’d enthused about volleyball to strangers – few of whom, in retrospect, accepted an invitation to come and play. I would happily have listed it on CVs had I needed. Thank God I had never filled in the relevant sections of Facebook.

A cold sweat of realisation overtook me. What I hoped would project a soaring athleticism, a rich, muscular and varied social life, society at large apparently regarded as something to equate with barn dancing (who the hell barn dances? What was this?) and charades. I saw myself as Magic Johnson. Everyone else was thinking Lionel Blair on Give Us A Clue. I should never have clicked through on the email – had a motivational website ever got it so badly wrong?

In retrospect, the warning signs should always have been there. Our sessions were organised by a comedian friend: charismatic, fit-ish, but hardly warrior caste. The teams were made up of the likes of actors, voice artists, lawyers, geography teachers. Even two decades on, many had the lingering stain of kids picked last in playground games. Few of us wore what a recognised sportswear shop might stock as “kit”. Several women attended, some of whom made us look good, one of whom smashed over serves that none of us could return, before leaving to find a decent challenge elsewhere.

Occasionally, we would discover gurus and coaches who could take our game to the next, less pitiful level. All had beards and swelling stomachs, like proper mystic gurus, if not sporting ones. They discovered links with a wider volleyball movement: over the summer, we could play volleyball for whole weekends in fields in Surrey, and even camp there, just like a proper festival. Sort of.

Of course, I have an alibi, which may have shielded me from friends’ outright disdain and which I am keen to make widely known here. I also play football – manly, hard-tackling football. And I like to think I bring a little of that realm to the volleyball court: the crashing into the net, the rough and tumble, going shoulder to shoulder with the other guy or girl. True, all of these are technically infringements, resulting in a point to another team and a quiet word from one of the beardy pros when they are around, telling me in disappointed tones that really, someone could get hurt. But that’s not to say some pretty extreme stuff doesn’t go on. We’ve had broken fingernails, the lot.

Yet none of this will probably redeem my volleyball activities in the eyes of the world, which has only a vague and sardonically refracted inkling of the thrill of the rallies, the desperate digs, the precise sets, the unstoppable spikes. Yes, I know what you’re thinking: lame, lame, lame.

The joy has been tarnished. I’ve considered quitting. But then, like the German soldiers, I’m already set on my course. It is nobler to keep fighting than to desert. I’ll be back there tonight and every Monday. Volleyball is fun. It is decent. Join us. If we only believe, this thing could get bigger than badminton.

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