Just a Story

This is a random true story. It has no real point to it. I still haven't figured out what exactly was going on, but thought it might be amusing. So here goes...


I play in a 6 man, coed volleyball league once a week. I've been in it for about the last 7 years or so. Many of the people who play in the league, not so surprisingly, are weird. It's not surprising because it's inherently strange for grownups to play in organized sports leagues.

I've never been social with anyone outside of my team and never really wanted to. In general, no one there hangs out with each other outside of game night. I have no idea what any of them do for a living, but I assume it's volleyball related.

A couple years ago, a semi-cute, older girl joined my team. She was blonde and very, very competitive. I can't stress how competitive she was. She would yell at people and enforce rules that the $10 dollar an hour part time referee hadn't even heard of. She was like Bruno Kirby in "When Harry Met Sally" times a thousand. "Baby fish mouth!!!".

Anyway, though this girl was attractive and seemed to be flirting with me, I never really thought about asking her out. I think maybe I had a girlfriend at the time, and I thought she had a boyfriend, plus again, everyone in the league is a little off - I just didn't even consider it.

We played together for awhile and definitely had a connection of some sort. Occasionally, after games she would e-mail me and make snarky comments about what happened at the game. She was like Dan Patrick with boobs.

I broke up with my girlfriend, and this relationship continued. And then the e-mails became more frequent. I have to stress she was always the one initiating them. Then one night, there was a flurry - back and forth and back and forth. Finally, I'm like: "Do you just wanna call me?" And gave her my number. 5 seconds later, the phone rang.

We chatted on the phone. It was nice. It lasted maybe an hour. After the next game, the same thing happened. We talked on the phone again, this time for 3 hours. Pretty soon, she was calling frequently and the conversations were lasting a ridiculous amount of time. I hate talking on the phone, and I'm not a God Damn teenager, but it was enjoyable.

We talked about everything, including our sad dating history - I thought it was strange that she had never been married since she was older, good looking, loved sports, played sports, was all about sports, and did I mention she loved sports? Aren't those all qualities men look for? Well, except for the older thing.

From her stories, it seemed that all of her ex boyfriends were world class athletes of some kind. If you got the bronze, that wasn't good enough for this chick. She was strictly silver or gold medal dudes only. She was very into the status of it.

Now right here I feel the need to mention that I've never won a silver or gold medal. In fact, I've never represented this nation in any competitive sport. However, I did win the "coach's award" in tennis my junior year of high school.

So this phone call/vball relationship is going on, and I'm pretty sure I know where this is going. I mean, it's not standard practice for me to talk on the phone that long with anyone.

Finally, she reveals some very personal information about her last boyfriend and how it ended badly, etc. From her description, it was my opinion that she was being slightly delusional about it. The guy lied to her, but she was covering for him and for her.

Then I shared a personal story of some kind - it was probably about how I went out with a convicted felon , then we went back to joking around, and it was all very nice. Finally, I go: "So do you wanna get dinner on Friday?" (or something like that). And she goes, "Mmm, I don't think that's a good idea."

WHAT?

I forget what her excuse was, but this shocked me. First of all, we do see each other every week already. We also talk on the phone 3 hours a night. You can't see me and talk? Am I going to turn into some kind of sex monster outside of volleyball and the phone? It wasn't even like I was asking her back to my place or e-mailing her pictures of my penis (which is what I normally do to charm women). It was just dinner. And she said no.

Okay. I kind of went on my way. And if I pride myself on anything, it's that I'm not weird. Meaning, I wasn't gonna act funny just because this had happened. At volleyball, I was my usual hilarious and dominating self.

And then she called me again. And again. And again. This girl was coming after me! Why? For what? I have no idea. We had more long conversations. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore - there's only so much talking a man can do. I go, "why don't we hang out sometime?"

Baby Fish Mouth: "I don't think that's a good idea."

That was it for me. That's just too crazy. I can't remember exactly what her reasoning was, but it was very clear she was giving me the brush off. And she was totally talking down to me like I was this sad guy with a crush on the hot girl. You were calling me, you lunatic! I don't know why, but I guess she preferred the safe distance of phone buddies and playing the back row together.

I kept playing volleyball, I was cool with her, but I stopped responding to her e-mails promptly and with my usual jokey banter. After awhile her phone calls stopped. And things continued this way for the last 5 years.

So awhile ago, I'm at my game and I hear someone say, "what are we going to do without you?" to her. I go, "oh, where are you going?" And my teammate goes, "she's getting married!" I told her congratulations, etc., and asked where she was moving to.

Now keep in mind this is a girl who lived in Santa Monica, practically on the ocean, and played beach volleyball every single Saturday AND Sunday. Well, for this guy, she's moving to Sacramento. I instantly think he must be Mitch Gaylord or Dan Jansen or at the very least, "The Thorpedo" (these are Olympic references, people. They only work every 4 years).

She says something about having to wait to move until he gets back. I go, "oh, where is he?" She says, "he's in a tournament".

My teammate starts cracking up and goes "is he in high school? What tournament?"

She says: "Well, he plays on a championship softball team".

Reread that last statement. A "championship" softball team? What the hell is a championship softball team? How are they always in the championships? They just keep winning every year like the '60's Celtics?

But it was the perfect ending between us. Of knowing her. A championship softball team, I never could've thought of anyone saying that, but it made absolute sense. That's what she wanted. And I didn't have it. Our team never won the championship. She wanted a winner, and I was just a very, very good setter.

She obviously needed someone who was a champion at something. Even if it was softball.