“If you don’t believe there’s a price for this sweet paradise, just remind me to show you the scars.” -Bob Dylan “Where Are You Tonight? (Journey Through Dark Heat)”
On paper, the Hermosa AVP was my best tournament of the year. After two 3rds and two 5ths, Ryan Doherty and I made our first final together. We also played some of our best volleyball, narrowly losing the final to Brunner/Hyden 19-21, 21-16, 14-16.
It was also one of the hardest losses of my career.
Ryan and I were up 14-12 when the score froze. Match point. The Hermosa title was almost ours. Then I got blocked twice in a row, hit a line shot out, and we lose on a double set call. Our best finish. The worst feeling.
I walked out of the stadium after the game, stopping to sign a few balls and say “hi” to those caught in my path. I must have got out of there pretty fast because I sat for a while on the strand wall waiting for my family to catch up so we could leave. Even a few blocks away I was pretty conspicuous: shirtless, still covered in sand, faded TallSlim Tees temporary tattoos on my shoulders. People walking from the event saw me, a mix of recognition and sympathy in their eyes. Some said hello. Some congratulated me on a good match. A great tournament. I thanked them with a forced smile and a nod that said: “Yeah, I know, we had them.”
It was a tough one. I was feeling how painful the game can be. How stressful it can get. How much easier it would be to do something else. Certainly, other, normal jobs didn’t hurt this bad?
I struggled to sleep that night. I kept replaying the last few points in my head:
- A bad pass gets me in trouble. Ryan rolls the set up to the net. It’s over my shoulder and I don’t have vision. I take a blind line hit without much power, just try to sneak it around the block. I’d hit angle all tournament. They know that’s what I like to do. Surely line will be open at this crucial point in the game. The ball goes straight into Theo’s waiting block. I reach out to cover it but the ball slips through my hands. 13-14.
-
Good pass, set in the middle. I take a hard angle swing that Theo reaches into and blocks. A good swing and a better block. 14-14.
Side switch. I have a moment to think. It’s okay. Breathe. You gave up a couple but you’ll get this next one. Focus on the pass first. Don’t premeditate your swing. Come in hard and see what’s open. And again, pass first!
-
I tune out the crowd and any stray thoughts. I breathe and watch the server, see the ball. They serve me again. It’s a good pass. I stay behind the ball. I have vision. John’s in my angle, looks like he’ll stay there. I shoot line. It feels good off my hand, like a line shot I’ve hit a thousand times. Maybe there’s a little extra push from the adrenaline of the situation but surely it’s a good solid hit. And the right shot. It goes over Theo’s block. John isn’t close to it. He’s still in the angle. He doesn’t even make a move for it. The line judge takes a long look at the mark than raises his flag. The ball is out by an inch. 14-15.
John and Theo celebrate. Now they have match point. I mutter something to Ryan. “My bad. Good set.” We still got this. Crap, I gave up another one. We still got this. Take care of the next one. Sideout!
-
I pass the ball. Ryan approaches like he’s going to hit on two. His arms go up halfway. He changes his mind and sets the ball. But it’s too in front of him. Double call. 16-14.
Game over.
I rolled over in bed, kicked the sheets away to free my feet. Then I started it up again:
- A bad pass. Ryan rolls the set up to the net…
Perspective is funny. I’d finished 2nd place in the Hermosa Beach AVP. A finish that once would have sounded far-fetched. And yet I felt so defeated.
I wondered if it would have felt better if we’d lost the final in two games. Maybe 17-21, 17-21. A respectable, well fought final, but not within striking distance. Certainly not ahead 14-12 with match point, serving for a championship. Would that have been easier to take? Would that have been better?
I practiced in Hermosa Beach the Monday before the tournament. Workers were already building the stadium, standing on scaffolding, putting together its giant metal frame. Bobcats drove across the beach, flattening the sand. People walking the strand stopped to look at the huge construction project that was taking over the north side of the pier. “What is this for?” someone asked.
I smiled as I crossed the strand carrying my ballbag and antennas. It was for me. All this work and money and time put in by the AVP just so people can watch us play a game.
Six days later I stood in that finished stadium, every seat filled. My parents were there. My friends. A large crew of S.O.B. Volleyball Vacationers who had flown from all over the country. I could pick my wife Janelle’s voice out of the roaring crowd. Our son Ketch was asleep at her feet despite the noise and the vibrating stadium. He was exhausted from a long weekend of beach volleyball.
And Janelle wasn’t even going to play this year. Maybe she’d get talked into playing the local ones, but she was on her way out. Had been for a few years. She’d even taken two full seasons off to coach college before coming back to it. Not to try for the Olympics or anything, just to play. It’s fun. It’s a good workout. She likes training so she might as well play. She has a 5th, two 7ths, and two 9ths this year. It’s her best season ever. Her and Kerri Schuh won four main draw matches in Hermosa. While I was sulking, she was pretty pumped on the tournament. And she finished with a 7th.
It’s now two days after the Hermosa final and the tournament is still on my mind. So I’m writing this blog post. It’s been a while since my last one. I haven’t written any tournament recaps this year. I’ve been working on other projects. I’m almost done with a final draft of a fantasy novel that has taken up all my writing time. I’m also still recording Coach Your Brains Out, a volleyball podcast that comes out every week.
Besides, it’s hard to write about tournaments. To find something new. Not just: “We beat this team, then we lost to this team, and then we played this team…”
My feelings on Hermosa are mixed. We played great as a team. We had to grind through the bigger draw format in the hot, deep sand that affected much of the field. I’m proud of beating Ed Ratledge and Rafu in the semis, a team that had smashed us the previous tournament by serving me. We beat Phil Dalhausser, which is always an accomplishment. We beat John Mayer and Trevor Crabb in a three-set battle at the end of Saturday.
But I also feel embarrassed for having given the final away. For not siding out down the stretch. I still feel it. And I want to use it.
Though the finals are done and the skateboard trophies have been handed out, AVP Hermosa isn’t over. How I handle the loss now will affect the tournament. If I feel sorry for myself and quit, then the tournament will be a defeat. If I respond like a professional, one that faces many ups and downs throughout his career, and I learn from it, then it will be a success.
Hermosa isn’t over because it’s still on my mind. And not just in the points replaying in my head. It’s hunger for my next chance to compete. It’s motivation to be better, to hit the gym or do sand sprints even when my body is sore. It’s a crystal clear picture of what a line shot should feel like off my hand.
I caught a little of the Amazon Prime feed on Friday night. Eric Fonoimoana, who came back to play Hermosa and won a match, was being interviewed. Camryn Irwin asked him how he got the nickname “The Body” and Eric explained about his training mentality. How it was his mission to be in better shape than everyone else on tour. That story is another part of the Hermosa AVP I’m taking with me.
We grow from experience. Every match I play on stadium court—the pressure felt playing a semi and a final—makes me better. It gives me the opportunity to play under stress that I can’t replicate in practice. That’s another thing I’m taking from Hermosa.
Even by writing this blog post, I’m keeping the tournament alive. Gathering lessons, getting stronger. A blister growing into a callus.
Hermosa, I’m not done with you yet.
