Gilman Volleyball: Better Than Friday Night Lights

I don't live in Texas. I probably never will. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate great high school sporting events when I see them. There's something magical, enchanting even, about seeing your school win a championship. There's something a little crazy about being in classes with, standing in line with, and going to parties with people you idolize once they're out on the field, or the court, or the ice.

This fall, play at the Gilman has been disappointing. The football team did not live up to the hype and lost an especially painful homecoming game. The soccer team suffered key injuries. But for all the disappointment, there was a silver lining. The volleyball team put on a spectacularly riveting show, one that lifted our spirits, and entertained its audience with theatrics and drama that Spielberg could not have directed better. And their success was so unexpected, at least to those of us unfamiliar to the team. With so many seniors graduating from last year's team of conference champions, this year was supposed to be a rebuilding year. But volleyball took everyone by surprise, and took the court by storm, setting, passing, blocking, and acing their way into the conference finals and the hearts of all who watched. Led by a team of strong, dedicated, and inspiring veterans, underclassmen followed the lead of those invested and passionate players, channeling not only their skills on the court but their energy. Returning coach Neil Gabbey once again led the team to success, and strengthened his bonds with players, as well as fostering new bonds with incoming players. Both the team's hard work, and its cohesiveness, allowed for communication and a dedication to the game that was undoubtedly an important factor in Gilman's success.

Their season was one of those little things that make high school worth enduring. To not even attend the school and yet be so fully captivated by, so enamored with, this team speaks volumes about what the group accomplished. They made their fall sports season a memorable one, they gave people something to look forward to on Wednesday afternoons, to talk trash about, to lose their voices for, and reason to paint their bodies unnatural hues of grey and blue. Heated arguments with referees that made Ron Winter look good. Obnoxious opposing teams. Chokes. Line judges. Missed calls. Make-up calls. Coaches out of their seats. Deafening noise. Authentic World War II air raid sirens. Trashcan drums. Cheers (and jeers) that put the Cameron Crazies to shame.

The Spirit Committee and cheering section made nearly as great a contribution as did the actual team. Referees frequently tried to silence this group, but to no effect. The passion and dedication and pride exhibited by those in the student section was in and of itself something to be in awe of. And the small, tight knit community, the familiar brown interior of the old gym, and the stained, scratched hardwood floors, made the experience all the more personal. Everything one could want in a high school experience, he got in coming to these volleyball games. The soul. The comradeship. The ups and downs and smiles and tears. The fist pumps and the temper tantrums. The boy from your English class who gets jammed on one play and comes back with a kill so powerful that you momentarily lose sight of the ball. Volleyball inspired in us the range of emotions that are a part of human life.

Literally, volleyball was fun. But then again, it's always fun to see a team that wins. For me, it was less about the team and more about the grace and precision and finesse of the sport, the sounds from the sidelines- and the bench. The sweat running down your forehead because you are packed like sardines among hundreds of other spectators in an old, poorly ventilated gymnasium. It was about the parents' mutters and prayers and sharp inhalations as their sons served. Students dancing. Girls holding hands in anticipation, collectively holding their breath, as the server sets the ball in motion. Volleyball was an art that rewarded all the senses, appealed to the most primal and most refined of emotions and instincts simultaneously. Volleyball brought my friends and me closer together. It took our minds off of Early Decision applications, and AP Statistics tests and gossip, and we momentarily lived, suspended in the moment, forgetting the long hours of history homework that awaited us that night.

We watched the games together, riding the emotional roller coaster with the team and bonding with one another. We formed bonds with parents, faculty- everyone else as long as he was rooting for the right team. We watched our friends on the team learn from one another and trust one another. We watched their acrobatics and watched as their tempers flared. Their elation after pulling out a fantastic semifinal victory.
Although Gilman lost to Calvert Hall in the MIAA Conference finals, they accomplished so much more than earning a letter jacket or their names on a cup. They accomplished something great both for themselves and their surrounding community. It was a good run, and all who watched were glad to come along for the ride.

Volleyball was comfortingly simple- although sometimes the refs didn't seem to understand the simplest of rules- it was a refuge for all of us. It was that high school experience you never want to end, the one you'll remember for years to come. Amongst the followers of the traditionally popular football and soccer teams, volleyball drew crowds just as large, and certainly louder. Volleyball delivered a lift (a legal one) to our spirits and reminded me of just exactly why we put up with these four years.