Fragment #18 - Eye of the tiger

Sitting on the bench, I lay my back upon the wall, breathing deeply. The chattering and screaming of the audience echo into the concrete corridor up to the changing-room. I always thought this gym looked like a bunker. There is a long and round passage that surrounds the field, under the stands, leading to the changing-rooms and the club offices that have always made me think of icons of spy or war films. I often half expected to see James Bond thrust himself into a door, or a German regimen marching past.
The court itself is great, I’ve always had a great time playing here, though I liked it most before they changed the soil. They had to in order to host basketball games in the gym, or so I heard. Meh… The damn place is called after Fred Lawson Body: playing basketball in it sounds like blasphemy to me. Especially considering that their volleyball team is the city’s best rated sport team. They could use a gym of their own.
They even were the best French team this season, topping the charts before the play-offs started. Then they were eliminated by Montpellier in quarter finals, but you know… c’est le jeu ma pauv’Lucette… like Catherine keeps repeating these days. It has to do with a French commercial about the national lottery I believe.

I’m glad Catherine came. I had her tickets for the game. I invited her many times but she never managed to come. A pity this is only a friendly match. It may be a great game though. Considering how they were thrown out of the play-offs, Poitiers’ players will be keen to shine in front of their public. And we are going to give them a hell of a time.
I wish Melaine would be here too, but she is still visiting her family in Leeds. She’s been gone for three weeks now. I didn’t even had time to propose her before she left. Well, technically I have had plenty of time to do it but I couldn’t find the right time. Couldn’t, wouldn’t… Who knows? I’m not going to think about this tonight. Right now the only thing I have to worry about is a sixty-six centimetres large leather sphere.

Stephane winks at me before leaving the corridor when the speaker calls him out. Then it is Abdel’s turn. And finally:
“Numéro 10, Ethan O’Donnel!”
Slowly, I run into the light and head towards the court, under the public’s applauses. I didn’t think they would be that many. We never fill the gym in Angoulême. When the speaker has finished calling Poitiers’ team members, I grab a ball and queue myself for the attack warm up. I go for a one, showing my forefinger to Yuri, our setter. My overhand isn’t very precise, but it’ll be enough. I rush under my floating ball, and jump before he contacts the ball. I hit it the second it gets out of his hands, crashing it before the 3-meter line.
Hell, that spike was a good one. My feelings are quite good, actually. Maybe I shouldn’t jump too many times, keeping the impulse. Following a ball in sight, I recognize Catherine in the third row. I weave at her briefly. Her friend Marie is sitting next to her. She told me she played volleyball too when she was young. I hope she’ll enjoy the show.
For a brief moment I listen to the music playing in the hall. It is crap. I recall the time when I was thirteen. Our coach had a cd he used to play during the warm up. It was filled with rhymed music: Europe, Survivor, Status Quo… Nothing bolstered me more than rehearsing my quick attacks on Rocky’s original soundtrack.

Things are not getting well. When they’re playing that way, they’re just too far from our reach. They already won the two first sets and if we don’t react now they’ll just wipe us from the court at the end of this one.
Hell, we were leading five points ahead and now they’re two points short from victory. We were rotating too fast when I was on the field, and now it seems like I’m never gonna touch the ball again. I’ve been sitting on the bench for almost eight points! That’s one third of the set! I’m boiling. Come on guys, just turn me that one!
Sometimes I wish I could stay on the court the whole game, like the left side or right side hitters. But these lazybones are not jumping on every attack like I do, whether or not the setter gives me the ball. I wouldn’t stand the whole match if I wasn’t substituted on the back positions. Finally, the table turns, I’m in! We won’t lose this set. Not if I have anything to say about it.
Yuri’s service is too soft to threaten them. The bump is precise. I catch the setter’s position I had time to look at when I was resting. I know where he’s gonna send it. I throw myself on the left, next to my teammate and jump, my hands eager to catch the ball. The hitter cannot avoid them, there’s no room for him. The ball gets out of my hand faster than it got in. One more block for Ethan. We’re catching up.

Two more points, I’m everywhere. I carried away the middle blocker, leaving the right side open for Abdel’s spike. I forced him to crash his ball out of bounds on the next one. He’s staring at me like he would kill me if he could. I love that look.

One point ahead, one point short from earning the set. Let’s rock guys! Poitiers’s service is too fast. David goes for a dig, saving the ball. The leather sphere rises, heading towards the net. Too long.
I know this look on Yuri’s face. I rush. There’s only one solution left unless we want to offer them the point. I jump at the same moment than Yuri. His arm stretched, he retains the ball above the net for a second. I’m already there. The middle blocker saw us, his hands are almost on the ball. I hit it my hardest, giving it all of my strength and speed. I repel his hands with the ball which dives behind him, hitting the floor soon after. I kneel down for a second, getting down from my jump. Then I get up and let out a roar of triumph, while the team hug me.
This may have been my most beautiful point ever.