Jonathan+Roth's+Memoir

Jonathan Roth 2B 4/1/09

__Hardest Week of My Life__ “Damn,” I complained. “I had no idea I was so out of shape.” “Me too," Stephen said. My excited face turned to a look of disgust. “Why does everyone think volleyball is so easy? It’s a competitive high school sport, and tryouts are tryouts.” I dipped my mouth into the water flowing out of the fountain. Taking at least 20 gulps of freezing cold drink, I limped into the gym. “C’mon, c’mon, get over here!” Coach Blanco yelled in his broken English. What do you mean c’mon? We have two hours left, and we just ran three intense suicides, with pushups and sit-ups! Can’t you give us a two-minute break? “OK, so the key to volleyball is control,” he began. “You have to bump to the setter, who will set the ball to a hitter, who will in turn spike the ball at the other team…” Yeah, yeah, Blanco, I know how to play the game.

“DOWN!” Everyone grunted as the coach ordered us to do pushups. “UP!” See? Volleyball tryouts __are__ hard. “C’mon, freshmen, push yourselves! You gotta want it!” The veins in my arms were ready to burst like a person stomping on a grape. “Okay, 25 sit-ups,” the coach yelled. I turned over slowly and painfully onto my back, breathing hard. My mouth lacked water, and when I tried to lick my lips, no moisture from my tongue salivated my lips. I attempted to do the sit-ups fast so I could run to the water fountain and relieve myself. Finally, I finished. Sweat dripping from every pore on my aching body, I got up looking as if I was going to puke and stumbled to the fountain. The water felt amazing! The cold cooled my overheating body and soaked my cracked lips. I was the last one into the gym; I couldn’t get enough of this water! Finally, I went back.

The players who worked hard to make the team finished their throwing, stretches, and warm-ups. Unfortunately, I was paired to practice bumping with the worst kid on the team, Alfonzo. Holy crap, he sucked! When he did something wrong, he would talk to himself and for some strange reason, curse at the coach under his breath: what the f-? “C’mon, man, you’re making me look bad!” I screamed at him. He flipped his hair out of his face (which made him look like a retard) and started reprimanding himself. What the hell! This kid is such a freak! “Balls away, guys, let’s start game play!” the coach yelled.

“Service!” I hollered, nailing a hard serve over the net. Purposely, I hit it at Alfonzo, who looked confused as the ball came soaring at his face. Obviously, he didn’t know what to do. The ball smacked him square in the mouth. I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Alfonzo tripped backwards and fell on his ass. That’s what you deserve, sucker, for making me look bad in front of the coach. Again, he flipped his hair out of his eyes, and said to himself, “I’m okay, I’m okay.” //You won’t be after I serve it at you again//, I thought to myself with an evil grin on my face. I tossed the ball a mile high, and whacked it with all my strength. It came towards Alfonzo with blazing speed, and somehow, managed to pop the ball straight up, so it could be played again. Coach Blanco ran, leaped, and spiked the ball, unfortunately, right at my face. It banged into my nose, and I tripped and fell over backwards. Everyone laughed at me. I guess it’s just karma. The end of the first day ended with a suicide, and we were done. I felt pain and stiffness in my muscles, but it was a good feeling, like when you work your muscles really hard but feel very strong after the workout. The last two days of tryouts were reminiscent of the first day; the suicides, the pushups, sit-ups, and the breaking up into our respective courts and playing scrimmages against ourselves. I began to feel very confident on the third day that I would make at least the freshman team. Finally, the end of tryouts came, and the varsity coach ordered us to go the wall, and bust out one more suicide. I wanted to sprint this one the whole way, not jogging once, to maybe influence the coach’s decision about my determination to play the game, if, in fact, he had chosen not to have me on the team. At last, the day came to an end. “Alright, guys, when we call your name, come into our office and you will found out if you will be with us for the rest of the season,” Coach Dentler said to us. “After you have been told, you are free to go home.” A few of the freshmen names were called and each one made it so far. Then, my name was called. Getting a few pats on the back as I walked into their room, I smiled and sat down in a chair in which I called “the hot seat”. “Jonathan; we knew our decision from the beginning of tryouts. You obviously show a lot of potential, you’re athletic, and unlike the rest of the team, there are only a //few// things you could work on. You come from a family of volleyball, as you know, and not that this influenced our decision, but you definitely know the basics of the game, and some advanced aspects of the play. I think you know what we are trying to say: you made the freshmen team.” I beamed, even though I knew their decision before I walked through the door. “Practice starts tomorrow right after school, and we are thrilled to have you as the centerpiece of this team.” They signaled me to go, but before I did, I went up to them, shook their hands, and thanked them many times for the opportunity to play on a high school team. I left the office, and everyone asked me what happened inside. I failed at an attempt to lie to them and say I didn’t make it, but they saw through that and knew that I would make it. I must have had at least five people (from varsity, JV, and freshmen players) that I was the best freshman at tryouts. This made me feel extremely confident in myself, seeing that I was cut from the baseball team in 8th grade. Finally, I knew what it felt like to be a winner, and to have the great chance of playing in a sport with my some of my best friends.