Volleyball Coaching Life-The Convention

 This is usually the most exciting time of the year for volleyball dorks like me. The NCAA tournaments are ongoing, and there are massively parallel showings of the matches during the  four days for two weekends, culminating in the Final Four weekend. We usually have our TVs on, as well as any number of laptops and desktops tuned to the online streaming, trying to catch as many matches as we can find.

All that has changed thanks to COVID-19, but it is as it is.

While some conferences played in the Fall, many conferences did not. The NCAA, doing the best they can while dealing with more uncertainty than certainty, has decided to move the tournament to April and has adjusted down the number of teams invited to the Spring tournament. I will definitely miss my annual ritual, it has been the focus of my existence for more years than I care to recall, what I will miss more than anything is the chance to see, speak to,  and hug my coaching friends at the AVCA convention. It is the one time during the season where we are all more or less on the same page: relaxed and looking forward to socializing.

Even though most people take the opportunity to learn and get better at their craft at the convention, the best part of the four-day run is the ‘tweens’: Between sessions, between matches, between speeches during the banquet, between the practices, between the exhibition booths, and all the other between’s you can imagine. This is where old friendships are renewed and new friendship kindled. There are friends that I see once a year at the convention, since we are from different parts of the country and we don’t all attend the same tournaments in season. They are club coaches, college coaches, former players who played for and against my teams, past and present colleagues on the same clubs, past and present  rivals from different clubs, mentors and mentees, the famous, the infamous, the legends of the game, the everyman who makes up most of the coaching community, and the people who had shared more than a few ignominious but hazy memories of conventions from the past. I once even ran into a guy who used to supply us with uniforms from many years ago. The passage of time did not matter, the prior differences did not matter, we were together to celebrate our common obsession: volleyball.

The equalizer was the convention, we all roamed the hallways, looking for a conversation, a point in common. Of course, we all are searching for an advantage, in the classrooms, on the practice courts, in the exhibition booths, in private audiences with the gurus of the game, or in swirling conversations with the rebels of the game, but the common thread holding it all together is the game. For it was time.

"The time has come," as Cecile Reynaud said,
   "To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and volleyballs—and knee-pads—
   Of at-large bids—and automatic qualifiers—
And why the server is boiling hot—
   And whether pin hitters have wings."

I will miss all of this.

I will miss getting together with people that I have met with annually for the last decade or more.

I will miss the good times at the matches, whether we are sitting in the nosebleed seats, the designated coaches’ seats that the NCAA so generously allows us to purchase, or the luxury boxes that allows us to chit chat without reservation as we missed play after glorious play.

I will miss the experienced sages dispensing their wisdom as well as the young thinkers challenging us with their creative energy; both generously spending their time with us in order to share.

I will miss the spectacle of the coach’s tournament, watching my friend, who is older than me playing a mean old man’s game and loving life.

I will miss the long sessions dawdling over libations with some randomly aggregated group in some anonymous bar whose only salient distinction is that it is located close to the convention center, the arena, or the hotel.

I will miss going out with my closest cohorts to consume massive quantities of big slabs of meat, consuming more calories, fats, and spending more money on one meal than anyone would  normally spend in a week of meals.

I will miss seeing all the All-American players dressed to the nines and sashaying to their seats walking on their seven-inch heels at the All-American banquet; some precariously, some with beaming confidence, making them even taller than they already are; I will miss seeing their pride and joy as they reap their hard-earned recognition and their moment in the limelight.

I will miss recognizing coaches who sweated all the details in a long career as they celebrate their successes, their longevity, and finally breaking through the obscurity and having their moment in the sun among their peers, with all due attention on them for once.

I will miss trying to figure out which booths hands out the best freebies.

I will miss talking to my exhibitor friends, reminiscing about the deals that brought us together.

I will miss telling tall tales of our glory days when we all used to play. Of course, as a short fat guy playing a tall person’s game, I had no glory days to speak of, it was just my imagination, running away with me.

So my friends, just to let you know: I am missing all of you already, but I will miss you even more when the convention dates rolls around this year. I will have your visage in my mind, your humor and your tall tales  in my ears, and my heart hurting for not having a chance to meet this year.

Alas, hope springs eternal. Here is to 2021, may we all see one another in person next year. For those who will have the opportunity to play in the Spring, in college or high school: good luck and be careful out there.  May you and your teams stay healthy and well.

Love you all.