I had my second volleyball session of the week on Thursday. Both Weitat and I were exhausted from work and I thought I could behave like a zombie in the hall but he started setting up the poles and net again. After which, I happily went to the mat and within a minute, Weitat came over to invite me for two-on-two.
My right index finger gave me the usual pain. I was a cripple when the finger affected my serving, digging, setting and spiking – basically I was dragging him down. Perhaps it was a form of phobia, which I took quite long to overcome the pain over the evening, and probably through immunising.
The real games begun alright as the rest arrived. We did not have enough players and had to play five-on-five. It was good until the exhaustion strike me. I made few mistakes and unfortunately, I was in the wrong team somehow.
It was good for advice because through the comments, we would improve; but basically if someone who was of worthless quality dropped criticism, it was an insult which normally would also arrive in frustration. It was impossible to stop arrogance when the champion was always in his own world, thinking that he was great.
I was still in strength to continue the game until the very last drop of tolerance evaporated through the heat. The irritation brought my soul out of the game, but since I could not just simply leave the court, I could only pray hard for it to end.
When my long awaited moment arrived, I was almost scared to death when some of them mentioned about continuing the game. Luckily that the ball had gone up to the top and they were having too much fun to get it down that time passed by fast to reach nine o’clock.