The girls won their first game but lost their second: the same story. They were up 22-19 but had several moments of trouble and ended up losing 23-25 in the first set. In the second set, they had a 12-9 lead but lost it, tying at 12, before dropping the second set 20-25.
And thus ended the third and final experience with AAU Nationals in Orlando.
It couldn’t go on for the whole tournament, I suppose. Well, I guess it could: teams go undefeated in tournaments, but it’s rare. We were all hoping, of course, that the girls would make it through a third day without a lost — hopefully without even losing a set, but certainly without losing a game. But the first game of the morning, they met a team that was roughly as good as they are, and our girls couldn’t maintain 100% and the other girls could, so our kids had their first loss.
The first set was as close as it could be without going into extra points: 23-25. In the second set, they were going at it point for point until it was 11-11 until our girls pulled ahead, eventually reaching 17-15. But as so many teen volleyball teams seem to do, they gave the points right back to them and it was 18-18. Then it was 18-19. And then 18-20. A two-point lead is entirely different later in the game that it is when both teams are still in single digits. “If they lose one more point,” I thought, “It’s likely a done deal.” And there it was: 18-21. The girls just kept shedding points, and it was 19-23. THe opposing team needed only two more points; our girls needed three times that many. A four-point lead at that point is insurmountable unless the team has sudden burst of brilliance or the other team falls apart. We’ve seen both in the past; unfortunately, today, we saw neither, and the game ended 20-25.
The second game of the day started out tough, but the opposing team had a bit of self-destruction and our girls took the first set 25-15. Unfortunately for the other team, that meltdown continued into the second set and only deepened: 25-10.
“Only one more game, right?” I asked the Girl afterward. Usually, there are only three games a day.
“No, we have our regular 1:00 game, but we have a challenge game at 4:00.”
This was the game to determine our bracket for the final day. If we won, we’d go to gold; if we lost, we wouldn’t go to gold. So the final status of the medal portion of the tournament would depend on one game alone.
That’s a pretty high-pressure game.
To win a game like that against a good team would be exceptionally challenging. They would need to bring their very best game to the court. The defensive players would have to dig every ball; the setters would have to place every set perfectly; the hitters would have to swing fast and true; the blockers would have to be a wall.
Sadly, that’s not what happened. In fact, everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It was 1-3 in a moment, and then it just slid downhill from there. Before the girls got themselves together, playing a semblance of what they’re capable of, it was 3-11. The other team brought their very best game to the court, and the first set ended 18-25.
The second set started well. The girls were angry and determined to do better. And they did. Within moments it was 5-2, and it looked like the girls had regained their footing. Then it was 6-2, and I thought, “Alright girls, we’ll take it to three. This looks great.” And it was great, until it wasn’t. Soon enough, it was 9-6, then 9-9, and in a blink, the girls had given up a 3-16 run. The score had gone from 6-2 to 9-18. The second set ended worse than the first with a final score of 14-25.
All the girls were angry; all of them disappointed; all of them were aware that they’d simply beaten themselves. All of those times they were on the other side of such defeats this tournament disappeared because this was the only one that mattered.
It so exemplifies the nature of teen volleyball and probably teen sports in general.
Yesterday there was a team from Texas who, I believe, lost all their games in straight sets. L has been there: she’s been on teams that leave a tournament day without a single win. The Texas team was up 11-8 at one point, but our girls rallied and beat them.
Today, it was more of the same: straight-set victories for the first two games, including a brutal second game with sets that were 25-10 and 25-11. “It’s good to be on this side of that score,” I said to another parent, “but we’ve been on the other side, and I know how that hurts.” It does a real number on your self-confidence, and soon, the bad mistakes (like the ones they were making: hitting serves out and sloppy serve reception) pile on each other. They reach a point that essentially, the team is just as much beating themselves as being beaten. Again, we’ve been there, too.
The final game was a bit of a different story. In the first set, the girls were quickly down 2-7, but the pulled it together and ended up taking the set 25-19. The second set started out much the same, but once again, they were able to pull back and then take the set 25-21
Today was Pink Out day, when all teams wear pink uniforms and I guess thinking at least in passing about the fact that women (and a few men) die of breast cancer every year. “Believe there is hope for a cure,” one shirt reads. It has a certain religious ring to it, but it’s antithetical to the whole enterprise of looking for a cure. While it is science and not faith, belief, or hope that will cure cancer, I understand the implied optimism in the shirt, certainly a critical element for anyone fighting cancer. One of the players I noticed yesterday is clearly just after chemo. A strong female outside hitter without a single hair anywhere on hear head, she stood out in more ways than one. Perhaps the pink encourages her. Hopefully.
As for today's pictures, I focused on the setters, which I don't think I've ever done. In a lot of ways, their the brains of the whole team: they read the defense, make quick adjustments, and then decide which hitter to set based on perceived weaknesses in the opponents' defense. Their sort of like the steering wheel of the team, or the neck. "Brain" seems to take something away from the other players.
In truth, all the players are completely critical. If you don't have good defensive specialists, you won't get a good pass to your setter. If you don't get a good pass to your setter, or if your setter is not on her game, you won't get your hitters in good position to attack. If the hitters are attacking, you won't be scoring (except from opponents' errors and blocking, and the occasional well-placed lob to the empty back corner from the setter or a DS).
As for the evening, it was games, games, games:
The girls won all three of their games in straight sets by convincing margins. They often start like that; fingers crossed they continue like that.
Afterward, sushi
We’re in Orlando for this year’s AAU nationals.
We’re staying with a couple of other families in a sizable condo.
We did some shopping ,
did some gaming, and had a generally lovely evening.
Back at home, Clover picked some blueberries.
A big, ten-mile ride followed by a lot of car washing makes a delicious dinner all the more so.
The fact that the cat even let me approach her, let alone pet her…
The book purports to tell the story of a church's fight for religious liberty. Specifically, it's supposed to be an insider's account of the State of California's actions against the Worldwide Church of God (WCG), legal actions that began 3 January 1979 and concluded some months afterward. The state placed the church into receivership to investigate allegations of fiscal impropriety. That, of course, fed right into the church's prophecy that it would be persecuted in the end times, and after reading the book and doing some research, I'm not convinced the state acted wisely at all.
Still, the book is supposed to be about that legal battle, and it does cover some of that. There are a couple of chapters that are virtually hour-by-hour accounts of what happened in the first days, but quickly enough, Rader veers off and spends a great deal of the book covering other things:
My rough estimation is that only a third of the book (at best) is about the actual legal action. That's too bad, because it's in the other portions of the book that Rader loses all credibility, presenting accounts that just read like fabrications.
He writes of visiting Jordan and spending time "with Prince Mohammed, the younger brother of King Hussein." The prince was eager to play chess with someone, and Rader's wife Niki volunteered to play him. The prince won the first game, and as they began the second game, he admitted that it was somewhat unfair. "You see, I am the president of the Jordanian Chess Federation," he explained.
My wife said nothing. She merely pursed her lips and then proceeded to demolish Mohammed, not only capturing his queen but also giving it back to him. The prince looked astounded and the board was set up a third time. Niki destroyed him again.
Rader explained to the astonished prince, that what his "'wife failed to tell you was that she plays all the time' I paused just a split second — 'with Bobby Fischer.' Fischer, of course, is the former world chess champion with whom Niki does play, though he beats her consistently." Fischer was, at that time, associated with the WCG, and it's possible that she did play some chess with him, but the anecdote feels contrived.
When writing about the initial concerts in Ambassador Auditorium, which the arts community in Los Angeles supposedly jealously resisted, he writes,
Resistance came from yet another area. When the 1975 series was announced, a rabbi, noted for his radical stance on issues, charged that the Church and the foundation were launching a grave assault on Judaism! In radio broadcasts and newspaper interviews, he urged a Jewish boycott of the series. His reasoning, as I gather it, was as follows: Jewish parents attending the concerts with their children would see a lovely campus, have their cars parked by polite, well-groomed Ambassador College students, sit in a splendid hall and view all around them other well-spoken, well-dressed students. On the way home, the parents would turn to each other and ask: "Why can't our kids be more like that? Maybe we ought to send them to Ambassador College." Then, of course, they would be converted. The situation may sound funny but it was serious.
Again, it seems silly. Even if this unnamed rabbi said that in mock seriousness, he was surely joking. Anyone who knows the bizarre and silly teachings of the WCG would realize that Jewish children would be at no risk of converting to a little group that suggests that proof that Britain is one of the Lost Ten Tribes is the "fact" that "Saxon" comes from a shortened version of "Isaac's sons." Just drop the initial letter and we have "Sacc's sons"! (Herbert Armstrong floated this theory in his largely-plagiarized "The United States and Britain in Prohephy" book.)
A final example: Armstrong and Rader were trying to get Herbert von Karajan to conduct the inagural concert. In their conversation, they had the following exchange:
Thinking back, I can see how wildly ludicrous it all must have seemed. Here we were in Germany, talking about bringing over a great conductor and a great orchestra to play in an auditorium that wasn't there, and blandly asking him to set a date. Yet so total was Mr.
Armstrong's confidence, so potent his persuasiveness, and so appealing the picture we painted of the great cultural center, that von Karajan became convinced. He studied his calendar, trying to shift dates. But when he was available, the orchestra was not, and when the orchestra had time, he did not. Regretfully, he informed us that it would be impossible for him to come.
"Maestro," I asked, "in your opinion, who is second to you in the world as a maestro?"
"There is no question," he replied at once. "Second to me is Giulini."
"Oh," I said, glancing at Mr. Armstrong. "Is that right?" I had never heard of Giulini and neither, I was certain, had Mr. Armstrong.
"Absolutely," Von Karajan was saying. "He is a great artist."
This seems a caricature of what a "great conductor" would say. Second to me?! Perhaps von Karajan was so arrogant, but it just doesn't seem realistic at all.
Finally, there was a conversation with Arthur Rubinstein:
Looking up, he asked Mr. Armstrong sternly: "Sir, are you a professional?" Mr. Armstrong, beaming said: "No, I'm not, but you are and you will agree after you have had a chance to play them." He explained they were Steinways, carefully selected by him and purchased in Hamburg.
Now Rubinstein became distinctly annoyed. "Sir," he said, "I don't like that kind of talk from nonprofessionals." Mr. Armstrong said he understood, but once again repeated his assertion.
With the pianist continuing to bristle, I felt it wise to change the subject. "Would you like some champagne?" I asked them. Mr. Rubinstein brusquely declined but Mr. Armstrong accepted. When the waiter began pouring Dom Perignon, Rubinstein noticed the bottle and said, "I'll have some, thank you." To me he said: "That is all I drink; I was afraid you might order something else." That broke the ice somewhat and for the rest of the evening the conversation became less strained.
Mr. Rubinstein agreed to perform. A couple of days before his concert, I met him in front of the auditorium and escorted him inside. While he was enormously impressed with the grounds, the building and the foyer, the moment he stepped through the doors into the theatre - catastrophe! "This is terrible!" he exclaimed. Startled, I asked what he meant. "The carpeting, the upholstery. It's too plush. The sound will be absorbed. It will never do! Oh, I should never have come... How could you have good music with this!"
"Maestro," I reassured him, "I know what you think, but please believe me. The acoustics are absolutely perfect. Please don't worry about it." I followed him down the aisle toward the stage, trying to calm him but his agitation grew as he progressed. I could see he didn't believe a word.
"Let me see the pianos," he grumbled and stormed up to the stage.
He ran his Fingers over the keys and the miracle happened.
He played chords on one piano, and then literally ran to the other. For many minutes he scurried between them, playing on each, his face mirroring wonderment and pleasure. He was like a child in a candy store, going from one delight to the other and unable to make up his mind which to choose. Finally he said to me: "It's never happened in my whole life. Never have I heard two finer pianos!"
Again, it just reads like invented braggadocio
That's the tone of the whole book: it's more Rader bragging about himself than anything else.
One item on my summer to-do list is to repaint the ceiling in one of the showers. Why? There's some stain that we have no idea what it is or how it got there, can't get rid of it, and are tired of. So our simplified solution is fairly straightforward: paint over it with multiple coats.
Taping up the edges and protecting the rest with plastic, though, took longer than all the painting (for all coats) combined will likely take. And the best part: all the plastic, at this point, was unnecessary because I didn't have a single drop.
Of course, if I took out the plastic...