Beach Volleyball - Part 1
Summer in Portland always reminded Peter Mayhew of his very first time making love. Short, sweet, and so wonderful that he eagerly looked forward to each and every subsequent occurrence. He had a few plans to ensure that he made the very most of this summer, one of which relied heavily on the cooperation of one Gregorovich Van Helsing.
The iconic Cannon Beach on Oregon’s coast, largely known for its appearance in the hit movie ‘The Doonies’, was the first stop on Peter’s ‘Awesome Summer Checklist’. He dragged Greg along, his argument: that the large man could seriously use a little vitamin D. And that it might even help with that sour mood he always seemed to be in.
“Wow, Peter. I’m impressed,” Greg commented from the passenger seat of Peter’s sedan. “Have you ever broken the speed limit before?”
“It’s been known to happen,” Peter exaggerated. “We got a late start and if we don’t check in by 11 we’ll be disqualified.”
Greg turned sharply to face Peter, brows furrowed in confusion. At that moment Peter remembered that he had not provided Greg with the primary purpose for their trip to the beach.
“Heh,” Peter heh’d nervously. “I forgot to tell you about the tournament.”
“The what now?”
“Beach volleyball tournament,” Peter said, determinedly not taking his eyes off the road to meet Greg’s ire. “It’s 2 on 2, single round elimination, best of 3 sets to 15, winner takes all. Say Greg, have you uh… You ever played volleyball before?”
“I’ll give you three guesses,” Greg said sourly.
“I think I probably only need one,” Peter replied, scrunching up his nose. “We’ll be there in about 20 minutes. Let’s go over the basic rules.”
“I’m not playing volleyball. Isn’t the game played in shorts? I don’t wear shorts. I don’t play sports. Not doing it.”
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“Please, Greg?” Peter pleaded, his oversized eyes widening in a passable impression of a begging puppy.
“No.”
“We can call us even from the time I roasted that kid who was being mean to you on Mario Kart,” Peter said enticingly.
Greg glared. Peter felt a bit guilty for pulling that card, but he needed this. With Greg on his team, he was sure they could take the whole tournament - even if it was his first time playing volleyball.
“We call that even, and then you owe me one,” Greg countered.
“Deal!” Peter first pumped in triumph. “And I brought you some shorts, don’t worry about that.”
Peter could feel the vibrations in his seat from Greg’s groan of displeasure.
Peter proceeded to drill the basics into Greg’s ears with surprising speed and detail. Luckily, Peter had a thorough grasp of the sport, largely acquired from watching and rewatching an anime called ‘Haikyooo’. It followed a highschool boy’s volleyball team, and was incredibly educational concerning the rules, techniques, and team plays involved. He covered verbal signals, stressed the importance of communication and positioning. By the time he made it to set tempos, they were pulling into the parking lot.
“Is it actually ‘Team Monster Hunter’, or is your team name just ‘Monster Hunter’?” asked the young woman at the tournament registration kiosk.
“Team Monster Hunter,” Peter replied, smiling brightly.
She eyed him curiously, as though waiting for the punch line of a joke, or perhaps an explanation to the odd name for a beach volleyball team. Peter just continued smiling.
“Okay,” she said, smiling awkwardly. “Well, Team Monster Hunter, it looks like you’ll be on court four at noon against…” she paused to locate their opponents on her sign-in sheet. “Straight Up Monsters.”
“Thanks,” Peter said. He and Greg turned and left registration, walking toward court four.
Peter and Greg used the hour before their match to get changed and warmed up. In a shocking non-upset, Greg turned out to be a prodigious volleyball player. Despite his complete lack of technique, his speed, size, and (literally) inhuman jumping ability would probably make him the single most dangerous competitor in the entire event.
After a few minutes of receiving practice, Peter went over the basic motions of a jump serve, wanting to maximize the advantage that Greg’s herculean strength could give them. His first attempt cost Peter a volleyball, unless he wanted to walk all the way to Portland to retrieve it. His accuracy improved dramatically after that first swing and within minutes, Greg’s powerful jump serve was honed to the point that, at least 3 times out of 5, he could place it within a few feet of his target area.
When it came to defending spikes, Greg needed very little instruction. His biggest weakness was that, when receiving, Greg had a hard time putting the ball anywhere on purpose. Peter wasn’t too worried about that, though, as he would be playing behind Greg and therefore would be responsible for defending the majority of the opposing team’s attacks.
It was only minutes before game time, Peter stood beside Greg, both topless and barefoot in the sand across the net from two young men who looked like they’d been plucked straight out of their recruitment meeting for college hoops. Each stood several inches taller than even Greg, all three men dwarfing Peter who stood only 5’11’’.
Peter smiled brightly across the court at them. He found the death-glare game-faces he received in response entirely unwarranted.
“Peter, why are you smiling at them?” Greg asked, his voice low. “Aren’t they our enemies? Put your damn game face on.”
Peter turned his toothy grin on Greg. “This is my game face.”