The other national pastime

In addition to soccer, I would consider volleyball Ecuador’s national past time.

Every town or neighborhood has a soccer pitch, but it also has a volleyball court.

I might even contend that the volleyball sensation is more intense, at least in my town.

Every day, after work, the men will go and gather around the volleyball court. Some will play, but most will just sit around and enjoy a beer and tiem with friends.

But unlike the traditional beach volleyball, Ecua-volley rules are a little bit different. It’s not exactly the one-touch rule you have in beach volley, I would descibe it as somewhere between beach volleyball and nuke ‘em. You aren’t allowed to carry the ball or throw it, but you are certainly allowed a little be more freedom than someone playing beach volleyball. They play with a little bit harder ball, and the teams are three people, instead of five.

Little by little, I am immersing myself in this culture. But because I’m not so big on betting, and it’s almost impossible to play a game of volleyball without betting, my opportunities to play have been few and far between. (It’s more that I don’t trust my volleyball abilities with my money and have a better use for it at the produce stand)

Well, last week on the way back from the fiestas in Batanes, we stopped off to play a friendly game of volleyball in another community.

I only spent forty minutes in this community, but I think I left quite the impression.

One of the key rules of volleyball is that, no matter what, you can’t cross the centerline. Even if your momentum carries you, it is automatically the other team’s point if you cross the centerline. My coworker explained it to me that your feet can’t cross the line.

Well, we got to playing. And the other team pummeled us for the first two games. My volleyball Spanish is still a little weak, and when they keep telling me to pay attention and I think I’m paying attention, but I’m not paying attention in the way they want me to pay attention. There is some subtlety to the language that I am still picking up.

So the third game is a hard-fought match. We’re going back and forth with points. Then we are tied at seven. I think this game is to 11 or 15. Nobody really explained to me. I just kept playing each point like it was my last. We are in the midst of a pretty intense rally, and I make what I think is an unbelievable recovery to keep the point alive. The ball is near the net and I am on the far side of the court. I realize that I am the only member of my team in any position to make a play on this ball. So I go balls to the walls and make the miraculous save to keep the point alive, and my entire body falls to the other side of the net, except my feet stay on my team’s side (And the court is made of sand, so there are clear marks where my feet went). As I am laying there, I see my teammate complete the kill and begin to celebrate the point.

All I hear, though, is laughing. Apparently, I had violated one of the sacred rules of volleyball. And obviously, everybody here knows that fact.

None of your body can cross the line. Not even your hands. There is actually a judge seated at the centerline to keep score, but also to decide whether someone has crossed the line or not.

In trying to make a parallel with American sports, I would compare my transgression to someone swinging at strike three and thinking they get four strikes.

Now I know. We ended up losing the game, but I think I won a lot of respect.

Is respect the word I’m looking for? OK, so maybe I won their laughter. But, at least I won something.

Four days later in the office, they were still laughing about what transpired.