A boy and his dog

I have a dog. A beautiful black lab built sleek like a greyhound. He has a love affair with the tattered, weathered remains of a soccer ball. Pull it out and he transforms into a radiant tightly coiled spring; a bounding pogo stick barely disguised as a dog.

I am like my dog. I have had a love affair with anything resembling a ball since I used to bounce a tennis ball off the chimney for hours on end as a 12 year old just for the fun of it. Though I move more slowly and hardly ever without pain anymore, I still would rather miss a meal than miss a game.

I must say that this will be highly personal and as I am a very private person this will be difficult for me to speak about in public - even though I know it is about something relatively insignificant. But I am trying to learn a new trick or two these days and some of you have asked what are the crosses I have encountered here.

This unexpected turn of events has become a cross. I am sharing it, not for sympathy, but in the hope that by speaking here, I may speak and act more Christ-like among those I have come to serve and that your prayers will assist me in that regards. Please keep the sympathy sheathed and instead offer a prayer that I may bear this cross more gracefully than I have to this point.

I have been here just over five months now. I have cried three times - tonight being the third. Though many of you are likely to roll your eyes at what follows, some of you will understand perhaps. Some of you won't entirely understand but have known me long enough to know I speak the truth about myself. The rest of you will hopefully understand that even though it is in itself something trivial, it is part of who I am. I would remain more me if you changed the color of my hair or skin even than if you forcefully took "my ball" away.

My favorite sport has clearly become volleyball - I came to Banica with one football, one basketball, and a bag full of volleyballs. As I have gotten older and slower and the aches and pains have become part of every day life, it is one sport that I am able to still play mostly competitively. But until a month ago, I had only witnessed a single game of volleyball in a neighboring town.

Then, almost overnight, a new outdoor basketball/volleyball court was built in the center of Banica! It even has lights so night play is possible. Soon after, I saw a group of high school girls playing volleyball and almost ran over to join them. Then it occurred to me that a 45 year old caucasian man bolting into a group of unknown Dominicana teenage girls - with half the city looking on from the bleachers - might be a bit over board. Sighing, I went on home. The next day I saw a couple of the girls and in broken Spanish did my best to ask if I could play. They jumped up and down excitedly and made me promise I'd be there that night!

I arrived apprehensive at being the only male out there - and an "old man" at that. I was happy to see some young men out there. And happier still to see that some of the Banica youth actually were fairly skilled.

Since then, however, I have found that sadly almost everyone, is completely focused on winning - at all costs. They lie about the score. They lie about a ball being in or out. They lie about whether or not they touched the net. They steal balls from weaker players - if they don't outright tell them "tu no sabe" (you don't know how to play) and push them to the edge of the court. They argue for 2, 3, 5 minutes over a single call or the score in the middle of the game.

Additionally some talk on their cell phones while "playing" and then laugh when they miss a ball. Some have no clue what they are doing and then yell loudly at other players or perhaps the asphalt or moon when they mess a play up - as if yelling angrily changes the fact they messed the play up. Some do have a clue but when they are in the back row will send the ball over on the first pass every time, and then demand the ball when they are in the front row - heaven forbid anyone else attempt to make a play. At least half the "touches" are illegal but some of the people who are most guilty of atrocities with a volleyball will try to call a mere "lift" on someone else. The better players always stack teams so they are guaranteed to win. Etc. Etc. Etc.

I, with my over developed sense of justice compounded by my desire for something resembling a challenge, have refused to play on the stacked team the few times I have been asked to. I do so knowing I will be left to play on a team made up of much of the paragraph above. Many times that also means I get to touch the ball only when I serve or when I am trying desperately to save an impossible ball. That is - when I am not standing on the sidelines waiting for folks to stop yelling and arguing.

If only they could realize this is supposed to be fun. And that it is more fun when everyone gets to play. And when an opponent is close enough in skill to make winning mean something. If you know you are going to win, why bother playing? To feel good about oneself? Anyone who used even a fraction of their intellect, would see how hollow a victory would have been acheived.

I keep harping on my age and aches, I know. But there is a point. I have played volleyball longer than most of these young adults have graced this earth. When I was younger, I could spike the ball straight down - even when double blocked setting me was an almost automatic point for my team.

I have played in tournaments with lots of teams. One day long ago, we even won a tournament with over 90 teams in our division - many of whom were from a higher division. They had "dropped down" so they could win in a less skilled division. We beat several of those teams on the way to the trophy that day. We'd see the team warming up that we were to play next. Their shortest player would be taller than our tallest. They'd set perfect floating, mouth watering sets. They'd crush the ball into the earth ferociously. I'd turn to our one spectator and whisper, "Don't worry, we'll be going home after this match." And then we'd win. Again. And Again. Winning that tournament meant something.

I have played with people who could play professionally. With players, two of whom on a team by themselves would beat a team of six of Banica's best. The best players here, even though they are better than I am now, would be mediocre players where I "come from".

If the folks here could only see how unimportant this game was and that it should be a source of fun - not an excuse to bully lesser or weaker players in order to enable elbows to more easily pat ones own back. And yet most argue about everything as if winning a sloppy volleyball game in Banica will change the history of the world.

The point I spoke of? My knees both ache something fierce. two years my right leg has been numb/hurts almost 24 hours a day - the doctors haven't a clue why. Often my lower back hurts even worse - I have been told that I have very little disc left in two of the vertebrae in my lower back. My shoulder always hurts and only rarely has even half the strength it did before I tore it up and had it operated on 15 years ago. My eyes betray me - I often have double vision that the doctors can't explain. But when a ball is whizzing at you at 60-80 miles an hour - and there are two of them instead of one, it is difficult to pass the ball accurately. That has been perhaps the most bitter pill for me to swallow as I have aged - I was always known for my ability to pass any ball well.

Oh yes, my selfish point.... Like my dog, Rebel, I love to play ball. But the writing is on the wall. The days that I will be able to play are numbered. Even with my steel will and tolerance for pain, I know time will catch me just around one of the next few corners. I can't count the times I have sprained my ankle, for example, and refused to come off the court. Ditto when an elbow broke my nose or when I blew my knee out some years ago (ok, I did come off the court that time after a few failed attempts at continuing to play). But I have pride in how I play and with the pain now comes a marked deterioration in my skill level. If the pain doesn't shoo me away, sooner or later my pride will.

Until then, as my sun wanes, I just want to be able to play and enjoy and cherish the moments I have left. And to see other people enjoy playing. Don't get me wrong! I am as competitive as any and more than most. But always within the context of a good clean game, and always with the integrity of the game and the participants intact. I'd rather lose a hotly contested game in "extra innings" than win a game where the other team was demolished. And always I play for the sheer joy of playing. I laugh in glee just as hard when an opponent makes a great or spectacular play as when I or a teammate does.

Tonight I played one game. And one game only. Two of my team members were taking swigs of alcohol from plastic bottles between points. One of the two, perhaps 14 years old, was horrbile and yelled at someone else every time he messed up a play (I'd say 10 of the 25 points the other team got in beating us). A third player knew how to play but sent the ball over the net every time he touched it - a couple of times even stealing the ball and almost knocking over a young gal who was a very good player. As usual on such a team, I got zero sets. And only one pass while I was setting. Another "only touch the ball when serving game".

But it was me muttering at the nascient alchololic 14 year old, "Tu no sabe." And me snapping angrily at the fairly skilled gent to pass the ball to the setter and to not run the young lady over that sent me to the showers early. I went to the sidelines and did 50 pushups before sitting to think. I decided that I was simply not going to play with either of the two again - even if that meant I had to sit out while folks were begging me to play. So after telling the guys I was not going to play the next game (ie, with them), I thought I'd be ok. Then the arguing broke out - again. Without a word I walked away leaving my ball there. I'd let them keep it except that it has a friend's name on it.

I am hard to keep down and a day or two usually brings the sun again. But tonight, I selfishly wish that court had not been built. It was much easier to do without my beloved game altogether than to have it so close and yet not be able to enjoy it. I refuse (well most of the time, soft smile) to try to outshout the loudest of the loud. I refuse to play to win at all costs. I desire to help others enjoy this game that has given so much enjoyment to me. And I am determined, though many times fallen, not to give in to the temptations that my frustrations unleash within me.

For as much as I am like my dog, I have something he has not - a free will and an intellect. I'd appreciate your prayers that I will either find a way to balance my love for the game with the inherent frustrations of playing here or that I will give away the ball I'd not let you take from me.