"Oh, um, thanks," I mutter as I take the boastfully green pompom. This is new. I don't quite understand what's happening, or why, but I lean over the edge to see the volleyball court with the others around me. The numbers mean nothing to me.
I've never been to a real sporting event, but evidently, this one is important. Something happens, and the numbers change. There's cheering. I realize that we scored, but the hoots are quickly silenced and replaced by focus on the game before I can join in. I watch the ball, back and forth. Our point. This time I cheer.
The other team spikes, hard. Their point, and we clap politely. As the game goes on, I start to realize there's a beautiful pattern to it, an art of unspoken communication. Each team has a personality, strengths to fear and weaknesses to be exploited. There's carefully refined skill and tactic and a beautiful blood thirst. Clapping for the other team becomes somewhat nefarious as they become a real threat, and I'm screaming along with the rest, encouraging, yelling, cheering for our team with my silly pompom.
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