Tripleball: another sport for the ages

Woke up feeling a little nauseous again, so lay there wondering what I might have eaten. Nobody else in the family feels this way – and we all ate the same thing – so am hoping I didn’t pick up a bug at the hospital on Tuesday. Thankfully, it didn’t last long – still a little tender, but nothing I can’t live with. In other news, it is snowing again. Only 5-10 cm, but that is, at this time of year, a slap in the face.
 
At 10, Mrs. Ottawacker and I drove out to Castor Valley High School to watch Ottawacker Jr. take part in the “Tripleball” tournament. WTF is “tripleball”, I hear you ask? WTF indeed. It is, if like me, you had no idea, a form of volleyball. A sort of “volleyball for the mentally infirm”, if you ask me, which of course you didn’t, but this is the type of incisive prose you come here for, admit it. Basically, there is a service, then the next two balls are thrown in by the opposing team’s coach. Apparently, it is a recommended stage in learning how to play volleyball, mainly because kids can’t serve. The most interesting thing for me is that the coaches are referred to as “tossers”: this is, I assume, because Canadians have no grasp of English slang. I listened out in case the umpires were called wankers, but they didn’t seem to be.
 
We drove through the snow and arrived halfway through Ottawacker Jr.’s first game (against Steve McLean Elementary), in which there was a split decision (one set each). The same result happened in the second game against tournament favourites Castor Valley. Just as I was beginning to think that this entire tournament had been designed specifically to negate every competitive instinct that children ever have, along came the third team Vincent Massey, a team comprising children of such awkward shapes that they might have been drawn by Maurice Sendak. Finally, a win for Ottawacker Jr. and his Alta Vista team. This meant that Alta Vista qualified for the play-offs; however, Mrs. Ottawacker had to return to work, so we were forced to leave – driving back down Bank Street in the middle of a blizzard. Ten centimetres my arse.
 
I just needed to confirm the “tossers” info, and found some information on a tool I occasionally use called the Internet.
 
At 4pm, Ottawacker Jr. came back and confirmed that his school had, in fact, won the tournament. It’s the first trophy they’ve won in a decade, so he was pretty chuffed.