We, Ladies 2, are currently lingering in second place. To ascend to the top spot, two things must happen: 1) We must keep winning, and 2) Punch must lose. Unfortunately, Punch appears to be protected by a divine cosmic loophole that prevents them from ever failing, which is frankly a massive oversight by the Universe’s Management. We have decided to respond by winning every match 4-0 until the sheer weight of our points causes a local collapse in the space-time continuum, forcing a reshuffle of the standings.
The Casualty List:
The preparations for Friday night were, in a word, shambolic. Lieke was sidelined by a mysterious ailment, Anouk’s ankle is still engaged in a long-term dispute with her leg. Meanwhile, I recently intercepted a volleyball with my face from a range of one metre—a distance usually reserved for intimate secrets or firing squads.
Consequently, I walked onto the court seeing double. This was a strategic masterclass: I wasn’t facing six opponents; I was facing twelve. While this sounds intimidating, it meant the court was suddenly packed with imaginary gaps. If you aim for the hallucination on the left, you usually hit the floor on the right. It’s basic quantum mechanics.
Set 1: The Art of Doing Nothing
The first set was less of a “match” and more of a “polite observation of a disaster.” We didn’t so much win the points as we inherited them from Volevo’s estate. Their players seemed to be treating the net as a sacred religious barrier that must never, ever be crossed. They served into the mesh, they passed into the rafters, and they attacked the floor on their own side. We won simply by remaining upright and occasionally blinking.
Set 2: Experimental Jazz
Coaches Wim and Rob—who possess the kind of terrifying patience usually found in Himalayan monks or people waiting for a Windows update—sent us back out. Since Volevo was struggling with the basic concept of gravity, Elisa and Alessia decided to use the mid-court to perform some “experimental variations.” It was the volleyball equivalent of a free-form jazz solo; highly technical, slightly confusing, and probably illegal in three provinces. I loved it!
Set 3: The Belgian Intervention
Enter Romane, who had commuted all the way from Belgium. Crossing international borders just for a Friday night amateur volleyball match is the kind of heroic madness that usually gets you a statue or a psychiatric evaluation. I love the dedication and commitment! She was rewarded with a series of attacks so fierce they likely registered on local seismographs. Usually, we use the third set to have a collective existential crisis, but the “4-0 or Death” mandate kept us focused.
Set 4: The Dramatic Irony
In the fourth set, we grew bored of competence and decided to spice things up by making “errors” (this is what we call them in the official report; in reality, it was a desperate attempt to feel something). However, the fear of losing our clean sweep eventually overcame our desire for chaos. We finished them off with the clinical efficiency of a government auditor closing a library.
The Verdict:
*4-0 to Ladies 2. *The simulation continues.
Next Friday | 19:30 | Sporthal Steenwijklaan
We face the Number 8 seeds. Come along and witness the absurdity of Ladies 2 in person.
Love, Milene