I'm in it for the loot
I love amateur sport. Not for the free giving of self and time and talent, or the enthusiasm and camaraderie, or the exercise. I love amateur sport for the trophies. For some inexplicable reason I am trophy deprived. (All right - I can explain it. I'm not much good.) Did you have a lot of trophies in your room, as a kid? If so, well, shut up. I didn't. I have never won a trophy for any sporting event. Closest I came was when my grade school basketball team won the city championship (thanks to a six-foot tall ringer from Connecticut, up avoiding the draft) and we got hand-sized badges to sew on our jackets.
My mom can't sew.
So like I say, I am trophy-challenged. I finished third in a duplicate bridge in my twenties, and got a cup, but it wasn't the kind you could hoist aloft or drink champagne from. It was literally the size of an espresso cup. When the tournament presenter handed it to me I laughed out loud. I tried putting it on my mantel to show off, but guests just assumed I had left it there from the night before. They would carry it to the kitchen for me. Hey, you missed this.
No no, I'd say. That's my trophy.
I attended a volleyball tournament yesterday, and it's official. I am in love with the sport. The games were fast-paced and energetically played, the atmosphere was bonhomous and totally charming, and the winners took home the BIGGEST trophy I have ever seen. When I saw the chandelier-sized confection, gold paint and winged victory and plaques for the names of the victors (what a great word that is: victors. I have any more children I shall call them all Victor), I said to myself: I must have one of those.
Now my challenge is to find a team that'll have me.