The dive, the flop, and you come to a stop, diving for the volleyball, missing it, instead smelling the hot maple wood floor, you skid across.
Letting out a loud scream and whine in disbelief as you missed the ball, “yo ref, wrong call!” you gradually stand back up as the now sweaty floor creeks with each movement.
You were a movement, to the team, the very best, so supreme. The spit on your hand as we hand shook the opponent team; they felt your warm slimy goo sliding onto their already moist palms.
What a Legend, we heard, felt, and smelt your presence in spectacular motion. Although you probably needed to use some more body lotion. But no complications, your spirit flew high like a flying feathered Falcon.
And as the winter came, you were never the same. Like the snow falls from the sky, your dandruff fell from your perfect noggin. You would sing ‘Perfect’, with your special significant voice of a goblin.
The dive, the flop, and you come to a stop, diving for the volleyball but this time you hit it, yet the scream still came, and the thump still came, it looked very much the same.
Oh wait, now I see, you landed on the ball, the ball now deflated into the size of a chickpea. And as we started to laugh, the coach disappointingly said, “just let him be.”