She May Be Short but Packs a Wallop

Misty May is not the tallest woman on the volleyball court, or the strongest. She’s probably not the fastest. She doesn’t jump the highest or hit the hardest.

But May, a senior setter for the No. 1-ranked and undefeated Long Beach State women’s volleyball team and a graduate of Newport Harbor High, is unquestionably the best collegiate female player in the country. She was voted that honor last season and after spending the summer with the U.S. national team, May has only gotten better.

May is the daughter of Butch May, a member of the 1968 Olympic men’s volleyball team. Butch and his wife, Barbara, ran a pizza stand under the Santa Monica pier when Misty was growing up and at the same time coached the Santa Monica Community College women’s volleyball team. Team members would put Misty in a volleyball bag and hang her from hooks to keep the youngster out of the way.

As May grew up, always on the beach, she would grab onto the legs of Karch Kiraly, the great American men’s player who was an Olympian indoors and then in beach volleyball.

So if it was inevitable that May would become a volleyball player, it was never inevitable she would become great. For to achieve this excellence, May has worked hard and more importantly, studied hard.

When May realized, at the conclusion of her high school career, that though she was 5-foot-9 and taller than average in the real world, in the world of competitive volleyball May would be, in her words, “a midget.”

At Newport Harbor, May had been an outside hitter, who got to smash all those big hits, the highlight film kinds of plays. But at the next levels, in college and after that, when she would play for U.S. national teams and in the Olympics, May was always determined to do these things. She realized there were no 5-9 outside hitters, so she decided to become a setter.

It so happens that the assistant coach at Long Beach State, Debbie Green, a two-time U.S. Olympian, is still considered the best setter in the history of women’s volleyball. And so May came to Long Beach State.

On this particular evening, a Thursday night at the Pyramid, May’s team is playing Cal State Fullerton in a match that, it is quickly apparent, is no match at all. Long Beach State wins the first game, 15-0, and it took barely 20 minutes. The crowd of about 1,500 is ecstatic because any 15-0 blanking means they get free bagels at a local shop.

It is nearly impossible not to keep your eyes only on May, though. It is worthwhile mostly to follow every step she takes, to see how her eyes dart. Back and forth, in front of her, behind her.

It is fascinating to watch May control the flow of the game by where she places each ball, first on the left, then on the right, sometimes a little behind her, wherever there is a teammate who accepts the set and smashes the shot.

Or sometimes May will surprise everyone. She will not set. She will suddenly dink the ball over herself, on the second hit, when the opponents don’t expect it.

May does this and the floor shakes. There is the aching sound of bodies sliding, floor burns happening, when three Fullerton players dive hopelessly, flap their arms and moan as May’s hit drops between them. May smiles. Just a little.

Brian Gimmillaro, the Long Beach State coach, cannot be considered an unbiased source here, but listen to this assessment of his star.

“Misty has the potential, and I firmly believe this, to do for women’s volleyball at the 2000 Olympics in Sydney, what Mia Hamm did for women’s soccer and Dot Richardson did for women’s softball in Atlanta. Misty is that kind of charismatic player.

“She can be the Wayne Gretzky of her sport.”

Kathy Gregory, coach of nationally ranked UC Santa Barbara, says “Misty May is the next Karch Kiraly. She could be, and should be, the starting setter on the USA Olympic volleyball team in Sydney.”

May blushes a little when she hears this. After Long Beach has finished off Fullerton, 15-0, 15-3, 15-3, May is seated, holding an ice pack on each knee.

The sport can be cruel to the body. It is murder on the back, on the knees, on the shoulders and elbows. And to be a player good enough to make an Olympic team means that volleyball can’t just be played in its season, it must be played all year long.

When May played for the U.S. national team last summer, the youngest member of the team, she said she started off wondering whether she really belonged.

“It’s such a different level,” May said. “Everybody’s way taller, way stronger. You have to make a name for yourself, especially when you’re the youngest. You know people are talking about you with opinions on whether you’re good enough. But it was just a different level of competition and I pretty much figured out right away that I could play for that team.”

May has received some pressure to quit school at the end of this semester, after the season, and join the national team full-time. But she is adamant about staying until graduation and getting her degree in kinesiology.

Which doesn’t mean that in her heart May doesn’t desperately want to play for the U.S. in Sydney in two years.

May says she’s tired of hearing her father’s Olympic stories. “We’ve all heard them a million times,” May says. “Believe me, it’s time for some new stories.”

But it is obvious May wants more than new family stories. She wants to learn more of this game. Always more.