It’s a Nice Place to Visit, but That’s All for Him
Just to prove that no one wants to read about nice people doing really good things for themselves, I’m writing a column today about nice people doing really good things for themselves.
This feel-good story, which you’re going to stop reading pretty soon, begins with an e-mail stalker, Mauri Flora, who has been insisting on newspaper coverage for his favorite team, which no one else cares about.
“See what you missed by not coming to the last game,” Flora e-mailed. “Adele’s boyfriend, Bobbie, had the male cheerleaders ready and waiting for you. They’ve each volunteered to date your the daughter -- the one who can’t get a date.”
I didn’t respond.
“Amy S. is a psychology major and has read Page 2 and has a paper due on focused personalities,” Flora said in his next dispatch. “She said you would do just fine, but to keep you away from Amy K., the UCLA cousin, who wasn’t very pleased about your comments about Coach Dull. That’s what Amy K. said the players at UCLA call him. We’re all waiting for you to show up.”
I didn’t respond, but I was beginning to feel like Michael J. Fox in “Doc Hollywood” reading the e-mail and starting to wonder how Adele and Bobbie were doing.
“Adele and Bobbie are still together; they won the Halloween dress up contest,” I learned in the next update. “We couldn’t wait for you, so the team went out and made it 36 straight. We know you’ll be here soon. Parking is tight, but we have handicapped spaces and you’ve spent time at UCLA so you’ll know what to do.”
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I COULDN’T resist. (My only other choice was a King game.) I checked it out and spent time Thursday with the University of La Verne women’s volleyball team, ranked No. 3 in the country in Division III, which means no scholarships, and no glory while competing for the fun of it.
(This is where I’d like to stop writing, the same place you stopped reading -- even though I interviewed several of the nice girls, the hard-working coach and the well-meaning athletic director, because, come on, who cares about Division III women’s volleyball?)
“Give them a chance,” Flora pleaded. “This is better than [spending time at USC]. Those people don’t even return your calls. La Verne President Steve Morgan is waiting to take your call.”
I called Morgan’s office, left a message, haven’t heard back from him.
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THE LA VERNE women, seeded No. 1, are the host team for the NCAA Division III regional tournament this weekend, and blah, blah, blah
“But we have a girl who rips the snot out of her jump serve,” said Don Flora, coach and, as I learned, son of the relentless e-mailer.
That’s great, I said. I’m really happy for you. Every team should have a girl who rips the snot out of something. Now, will you call off your old man? Nobody cares about Division III volleyball. In fact, name a Division III sport anyone cares about.
“The hearts of these kids are going pitter-pat, just like those of the Division I athletes. They put in every bit as much time. They have the same competitive drive and they’re playing on the same 30x30 court, and when they win the national championship, they have the same feeling as the girls who win a national championship in Division I,” the coach said, and golly, gee-whiz, I’m not sure I’ve ever allowed such an uplifting paragraph to appear in this space. What a downer.
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LA VERNE WON the national title two years ago and has a chance to do it again this year, if the girls don’t tank. If they win Saturday night’s regional title, they’ll probably play host to next week’s quarterfinal match, and I’m already working on an excuse why I can’t be there.
Amy Smith listened to me as I told her no one was interested in a sweet, feel-good story about a bunch of intense, model athletes playing a picnic sport. Then sweet little Amy, whose nickname is “Up, Up and Away,” said, “You know, there is nothing like going up and smacking the ball into someone’s face on the other side of the net. That’s a six pack, and when you get one of those, your teammates are supposed to buy you a six pack of your favorite beverage.”
I noticed how thirsty her teammates looked, and I noticed Amy Smith glaring at me. No wonder they can never get any media to come to their matches.
I’m not surprised my stalker e-mailer calls these girls, “La Verne’s Lovelies.” They’re lovely, all right. They dress in Raider black warmup tops, intending to intimidate opponents by showing off their weight-room work. They not only trash talk but take the court to the sound of Metallica singing, “Enter Sandman” ... “Say your prayers little one. Don’t forget, my son, to include everyone.”
Then a few of the girls do handstands, while others play volleyball with their heads. Upon reflection, no, I’m not surprised this would be the kind of team to attract a fan such as my stalking e-mailer. I just wish someone would beat the heck out of them, end their season, and soon, so I could get back to reading the regular hate mail, which is always telling me where to go, but never to one of their matches.
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TODAY’S LAST word comes in e-mail from Michael Lighty:
“I had vowed not to read any more of the columns you write since I am a sports fan and you are not. [I read the latest] once again confronted with such negative drivel that I am forced to respond. You dissed ... “
I vowed not to finish your e-mail, and I’m going to keep my promise.
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T.J. Simers can be reached at