Bedtime horror stories: Rijssen of Evil

The evening began, as all great athletic achievements do, with a highly strategic pre-match ritual: shoveling down plates of bami at Roel’s place. Fuel was acquired, spirits were high, and digestive systems were… cautiously optimistic.

Due to what can only be described as a relaxed interpretation of punctuality, the match started a bit late (looking at you Gents 2). This gave the opposing coach enough room to casually ask if he could still go drink another beer (around 20:50). Generously, we allowed it—after all, we still had to warm up.

The first set we came out swinging and absolutely steamrolled Rivo. Our middle blockers were on fire and un-blockable. Not a single ball was stopped. Our borrowed diagonal was running like a Swiss watch, and our outside hitters were still our main goto. A flawless start.

In a stunning display of sportsmanship, we decided to let them get back into the game. Their middles suddenly discovered their talent, while we got repeatedly outplayed at the net. Add a generous number of service errors, and voilà: set conceded.

Unfortunately, we doubled down on our previous strategy. Service errors remained our loyal companion, and despite some good moments, we couldn’t close it out. Another set slipped away, joining the previous in the void of “what could have been.”

We regained control in the fourth set. The opponents—let’s respectfully call them “veterans”—began to show signs of fatigue. Rumor has it we were approaching their burgerbedtijd, and for their underage libero, this was well past lights-out. In their still enthusiastic shouting, the referee awarded their hospitality with a yellow card. Meanwhile, our B started scoring like it was a personal vendetta, and our middles continued their reign of terror. Set secured. Lucky for us. To even out the cards, Martijn requested a third time-out, on which the opponents started riotting, demanding a yellow card for us too.

The final set began promisingly. We took the lead and looked ready to seal the deal. But Rivo Rijssen, powered by what must have been their last remaining drop of energy (or perhaps the thought of nearing the postponed beer), mounted a comeback that hit us square in the face. A painful ending to a long battle.

After five sets and what felt like an extended theatrical performance, we finally wrapped things up around midnight. A match full of highs, lows, and questionable life choices—but above all, one to remember.

Wij speelden tegen Rijssen

We wilden ons graag bewijzen

Zij een ander idee

Namen 3 punten mee

En wist zo de winst op te ijsen