When I was a teenager and volleyball was huge in the church set I belonged to, dig-set-spike was worth screaming about, because we were too unaccomplished (or in my case, too fucking clumsy) to pull it off right most of the time. Usually, it went more like dig-set-crash, dig-fumble-oops, or, “What? That was my ball!?”

And given several of the girls in our youth group were better than most of the boys, often it just went, dig-grumble-blush. “Don’t I have someplace better to be?”

You know what the Olympics need when it comes to beach volleyball? Clumsy teenagers who aren’t very good.

I could drink a six-pack to that!