UCLA Beach Volleyball: Court 6

For those of you wondering–those of you who know anything about college beach volleyball, that is–yes, there’s only five pairs who play for each time. But sometimes there’s a leftover court–the furthest away, of course–and you give your freshmen or such an opportunity to play a meaningless match against the leftovers from the other team. It’s like the exhibitions after everyone’s done scoring in gymnastics.

;o)

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UCLA Beach Volleyball: Court 1

Can’t believe it’s been almost a month since I went down to Santa Monica for UCLA Beach Volleyball; I remember it was on St. Paddy’s Day, and luckily I did not get pinched. Took over a thousand shots, and plenty of them were just too good not to share, so I organized it by court, and even then I’ll have separate categories, like serving and funny hair and such.
But for now let’s start where it always starts, on Court 1 with Nicole and Megan McNamara. Since you’ll likely need help telling them apart, Nicole is the lefty—making her my fave—wearing #13, and Megan is obviously the righty sporting #31. If they’re not wearing their numbers and not hitting a ball, I don’t even try to tell them apart. . .

;o)

Beach Volleyball Pro-Style

I see more weird characters on the Blue Line than all other routes combined; apparently on the others I’m the weird one. Always forget to shoot the whales on the Long Beach convention center wall while I’m doing the grand Prix, but this time I finally caught them. . . without nets.
Can’t say I enjoyed myself all that much at the Long Beach volleyball festival, other than watching Kerri Walsh and Jen Kessy battling it out while sitting on really hot uncomfortable cheap plastic seats. . . me, not them. Before that was the celeb game, which included—kinda—two famous people I know: Jay Harrington, whom I will always think of as Ted—I had Veronica snarking in my head the whole match—who on the show looks very tall but was dwarfed by a couple of basketballers; and not playing but apparently DJ’ing, if that’s an actual verb, Taryn Manning, whom was blonde the last time I saw her, draped in tight jeans, neither of which happened today. And since it’s all the rage right now I figure I should mention it: no, she was not wearing orange. . . or black, for that matter.
The most fun was during the break between second and third sets, when the otherwise really obnoxious announcer—I fear I’ll never get his “Paint the line, Picasso!” out of my head—had everyone do the wave. . . regular, then in really slow motion, which looked very surreal, followed by “as fast as you can” that left me exhausted.
The least fun was all the samples given out, none of which I liked; the pepper-infused hummus might give me nightmares without even trying it. The girls signing people up for the MGM Grand mailing list were well worth gawking at, though, easily outshining the Hooters girls. And I’m not sure if that giant orange snowcone was worth the $5, but it sure felt divine in the heat. . .
And now, on to the visuals:

Hi there!

Hi there!

Smiling orca

Smiling orca

The scene

The scene

Noise was indeed made

Noise was indeed made

Volleyball by boat

Volleyball by boat

I swear that was out!

I swear that was out!

Kes praying to the sun god

Kes praying to the sun god

Just like I shot her in college.

Just like I shot her in college.

Beware the up-pointing braid!

Beware the up-pointing braid!

!116 !242

Kerri smack

Kerri smack

Kes full out

Kes full out

;o)