The Score's Wrong

Seated next to me during this exchange was my lovely refined and classy wife. Everyone was shocked as Barb reached a full volleyball meltdown. Barb stood up and let this lady have it with both obscene and verbal barrels. Her finger was up in this lady’s face and she was using words that would make a sailor blush. The four letters words were flying so fast that I thought I was listening to a rap song. All of our parents were stunned and shocked at what they were observing and hearing. I believe that if there was a puddle of mud available, I would have experienced my first female mud-wrestling event. With God as my witness, I had to pull my wife away from this lady and escort her to a neutral corner. It appeared that the World Wrestling Federation was filming a match right before my very eyes. How many husbands can say they had to separate their wife before she engaged in a fist fight? Once the excitement died down, we finally left the sacred seating area and my wife’s blood pressure had dropped to 190 over 150. We decided that the season needed to end quickly before any of us ended up in jail. My wife was starting to have that Charles Manson look in her eyes and I started to worry about my own well-being instead of the Vulture’s. At dinner that night, I kept asking the Champ how she felt. I continually stated to Barb that my money was on her the whole time. On our flight home from nationals, I kept a watchful eye on my wife. I would occasionally ask Barb, “Are you hearing the voices now?” We both laughed, as we were relieved that the club volleyball season was finally over. We were happy to be going home and I honestly believe the people in Atlanta were safer once our plane left the ground.