A recent and unlikely stopover for the bronzed battalion of pro beach volleyball was Elliots Beach in Chennai, host to the $40,000 BSNL-FIVB tournament, which was an attempt by the sport’s governing body to galvanise and milk the second-rung circuit. By Kunal Diwan.
Sun, Sand and Spike.An addictive amalgam of oomph and sport came into prominence nigh 80 years ago on a sunny Santa Monica morning when American spiker Paul Johnson, tired of waiting for absentee players, convinced the three cronies at his disposal for a two-on-two session on the sand.
Long confined to the beaches of Southern California and a poor cousin to its conventional six-a-side version, beach volleyball has since metamorphosed into a global pastime with rocketing prize-money, minimalist designer lycra and wayfaring lifestyles: a sure fire combination to grab eyeballs and keep them focused on a 16 x 8 metre patch of sand.
With a player constituting one half of the entire team, beach volleyball is glamorous, personality-driven and requires each participant to assume all-round skills. The sandy surface is also easier on the knees, and accords relative longevity to players.
A recent and unlikely stopover for the bronzed battalion of pro beach volleyball was Elliots Beach in Chennai, host to the $40,000 BSNL-FIVB tournament, which was an attempt by the sport’s governing body to galvanise and milk the second-rung circuit.
Entries to the tournament, revealed FIVB Technical Supervisor Yaniv Noyman, were restricted to those ranked below 32 to foster a more open field. On his third trip to India, the Israeli’s eyes turned the colour of cold steel when questioned if he — like most young, war-ravaged recruits — followed his compulsory military stint with a perception-altering sabbatical in Kulu Manali. With a decisive shake of the head, Yaniv said he kept busy by submerging himself in the rigmarole of his chosen sport.
A couple of days into the tournament, things were at full tilt and the four courts — including the unimaginatively titled ‘Centre Court’— echoed with the thump of skin on leather and bawdy utterances of bliss and disappointment in several languages. Sitting cross-legged in a tantric posture by the makeshift locker-rooms, and appearing no less pensive than any world leader mulling over the oil crisis, fifth seeds Anssi Hakala and Pekka Seppanen of Finland looked miffed as hell.
“It is so muggy here and this makes it difficult for us to play to the best of our ability. We are not used to such weather back home,” Hakala said with a surly look.
It sure did not help that the duo was licked in their last match with chances of redemption appearing increasingly remote. An optometrist from the northern Finnish town of Oulu — home to the World Air Guitar Championship — Hakala may have been peeved over the weather and his team’s failure, but there was someone from even colder climes who seemed perfectly at home amid the oppressiveness.
Einar Sigurdsson from the land of Vikings had no qualms that he had to divide his time between mopping off copious amounts of sweat and tending to three angelic daughters that he had brought along to witness the matches. The strapping Icelander from a Reykjavik suburb — a volleyball player himself — relocated to Chennai after his wife’s pharmaceutical firm decided to branch out here. Balancing a daughter on each knee, with the third child vying for his attention from the adjacent chair, Einar said he would “support the teams from India” since there were none from Iceland in the competition.
A few hours later there were no Indians standing, the seven local teams squandering their climatic advantage and going down with a whimper to supremely agile foreigners by the third round.
Helen Brown and Rachel Turner of England expressed greater interest in picking up sarees for their friends at Bath University than in picking up their game a notch or two. “We’re concentrating on the 2012 London Olympics,” Rachel said with a serious expression after a premature departure from the tournament.
Meanwhile on ‘centre court’, erstwhile Indian volleyball international G. V. Madhav carried out his own version of the switcher agenda by shuttling between the commentary table and the dignitaries enclosure with seamless ease. “At times I get the irresistible urge to jump into the court and smash a stray one to smithereens. You wouldn’t believe it,” he said while watching a ripped Italian team taking apart the Americans in the semifinal, “but sometimes I dream about volleyball and wake up on the floor after an attempted spike.”
With the hypnotic break of the surf providing a backdrop, for four days the venue was like global village that harboured several accents. Thais lisped, Israelis maundered, Sri Lankans whispered and Indians, well, the Indians whistled.
As the evening progressed and shadows lengthened, the quavering wooden stands appeared increasingly unstable as the crowd poured in. While a handful seemed to be genuine lovers of the game — going by their involvement in the proceedings — others gravitated to the beach solely for the fulfilment of other, prohibited inclinations.
While the women’s final was an all-Thai affair, the men’s title clash was sprinkled with soccer déjÀ vu. Brazil out-smacked Italy and took away the $6,400 booty. Some sporting dictums, one is compelled to think, are beyond change.
THE RESULTSMen's Final: Klepper-Luizao (Brazil) beat Tomatis-Zaytsev (Italy) 21-19, 19-21, 15-12;
Women's Final: Sannok-Tenpaksee (Thailand) beat Kulna-Phokongploy (Thailand) 21-12, 18-21, 15-8.
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