I managed to get some volleyball action this weekend. Unlike many Vancouver locals who are can return a serve as easily as they might walk and chew gum, I grew up in Winnipeg, which is known less for its volleyball competitions than its perogie-eating contests. My skills are sub-par, to say the least.

I do get a kick out of seeing the better players do their thing. Perhaps, one day, I will be able to compete.

I am not only a bad volleyball player, but an accident-prone one. But my sports injury is not even the kind that gives bragging rights (ie. “I slid into home base over gravel for the game-winning run, and that’s why my legs look like someone took a cheese grater to them”).

My pinky finger got bent back in the process of my missing the ball. So now my least-useful digit is sprained and I have to be careful every time I touch the “A” key, lest my poor pinky fall off its weakened hinge.

No more volleyball for me for a little while.

As for all those volleyball gods out there on Kitsilano Beach or English Bay, have fun and play safe.