Sunday, July 22, 2012

The Rhett Rule

Yes, that just happened...

For full effect, download "Pleasureman" by Gunther and the Sunshine Girls, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

Rather than waste time with a meandering intro riddled with sarcastic jabs at 90's music and fat penguins, I'm just going to jump right into one of the greatest memories that this past week has produced. Here is what you need to know: Me. Group of friends. Sand volleyball. Wednesday night. Paint the picture for yourself.

Wait, let me back up for just a second. Crap, I knew that I sucked at storytelling. This is totally not going the way I had originally planned. It was going to be a blog post that would be Legen-wait for it-

Never mind.

Anyway, about a year and a half ago, a former crew of friends that has now been dissolved, we'll call them the League of Extraordinary Editors, used to gather together and play sand volleyball once a week at the same courts by the LDS institute on campus. They were good times, better than mediocre times that were enjoyed by many. One of the fondest memories that evolved from our escapades was the creation of the "Rhett Rule"

You see kids, we had a very unique member of the crew. Obviously his name was Rhett, what else would possess me to throw a random guy's name at the top of this post? He wasn't the most exceptional volleyball player. In fact, my one-armed midget cousin Phil was a more fierce terror at the net. But so what, he's a great guy, and we enjoyed playing volleyball with the kid.

One evening he stepped forth to serve another ball that rarely made it over to the other side. After his first failed attempt, he called for the ball back, asking to have another shot at serving again.

The Ogling Thunder: "You can't have it back. That's not the rules. You only get to serve the ball once, that's the way volleyball goes."

Rhett: "Come on now, it doesn't matter. This is all just for fun."

The Ogling Thunder: "NO IT'S NOT! THAT'S GOTTA BE SOME KINDA PENALTY ON YOUR TEAM! YOU CAN'T SERVE TWICE! TOO BAD!"

For the record, if Rhett and The Ogling Thunder were to be involved in a physical altercation, Rhett would trounce the chap by his good looks alone. Plus, the fact that the Ogling Thunder had a lower percentage on successful serves than Rhett did, made this moment even classier.

Roger Winston Eddingbright the 3rd: (Said in an emphatic British accent) "How about this, a new decree shall be given. If any man or woman wishes to serve a second time, they will be a recipient of what we shall call "the Rhett Rule", which in essence is the pitiful acknowledgement that their first serve was weak and shameful. So let it be written."

All of us: (In unison) "So let it be done."

I'm pretty sure that's how the "Rhett Rule" was born. Maybe a little more tantrums by the Ogling Thunder, but that summer was all a bit hazy to me. Flash forward to last Wednesday night as I was playing in another heated game with a bunch of rag-tag friends and a few sand volleyball junkies, not a single one that was a member of the renowned League of Extraordinary Editors from 15 months prior.

A bone-thin cowboy with a sparsely bare comb-over stepped to the back of the court, a firm look on his face that he would pound his serve into the weakness of the opponent's space. Yes, my sand volleyball is that intense. After a ritualistic warm-up, he tossed the ball into the air, and completely side-swiped the rubber-bound sphere, weakly jabbing the ball a few dismal feet.

"Sideout" one of the junkies called from across the court.

"No, that's alright, we'll give him the Rhett Rule on this one." Another of the junkies said, tossing the ball back to the balding Cowboy.

Shut the curse word up. Did you just say what I think you just said? Has the dear Rhett's hallmark lasted this long, through endless days of storytelling, late nights in the sand, and oodles of douchebags removing their tank-tops to flaunt the kegs that they're toting underneath? The Rhett Rule is now an actual rule for everyone here?

The balding Cowboy: "What's the Rhett Rule?"

The junkie setter: "We'll just let you serve again. Go ahead man, second try. Be, the Rhett Rule."

The bald cowboy did, and we played on. I did my best to fight back the euphoric tears that were brewing in my eyes, for I knew that this story would be a benchmark in sand volleyball lore for years to come. The Rhett Rule would be hallowed and recognized by all weak sauce servers, and some guys that are willing to bow down to feminine standards for their insufficient strengths behind the nets (especially you, Ogling Thunder). Yes kids, I was a part of a beautiful moment that night. A moment that was worthy of a blogpost. A moment that is now,

-dary! Legen-Dary, Mosby!

What do you think?

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