This week, I decided to venture away from Goshen College’s Visual Arts Building and Music Center (my usual haunts) to the Roman Gingerich Recreation-Fitness Center for a change of pace. What little-known extremities of our fine campus remained unknown to my keen eye? To my delight, there was a sport performance about to begin when I stopped by. What luck!

I first approached the box office and inquired whether there were any available seats in the mezzanine. I picked up a playbill (title: “Men’s Volley-Ball”) and was directed by the usher into the audience where I sat among the other students in anticipation of the opening number. Scanning the cast list, I was impressed by the great physical stature of the leads; they all surpassed six feet in height.

The performers, clad in matching costumes of purple and black, did their physical and vocal warm-ups by passing brightly-colored balls and hollering to one another before the show began. They leaped and vaulted up and down the netted curtain dividing the stage, each cast moving in organized fashion. Color me impressed.

Before the show began, an overture of “America the Beautiful” resounded through the auditorium and was met with raucous applause. The two casts shook each other’s hands and said “break a leg,” as I read clearly on their lips. What etiquette and professionalism! Even in competition, the spirit of the theater maintains its dignity. 

As the actors hit their spots on stage, the show began with tight choreography and swift movement. Both sides were well-rehearsed, and it showed. I bought every anguished and joyous expression, the flight of the ball determining which side exulted and which side despaired. O, the twists and turns of this athletic drama! This play was written with fourth-wall breaks in every scene, as the actors turned to the audience and clamored a “huzzah” when the directors blew their whistles from their elevated chairs. On either side, groups of swings waited in the wings, performing synchronized routines of cheer and dance when their teammates finished their numbers.

The narrator, positioned in the lighting booth beside the stage, announced that Goshen had emerged victorious in the first act, with a score (and not in the musical sense) of 26-24. The players returned to their respective green rooms and took five to rehydrate and stretch during intermission. The stage manager seemed to have extensive notes for improvement in the next act while the actors rested their instruments. I took this opportunity to peruse the bookshop, hoping to find a copy of the libretto for purchase. No such luck, alas.

As the show resumed, the energy of our beloved Maple Leafs seemed to falter. The dynamic acting of the first act seemed lost to a distant past. Where was the zest and zeal? They had forgotten their steps! Missed cues abounded! The plot had taken a tragic turn for the worse, when lo and behold, an understudy entered stage right. Suddenly, our players remembered their lines! Their voices once again sung with the familiar rapture of success. This understudy defied gravity, bringing our Leafs to triumph for good. Do not rain on my parade, thou bitter sting of loss, the Leafs have won the day. 

At the curtain call, our costumed victors approached the audience once more as we serenaded them with a finale of gratitude (“We do love thee Goshen, yea, we do” as I remember it). The great tragedy of loss loomed above the defeated as they hung their heads in woe.

This sports soiree was one for the history books. It was the pinnacle of performance art, a perfectly orchestrated allegory of the human condition and the fires of love. Five stars! Three cheers for sports! Hip-hip-hoorah!