Observing by the length of the court, the setter, the team’s control tower as another once called it, plays but a simple act: deliver the ball to the spiker. Being of child’s frolic to the untrained eye, a setter sports the unique position of being as straightforward as you could possibly get without being direct in the slightest - the epitome of the phrase “signed, sealed, and delivered”, if you will, followed by an ironic “No, you” as they convey the all-important content of their palm - a single volleyball - to the perpendicular side of the court.
But from the width’s viewpoint, another perspective lies in wait, biding its time to place the setter amongst the glimmer of limelight. In a manner of a fleeting, minuscule second, the fate of a game could be changed through a setter’s hands, their wrists, their fingertips. A miscalculation, a change of thought, a single, stray drop of sweat held the fate to turn the tides for a player, for a team, bestowing a grant of momentum to the opposite side of the net as the formers elapsed into nulled concentration.
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Excerpt of my current writing style as a follow-up of my last post. I think I've impoved alot..?
