63 Losers

You don't want to go there.

Your teenage daughter is in her bedroom, door closed, sobbing. Her heart is broken (boyfriend? cut from team?), but she needs her space.

63 times every postseason, reporters file into the post-match press room. One of the teams has just ended its season.

You don't want to go there.

It starts easily enough, as an NCAA representative sets out name placards for the winning team (or, in NCAA-speak, the "advancing team.") The victorious head coach says a few words, the players smile and giggle through their valedictory, then bound from the room.

At that point, you'd like to close the door. Another group of girls (the non-advancing team) is about to enter, and its obvious they need their space.

I've covered dozens of NCAA volleyball post-match press conferences. Without fail, one or more sportwriters with little experience covering women's one-loss-and-you're-out competitions squirms at the sight: red eyes, tear-stained cheeks, distant stares. They're familiar with a certain reaction from defeated male athletes--exhaustion, defiance--but rarely tears. The different display of emotion from female athletes leaves much of the press corps uncomfortable and uncertain. The silence after a women's volleyball match can be deafening.

You can tell a lot about a volleyball coach by comparing how he or she handles these media sessions. Jim McLaughlin (University of Washington) and John Dunning (Stanford) carry themselves almost the same way after either a win or a loss: quiet, understated, focused on the athletes. John Cook (Nebraska) and Russ Rose (Penn State) can be decidedly curt after a loss, though I've never seen either veer into poor sportsmanship. Younger coaches are often estatic after a win and look wiped out after losing.

Despite the red eyes and stained cheeks, losing athletes are sometimes refreshingly candid and articulate. Washington's Jessica Swarbrick was impressively gracious just minutes after a wrenching last-minute loss to Nebraska this year. Stanford's Foluke Akinradewo is one of the classiest athletes I've ever witnessed, and handles press conferences like a pro.

Last season, Akinradewo's teammate, Cynthia Barboza, struck me as aloof after victories and less-than-gracious after rare defeats. This season, however, she seemed transformed.

At a crucial moment in the second set of the championship match, game officials botched the score and forced everyone to endure a drawn-out delay. Barboza seized the moment by playfully offering to rock/paper/scissors with her Penn State opponents. It was great fun. It was great sportsmanship.

But it was afterwards where Barboza really shined. For the third time in a row, her team reached the national championship, only to lose. Barboza, playing the final match of her college career, had been all but shut down by Penn State's big front line, ending with her third-worst hitting percentage of the season.

And yet, there were few tears. Asked about leaving Stanford without a national title, Barboza gave a great answer.

“This team is incredible and this has been my favorite year at Stanford by far. For me, this moment parallels something that happened earlier this year … when we found out that the U.S. National Team won the silver medal … I texted something like, I’m so sorry you guys were so close I feel so bad. I got a text back from Heather Bown that said, this is the happiest I’ve ever felt. That is kind of how I am walking away from this match, because this season has been unbelievable for me in terms of what I have learned about myself, what it means to be a team and what I’ve learned about what is means to fight. I can’t cry about the outcome of that match, but you can hear me choking up starting to talk about my teammates. It is not about that outcome; it’s about the entire process. This year was absolutely incredible for so many reasons.”

Every season, only 64 teams qualify for the NCAA D1 volleyball championships. 63 of those teams end their season with a loss. There'll be time to close that bedroom door for a good cry, but those who lose don't have to be losers.