Becoming Rudy

By now, many of you likely know about the King of the Beach that a few of us – a fun collaboration of the SANDCAST team, the McKibbin Brothers, and Trevor Crabb that I’d love to do much more — put on in Hermosa Beach last week.

And, by now, many of you may be – rightly, justifiably – wondering how in the world I wound up on the roster of eight athletes competing. When Riley McKibbin was speaking into the camera in the McKibbin’s intro video, and said that “It’s pretty funny that we have eight of the top guys on the AVP” I fully expected him to pause and say something along the lines of: “Well, seven of the top guys, and a sub.” He didn’t, because Riley’s nice like that.

But think about it. The field included two Manhattan Beach Open champions (Casey Patterson and Trevor Crabb), arguably the best player in the United States of America (Taylor Crabb), two Olympians (Patterson and Chaim Schalk), another multiple AVP champ (Stafford Slick), the Porsche Cup winner (Tri Bourne and Trevor Crabb), a longtime AVP pro with multiple semifinals under his belt (Avery Drost and everyone else).

And me. The writer podcast guy.

Can you find Waldo?

If you must know, I was not on the short list for that field, nor should I have been. I was not the first off the bench of reserves, or the second, or third…or fourth or fifth. I was the emergency backup to the backups, filling in for a somewhat predictable string of bail outs (beach players are notoriously unreliable even in-season, let alone whatever you call this current season of our lives).

I was, in a word, Rudy.

If I’m being totally honest with you here, I was a little insulted at first. The KOB was, after all, partly my idea. Tri and I had long discussed the idea of putting on an event in a year mostly devoid of them. The McKibbins, too, thought this was a great move. So did Trevor.

We did that 2020 thing we do and hopped on a Zoom call. We delegated responsibilities to each: Tri would reach out to sponsors, I’d write and see if Ed Chan wanted to shoot the event, the McKibbins would do their video wizardry, Trevor would put together the field.

When his initial list came out, I, of course, was far off it. When I took a minute or two to think about it, this makes sense in every logical manner you can imagine. But I’m not a whole lot different from the rest of the beach volleyball world in that I’m slightly delusional about my own abilities. I like to trick myself with fantasies of bouncing over — not around — Dalhausser and scooping Taylor and talking shit to Trevor and hoisting a trophy on a late Sunday afternoon in Manhattan Beach.

Of course, there was no real reason to put me in the KOB, because those are fantasies, for now, anyway. Every single player Trevor was reaching out to had either won at least one AVP or made multiple Sundays.

My resume includes two very brief Saturdays.

So with each passing bailout from one player to the next, Trevor, the Gatekeeper of the KOB, would wonder in our group chat who he should invite next. Tri, bless the guy, would always root for me.

“Travis?” he’d write in.

I’d simply say “Ready and available.” Which I was. Which I always am.

Still, there was always enough time to find another player with a better resume and a bigger pull, who wouldn’t stick out as a wild aberration on a list of finals-making players. Until there was no more time.

Monday rolled around. One more player was needed.

Seeing an opportunity for a little humor but also not-so-secretly wanting to play, I texted in a clip of Rudy, the one where, when asked if he’s ready to finally dress in a Notre Dame uniform and take the field, he replies: “I’ve been ready for this my whole life!”

Tri replied: “Rudy!”

It’s funny because the event, fun as it was, meant nothing. It was just a random, thrown-together KOB from a few players who wanted a little competition in their lives. Much of the field hadn’t been training at all. I don’t know the last time Casey Patterson touched a ball. Schalk has been playing exclusively no-jump. Tri is more focused on moving and being a dad.

Still, the Rudy thing, joking as I was, made enough sense.

While I have not been dreaming of winning an AVP my entire life, as Rudy did with playing for the Fighting Irish, it’s something I’ve been working for a few years now. Like Rudy, what I lack in talent and natural ability, I atone for with working a little harder, being kind of weird on the court, or just being ready and available. Like Rudy, very little is expected of me on the court at that level – and why would anything be expected? – though every now and then, a little magic can happen.

Still: Why would I want to throw in 200 bucks to play in an event that any smart oddsmaker would have me with the longest of odds? Didn’t I know I wasn’t going to win? That my $200 was, as Sean Rosenthal so delicately put it in a $50 King of the Beach with Tri, Avery and Trevor, a “donation.” (I almost won that one; thanks, Rosie). On a certain level, sure. I knew I was as unlikely as any. But, to me, it’s worth $200 to get into a field like that, to play with players I may never play with again.

For a living, I pick the minds of the best beach volleyball players on the planet. But to play with them, to learn from them on the court, is an invaluable learning experience that one simply cannot pass up. As much as I read, I don’t learn well from books. As much as I listen to podcasts, I don’t learn well from audio, either. I’m what’s known as a kinesthetic learner — I learn by doing.

The KOB, even in just a fun event that was competitive — nobody wants to give their $200 to Trevor Crabb — but not exactly cutthroat, was a live course I’ll call “Beach Volleyball 350: How to win when nobody expects you to win.”

It’s fun to see the different mindsets, personalities, strategies — what makes each player tick. You can see some of this from the sidelines, on Amazon Prime, but to be literally in serve receive next to each of them is a new level. I viewed it as a $200 investment, not a donation, to learn — I did — have a blast — check — and maybe beat a few people in what many might call “upsets.”

I am not scared to be on the court with or against anyone at this point. There is not a single player ranked above me in the United States I have not scored a point against. Just as Rudy knew he could tackle anyone on any given day, I know I can beat every single player in that field.

Much to Trevor’s delight, Chaim and I beat Tri and Taylor in the first pool, by a wide enough margin that it secured my spot to move on. It was mostly Chaim’s doing, of course, but I kept the ball in the proper boundaries enough for him to carry me.

Even Rudy can make a play. Even I, a podcast writer guy, can top my pool in a field of champions.

In the second pool, with Trevor, Taylor, and Avery, I held my own enough while receiving roughly 99.8 percent of the serves. While I cannot reveal the results — you’ll have to wait until the McKibbin video on Monday — I did enough that, the next day, when the Worsley brothers polled Instagram, asking who the most underrated beach volleyball player was, Patterson mentioned me.

I’ll take underrated all day long.

I’ll take being the guy who’s just ready and available.

I’ll take Rudy.