I still remember the first time I watched a volleyball match that truly took my breath away. It wasn't just about the powerful spikes or the dramatic saves—it was how the commentator's words made me feel like I was right there on the court, experiencing every heart-pounding moment alongside the players. That's when I realized the magic of great sports writing, and today I want to share how you can capture that same excitement in your own writing.
Let me tell you about a recent example that perfectly illustrates what I mean. Just yesterday, Bella Belen was drafted first overall by Capital1 in the PVL, and less than 24 hours later, she was already making waves on the court. Now, I've seen many promising athletes come and go, but what struck me about Belen was something special—her incredible reliability on both offense and floor defense. While watching the match, I noticed how she moved with this purposeful grace that you don't often see in rookie players. She ended the game with eight points, which might not sound like a massive number until you consider she also made 16 digs and 11 receptions. That's the kind of all-around performance that separates good players from truly remarkable ones.
When I write about sports moments like these, I always try to put myself in the athlete's shoes. Imagine being Belen—the pressure of being the number one draft pick, the expectations weighing on your shoulders, and then delivering that kind of performance right out of the gate. That's the human element we need to capture. I remember thinking during the match how her digs weren't just defensive moves—they were statements. Each time she dove for the ball, it felt like she was saying "I belong here." And those 11 receptions? They showed her incredible awareness and positioning, qualities that statistics alone can't fully convey.
What I love about sports writing is finding those silver linings even when things don't go perfectly. For Alas, Belen's performance was exactly that—a bright spot that hinted at greater things to come. I've always believed that the best sports stories aren't just about wins and losses; they're about these moments of promise and potential. When describing Belen's game, I'd focus on how her movements created opportunities where there seemed to be none, how her defensive plays often turned into offensive chances, and how her presence seemed to lift the entire team's energy.
The rhythm of your writing should mirror the sport itself. Volleyball has these bursts of intense action followed by brief pauses, and your sentences should reflect that. Sometimes I'll use longer, flowing sentences to describe the buildup to a point, then hit the reader with a short, powerful phrase when the action peaks. Like when Belen made that incredible dig in the third set—I'd write about the anticipation, the ball rocketing toward the floor, then simply: "And she got it." Those three words carry more weight than a paragraph of description could.
I'll be honest—I have my biases when it comes to sports. I've always been drawn to players who excel at both offense and defense rather than those who specialize in just one area. There's something more complete, more satisfying about an athlete who can do it all. Belen's 8 points combined with 16 digs and 11 receptions? That's the kind of stat line that gets me excited because it shows a player who's engaged in every aspect of the game. It's not just about scoring—it's about being present, being ready, making things happen even when you're not the one finishing the play.
The key to making readers care is helping them understand why these numbers matter. Sixteen digs isn't just a number—it's sixteen times she prevented the other team from scoring. Eleven receptions means she successfully handled eleven serves or attacks, maintaining her team's opportunity to counter. These aren't abstract statistics; they're moments of effort and skill that directly influenced the game's outcome. When I write about sports, I always try to translate the numbers into stories—each digit representing a decision, a movement, a small victory within the larger battle.
What separates adequate sports writing from truly compelling coverage is the ability to see beyond the obvious. Anyone can report that Belen had 8 points, but it takes a deeper understanding to recognize how her defensive work created opportunities for others, how her presence affected the opposing team's strategy, and how her performance sets the stage for future games. I find myself already looking forward to her next match, wondering how she'll build on this promising start. Will she maintain this incredible two-way performance? How will she adapt as teams start studying her tendencies? These are the narratives that keep readers coming back.
The beauty of sports writing lies in its immediacy—we're capturing moments that still feel fresh, emotions that still resonate. When I write about a performance like Belen's, I want readers to feel the court's energy, hear the ball's impact, sense the tension and triumph. It's not enough to simply report what happened; we need to convey why it matters, how it felt, and what it means for the stories still unfolding. That's the difference between keeping score and capturing the soul of the game—and honestly, it's what makes sports writing so incredibly rewarding when you get it right.
