By Hans Stolfus

Australia is better than a packet of Dark Chocolate Tim Tams draped in vanilla bean ice cream. Haven’t been? Go. It’s that simple.

The beaches squeak, the countryside stuns, and the serenity lasts forever — just ask Darryl Kerrigan. As far as sports go, footie takes the specky, rugby makes my neck hurt, but is obviously tougher than Gridiron (American Football), cricket makes total sense 100 percent of the time, lawn bowling reminds me of curling in white pants on the surface of the sun, and beach volley is slowly but surely making a valiant return to the summer limelight thanks to some sick French Sports Coupes and French-sounding shampoos. Food and drink? Beers are inordinately expensive, so they must be that much better, snags (not shrimp) are thrown on the barbie, and marinated kangaroo tastes suspiciously delicious – I don’t care how cuddly and iconic they are. What more can you ask for, right? How ‘bout the funniest, happiest, most charming bunch of boardshort wearing, 6:00 a.m. spiking, Snapper Rock surfing, and mid-day pint drinking mates on the planet? Mates who aren’t so caught up in getting ahead of the pack that they forget who they left behind. Mates who understand that it’s not about the surf or the volley, it’s about the people you are fortunate enough to surf and volley with.

Seventeen years ago, I participated in a high school foreign exchange program and found myself walking to Coomoora Secondary College in a suburb of Melbourne with my next-door neighbor Reece in slacks, a pressed blue button down, striped tie, blue V-neck sweater (not deep), and polished black shoes. (Prep school uniform.) I fell in love early with the land down under and vowed one day to return for good. All it took was one week at Wilson’s Promontory with my Year 11 Outdoor Education class to understand that sometimes strip malls don’t actually make the world a better place. And that Australia may be the last location on Earth to choose preservation over preservatives.

From 2003-06, I spent American winters in a host of Australian locales: Brisvegas, Gold Coast, St. Kilda, Cottesloe (mostly just the Cott), Glenelg, Queenscliff, Freshwater, Manly, and, of course, Sydney (I can’t get enough of the Royal Botanical Gardens, the open air cinemas, the ferry rides home from the beach as the sun sets, the food, or Bungalow 8 on a fresh New Year’s Eve night). I played Nestle and Vodafone National Tour events with the likes of Chris Magill, Matt Olson, Chris Seiffert, Ty Loomis, and some big hairy guy named Julien Prossermate. I lost my fair share, and won a few shares too, but as long as I was soaking in the skin cancer-inducing rays of Oz, I felt home.

Three weeks ago, I went back. And almost didn’t come home. After a brief hiatus in National Beach Volleyball programming following the catastrophe that was Crocs in ‘08, Aussie beach volleyball has finally returned. Nexus Sports Management Group and power brands Renault and Garnier are responsible for its resurrection. With the assistance of tournament director Arty Klonis, Jesse Rambis and I were able to procure a wildcard and compete in Adelaide at the second stop of the new Renault National Beach Volleyball Series. Considering the last time I competed at a professional level was in Vegas ’09, I didn’t go in expecting a miracle. But after a quick tune-up one week earlier in Surfer’s Paradise at the Beach Volleyball Gold Coast Queensland State Tour event, I at least found my sand legs and was able to play one round with that rubber $10.99 Mikasa only seen in America at BBQs and family reunions in the Arkansas ‘beach’ scene. Needless to say, my one shot — a hybrid cut shot/hit that involves only the wrist and requires zero muscle tone — didn’t really ‘cut.’ So back to the knuckle pokey I went, gasping for air between every 13-inch jump.

In the third round of the winner’s bracket, Rambis and I faced Australia’s top-ranked team on the FIVB: Chris “I-look-39-but-am-only-22” McHugh and his partner, three-time Olympian and Emperor of beach volleyball in Australia, Josh Slack. To give you an idea of how things went, at one point in the second set Jesse hit a high line shot that actually brought rain and not only did McHugh dig it, he started the point off by going for the cut shot, stopped mid-sprint, turned around, tripped, fell to the sand, got back up, took two more steps, dove with one arm outstretched, backhand flippered it up perfectly to the Emperor – who then proceeded to max jump-set him absolute sauce – got up off the sand again, dusted off his shorts and singlet, started his approach, sky-rocketed between 38-40 inches off the Earth’s crust, crushed the ball angle inside of Jesse’s transition block resembling a set of deer paws, and six-packed me in the face off the bounce. I still have a headache and haven’t slept well in over a week. I’d print the final score, but I totally forgot it. No, really.

The rest of the tournament was way more enjoyable. We played friends of old, and friends of new. And like all great beach volleyball tournaments, not a single match went by that wasn’t infused with laughter and a whole lot of cheersing beneath the net. Even on Sunday morning at 6:30 a.m. when the weather wasn’t exactly “pristine.”

In the finals, fellow international wildcard recipients Bo Soderberg and Anders Hoyer of Denmark defeated Slack and McHugh in two incredibly tight sets. The wind howled and raindrops fell, but it couldn’t stop the Danes from putting together two of the most flawless sets I’ve ever seen played. Ball control and an airtight precision-based offense simply reigned supreme. Not that Slack and McHugh played poorly, it just wasn’t their day to come out as champions. But something tells me they’ll be back as the Renault National Beach Volleyball Series now moves to Surfer’s Paradise from January 20-22, and continues on through April 1 where it concludes in Manly Beach for the Australian Championships. With both of these teams in the draw, and third-place finishers and all-around great guys Isaac Kapa and Sam Boehm, the talent level could not be higher.

In the women’s draw, Alice Rohkamper and 18-year-old Mariafe Artacho del Solar put together an incredible tournament and upset the No. 1-seeded duo of Louise Bawden and Becchara Palmer in the finals for their second consecutive Renault beach volleyball title. With Bawden and Palmer representing the Australian Institute of Sport (based in Adelaide) and pursuing Olympic glory this coming summer in London, the pressure was on to represent in their host city as they did not compete in the first event in Newcastle. Unfortunately for them, the weather and a well-prepared team across the net didn’t cooperate with what could have been a fairy tale ending for the South Australians.

Note: thankfully it wasn’t cold enough to warrant the dreaded spandex-full-body-skins-beneath-branded-playing-top-combo-platter out of either team, as that’s a tough look to bounce back from socially.

Rohkamper and the Peruvian phenom are good — their style of play suited the conditions in Adelaide perfectly. Bawden and Palmer are also really good (currently ranked 15th in FIVB Olympic rankings, with the top 16 earning invitations to the grandest of all sporting stages), and beyond athletic (I washed my autonomous t-shirt on their collective abs between games – it only got awkward for a moment). With Natalie Cook coming back for her 32nd Olympiad alongside Kerri Walsh look-alike Tamsin Barnett-Hinchley, and most likely only one spot up for grabs in front of Horse Guards Parade, it looks to be an absolute dog fight down the stretch for Aussie women in pursuit of London.

How did both teams celebrate their victories (along with every other team in the tournament)? Wood-fired pizza and beers at Dizzie’s – arguably the greatest party house in history (Van Wilder would be jealous). Followed by dancing and pogoing at the Grand. And, of course, “Blackburning.” Don’t know it yet? You will. It’s arguably the most prolific dance move since the Electric Boogaloo, made famous by the man, the myth, the legend, Mr. Adam Byron Blackburn. In honor of Sir Byron of Blackburn, here’s a short clip of Jesse Rambis and friends Blackburning across Australia. No day has ever been better spent.

The Blackburn from JoshGlaze on Vimeo.

Special thanks to Nexus, Renault, Garnier, Arty Klonis, and every Australian (including the honorary Danes) I’ve met over the years for believing in beach volleyball once more south of the equator. Every historic moment has a beginning, some more humble than others, and this is yours. May it grow and become the tour every Australian beach volleyballer has ever dreamed about.

Happy New Year!