Sports Star
Just to proved that there's always someone worse off than you, my Fresnan friend Marcus has outdone all my recent misadventures in one inglorious moment on the sports field.
He was playing soccer. I had always taken the view that soccer is not the kind of sport in which people suffer serious injuries. Based on what I've seen on the television, the players are not the most robust of athletes. They have been known to fall to the ground screaming and clutching their knees because a stiff breeze has brushed past them. These performances suggest that the worst injury a soccer player is likely to experience is something in the order of a broken nail.
Unfortunately, in the case of Marcus, it turned out to be the nail that held his ankle together. He managed to snap his Achilles tendon, bringing his soccer career, and his ability to walk, to a screaming halt - literally screaming.
You may wonder how such a serious injury could occur while playing a non-contact sport. I certainly did. It would appear that "contact" was not the issue. Marcus snapped his Achilles tendon, all by himself, when he changed direction suddenly.
At first, I found this somewhat difficult to believe. Not only because it is an amazingly nasty injury to incur while standing alone in an empty field, but because Americans change direction so often. With a little reflection, however, I realised that when Americans do demonstrate one of their sudden changes of direction, things often get broken ... treaties ... countries ... international laws ... tendons. It all makes sense.
If only President George W. Bush had been a soccer player instead of the leader of the free world things might look very different now. We would have "tendons of mass destruction" and "ankles of evil."
Poor Marcus has had surgery to reattach his tendon and will be hobbling around on crutches until long after I return. Fortunately, Dad will be around to cheer him up ... you know, kick a soccer ball around in the yard, that sort of thing.
2 comments:
The worst part of this ordeal is that I seem to have brought it on myself through the use of karmic heavy artillery. I was chatting with Heather and noted that I was off to play soccer and hoped to return with all my tendons and ligaments intact.
The game was held on a cement hockey rink. Apparently, hard surfaces can be a contributing factor to random Achilles tendon explosions, particularly after the age of thirty.
The facility was on the campus of Kaiser Permanente, which happens to be my health care provider. Although I could have crawled to my final destination, my wonderful Brazilian friends Lukas, Rafael, and Waleska endured a great deal of whimpering and ferried my useless body to the emergency room.
So, in review:
- I joked about the possibility of injury.
- I chose a playing surface perfectly suited to causing injury.
- I played soccer with people who are genetically enhanced soccer players.
I have come to terms with the fact that my fate is well-deserved.
Not to sound unsympathetic, Marcus, maybe you should have stuck to namby-pamby protective-gear-galore american football, where apparently far more time is spent standing around and ogling at cheerleaders than is spent doing anything potentially dangerous (like moving, let alone changing direction).
Feel free to react with a dig about the banality of cricket. I'm sure it would be well deserved.
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