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Last week, the Dumbass Who Shouldn't Be Trying To Take An Extra Base
When His Team Is Up By Twenty Runs hurt himself.
Yes, that Dumbass is me.
I was on second base and Justin hit a shot into
centerfield. Normally, I wouldn't think twice about trying to score, but
because we were up big and because the ball wasn't hit very deep, I
should have just cruised into third and stopped. But no. Not the
Dumbass.
I turned on the jets right as I was rounding
third--and my toe caught the corner of the bag. Down goes Frazier. I
went airborne and landed with my full weight on my left knee. Ouch.
Fortunately, though, I managed to get back to third base before a) the throw
came, and b) the excruciating pain hit (if you've ever hit your
knee really hard, you know what I mean--the pain doesn't register
for about 5 seconds). After the umpire called time, I limped around for
a good two minutes. I didn't come out of the game, but I probably should
have. Dumbass. Cathy, thank God, then singled into right field and I was
able to hobble home pretty easily (as easily as one can with only one
leg) and then I promptly laid down on the bleachers.
I initially figured I just bruised it,
but...well, it's been a week and it hasn't really improved that much at
all. I do have my full range of motion, but it's very sore and I can't
run or even jog. Hell, I can barely walk. Dumbass. Beth is giving me a
lot of shit ("Are you really in pain or are you just looking for an
excuse to take all of my Vicodins?" and "Maybe you need to quit
your whining, pull up your skirt, and get back out the field."), but I've missed 3 nights of
softball in the past week and for anyone who knows me, missing games is a sure sign that things
aren't right with me.
I know, I know, I am whining too much. But I am
a little concerned about it. I suppose I should go see a doctor this
week.
Dumbass. |
2000-2006