An Old Sport's Injury

When I was in college, my best friend and I would play racketball on the weekends. Neither of us was great, but we didn't let that impede how hard we played. I remember one weekend. It might have been the after-effects of alchohol, or maybe too much studying (yeah... I don't buy that either, but had to include it to protect what little reputation I have left. Also, when I become famouse and historians review these articles, lines like that may cast enough doubt on what I actually did...) but we were showing off our “kill shots” (the serves that cannot be returned. They require a great deal of skill, timing and power. Or in our case, luck) (yeah, there were girls working out in the gym too, but I highly doubt that crossed our mind.)

We both went for the racketball at the same time. I hit the ball and it was a beautiful shot. My best friend hit my thumb and it was also a beautiful shot.

That's the only sports injury that I can really remember. It's not even a good one, because it doesn't bother me on cold and rainy days.

I started thinking about this recently when I woke up one morning and my big toe was having issues. After work, those issues had grown into a full blow “I'm-never-walking-again-so-just-put-me-out-of-misery” tenderness...

This all happened at Thanksgiving and we were travelling to both sets of grandparents. That meant at least five hundred years of combined medical experience. The only problem when you combine that many years of folk-lorish medical knowledge amoung 5 people (my parents, my wife's parents and my wife's grandmother) the results are always elderly afflications. The suggestions as to the cause of my limp ranged from:

“Fallen arches.”

“Eh? What did he say?”

“You need to wear a truss.”

“Arthritis?”

“Eh? What did he say?”

“What happened to your foot?”

“I can't find my dentures.”

However, it was my own mother that showed a complete lack of compassion in a single email. She had the nerve to suggest it was gout. When I looked it up, I saw “it affects middle-aged men”. At 44, I am NOT middle-aged. Oh, there are days I feel old, but not middle-aged. The side effect to the email was my wife was off on a new witch hunt. Not only does middle-age cause gout, but apparently there's something about diet being important. By the day after Thanksgiving, I had a new diet planned out for me. (This is another affliction of middle-age, planned diet. The next step to old-age... one of those pill boxes with each day of the week)

Face with the horror of bran three times a day, I took my health into my own hands and went to the doctor and got x-rays. It turns out I was right and I'm not middle-aged. It was a stress facture. I guess, when I played dek hockey with my son's team, in addition to the bruised ankles and ego, I fracture my toe.

So, the past two weeks, my wife and I have been constantly warning our children and dogs not to jump on me and watch my toe. “Daddy hurt his toe,” is the common refrain.

“What did you do to your toe?” My daughter asked, concern lacing her voice.

“Put my cane back.”

“But it's my horsey.”

“No, I need it to walk.”

“Why?”

“I hurt my toe.”

“What did you do to your toe?”

“Put my cane back!”

“But it's my horsey.”...

What does this have to do with sport's injuries? Well, now I finally have an excuse for disappointing my children as well as people that irritate me. While, technically, it's not an “old sports injury”, my toe is old, dek hockey is both a sport and form of medieval combat, and a stress fracture is an injury.

When ever I need an excuse or that day after the huge snow storm, I can now cite my “old sports injury.”