My thoughts run wild as I stride back to the basketball courts after Friday's game-ending injury. Last Friday, I stood my ground, hoping for a charging violation, thus stopping the opponents' unstoppable offense, and getting a chance to drive the ball back our way. Well, when the collision came it wasn't my chest or shoulders as I'd hoped that bore the brunt of the impact. Instead, I was instantaneously dropped to the ground. My friendly teammates eagerly ran over to help me up, appreciating my efforts, but I waved them off, due to the realization that I had no sensation in my right leg yet. While sitting immobile upon the court, I felt the buzzing circulation find its way back to my knee and I realized I'd really gotten it good in the leg. That aggressive opponent had blasted me right in the knee with his knee to reward me for my tough D. I tried to walk it off. Instead, I'd spend nearly a week walking it off. It cost me nothing more than a limp and some on-and-off annoying pain, but it also cost me my daily trips to the basketball courts. That is frustrating, because now I have far fewer free days to make it down. So I wasted a good four days that could have been filled with basketball glory the likes of which can be found in films like Glory Road, Coach Carter, Hoosiers, and the Air Up There.
In preparation, I'm shaking off any lingering trepidation, and I'm standing on steady legs. To bolster my chances of success in today's games, I am sporting white shoes with long white socks that go well up my calf. It should strike an imposing image for anybody that fears white ballers with 70's era basketball fashion sense.
10 years ago
1 comment:
i love that in a pick-up game you tried to take the charge. I think maybe you've been watching to much basketball on tv. Having said that, you are a hero and i wish only that i could walk with you on to the field of battle, ball under arm, high socks, sort sorts, and all.
This day will come, and all of L.A. will know our names.
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