This Blahg post is a continuation of previous drivel. There are throwback jokes in it that you may not get if you haven't read the first. So my advice is to floss. Your breath really smells. Then click here to read Soccer Debacle Part 1.
So a week later I walk onto the field to cheers from the huge crowd of admirers, those who have been waiting for hours just to catch a glimpse of my skills, and my sexy kid socks. Word of my talent has obviously spread. Women press their bare breasts against the glass and throw their thongs over the buffer as their bodies flail and their screams fill the arena. Some hold signs that read “Almost score again!” and “I like burritos!”
Wait a tic. Keeping it real. I walk onto the field, showing off my kid socks to the three people in the bleachers. They hold neither signs nor attention to our warm-ups. I’m wearing outdoor cleats that HotMom72 loaned me and I’m a bit concerned their 1/2-inch spikes may grip the turf too well, causing a rolled ankle or worse. But they seem fine as I run in circles, waving to my invisible fans.
The game begins. This time I’m sober, but looking back, I wish I would’ve smoked up. I work up a good sweat, make one good play, and try a turn without the consent of my body. My cleat catches in the plush turf and my right knee twists and belches a rapid string of pops. I cry out and fall to the field.
“Are you alright,” asks HotMom72.
“I don’t know, I heard a pop,” I say through discomfort. Memories of my ACL surgery of 2006 flood into my already panic-stricken mind.
I hobble to the bench and start pacing, testing my knee with weight. It doesn’t feel good, but I try another run on the field. I take one wrong turn and a sharp pain shoots me back to the bench where I take off my gear. I am not happy. “Don’t worry, man,” HotMom72 says. “I’ll smoke you up once we get back to my place.” I nod, feeling a bit better, but my mind can’t stop thinking of the adventure my right knee took 5 years before. The fall while downhill skiing. The surgery. The depression. The four months of physical therapy. I push it out of my mind, bounce on my good leg to the front desk, snag a bag of ice and plop down to watch my team win the game.
“It was probably the best minute of soccer I’ve ever seen anyone play,” one teammate recalled.
“All I saw was a pasty-white blur of magnificence,” said another.
“Who the fuck are we talking about,” asked the ugly teammate. “Oh him? Wait, he played?”
The rest of the night is a bit hazy. Drinks. Pot. A Big Mac with fries and a strawberry shake at McDonald’s. Two hours later I remember my jacked knee and sadness seeps back in. “Hey, at least you forgot about it for a couple of hours,” says HotMom72. He’s right and a smile pops onto my face.
I hobble out to my car, double foot the drive home and see the red stain on my shirt. Ketchup from McDonald’s. I’m hungry but refuse the thought of eating more. I won’t be able to work off those calories as easily now.
In the morning the doc, let’s call him Richy McPantsFace, says it’s probably a sprain. “What’s the worse case scenario,” I ask, biting down on the wooden spoon I brought from home. “Worse case is your face gets even uglier. I know what you're thinking, that your face couldn't possibly get any worse, and I had to double check my findings as well. But it's true, your face—" "Doc!" I shout. "Oh yeah, I mean a torn ACL," he says. "But looking at your knee that’s pretty unlikely." Still, I take the news lying down after dizziness overwhelms me while imagining going under the knife again. “If the swelling doesn’t go down in a week, we’ll check it out again.”
Thanks Richy.
Well friends, it’s been two weeks since the soccer debacle and the swelling has gone down. My knee is not 100%. It can’t bend its full range so stairs are a bit difficult. I can run short distances, however, like from the door of the grocery store to the popsicles, as long as I don’t bend it too far.
I’ve established a memorial fund in honor of my short-lived soccer career. Please send cash, checks, or Wendy Peffercorn to the following address:
Dr. Awesome
69 Broken Dreams Way
Stupidstupidtown, CO 69696
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