Or should I say "Take me out of the ball game!"
So, if you know me, you know that I have a couple loves in my life. One is softball, and the other is sportbikes. Yeah, check the blog title... that might give something away.
So anyway, let's go back a week and a half.. hell, let's go back a month and a half. I was supposed to be going to Toronto with friends to play in the "Around the Clock Tournament" that is held every year at Skydome (ooops... the Roger's Centre). I have never been, but heard that it's a good time, and have always wanted to go. So I'm excited to say the least.
Then the message comes in from the "coach" of the team. It's like getting a letter from a company that you just interviewed with telling you that you're "a great candidate, but we have found other more experienced applicants" to work with. Or akin to the "Dear John" letter from your significant other telling you that they just don't think that it's going to work out... only this is worse. The message conveyed that while we were waiting for 1 person on the team to confirm that they would be there...we lost our spot. We were now on a waiting list for entry into the tournament. All this because one person couldn't decide if they wanted to play or not, or could get the time away from work... and now 11 other people lost their option to play.
Heartbreaking! That's the only way to describe it. So, I suck it up and accept that it wasn't meant to be... until
I get a call from my friend Lindsay... she is in Toronto at the Sky...er Roger's Centre and standing at the Registration counter. I answer "hello?" and she immediately replies "Can you make it to Toronto if I can get you on the roster?". I tell her that I have to clear some personal things, and some things at work and will let her know in 5 minutes.
Could this be true? It's like the call up to the "Bigs"... or the company telling you that you are their top pick... or the girl saying that she was wrong, and that you are the love of her life... Okay, so I embelish a little... but it's a great feeling.
I check with the boss (I have the greatest boss by the way) and knowing my love for softball, he says "yeah sure, get out of here... go!"
So I take off from work, head home and pack, and I'm on my way to Toronto, happy once again. Little did I know what was in store for me...
I get to the hotel and pull up to the front door where I am met by "Lindz" and the porter. He loads all my gear on the trolley, I toss him a sawbuck and they are off to the room, while I park the Blue Beast in the underground.
I get to the room and find out that there is 4 of us sharing a room with 1 king sized bed. No worries... I can deal, Hell, I'll sleep on the floor... "I'm just happy to be here and to play". Did I mention that I don't even know what position I'm playing? Again... seriously, I'm just happy to be here.
Our first game is at 8pm, but we head down a little early to watch some of the action, see some friends on other diamonds, and get warmed up.
Game Time: I'm ready, I'm happy, it's January... I'm playing baseball indoors wearing a T-shirt... life doesn't get much better right? I'm playing Left Field I'm told... and I normally don't like the outfield, but again, just happy to play and it doesn't even matter at this point.
We're home team, so we take the field. 1st batter grounds out...2nd flies out to short LC, and the 3rd flies out to me in Left. Off to the sticks... and guess what, I'm lead off batter. I don't normally like being lead off... there is a lot of pressure with that... but that's another story, and I'm happy to be here.
Step into the box, watch a pitch or two... the count is 2-1 and the next pitch looks good... I swing, I mishit and chop a grounder to the short stop... time to move your ass!! Running to 1st and almost there and it looks like I'm going to beat the throw... BUT WAIT... what happens? My turf shoes become one with the turf and I stumble... I'm falling forward and I can't stop it from happening. (Note: 6'6" 230 lbs is hard to stop once it has been accelerating for almost 50') Knowing that I am going to be thrown out, and seeing as I'm falling anyway... I reach for the bag with my left hand hoping that I make it, and not wanting to be the first out for my team...
I hit the ground hard... I think my hand beat the throw, but the umpire who hasn't come out from behind home is convinced otherwise, and I hear OUT!! as I'm hitting the ground... did I mention hard?
My right shoulder leaves a divot in the turf and I'm positive in the concrete underneath on impact, and I roll through this horrible display of athleticism and come up on the other side and get to my feet.
I step off to the side and "Lindz" who is coaching 1st chuckles and says "What the hell was that??"
I grunt.
She asks "Are you okay?"
I reply "No.... I don't think so!" as I move my shoulder and hear a distinct POP and CRACK!
Hobble over to the bench and wander... move my arm to see if I can shake it off, but it's not getting any better. First aid is called and it's a damn good thing that nobody is dying, because it took 20 minutes for them to show up.
The rent-a-medic does his best to cut my shirt, review the injury, provide a prognosis, ask me if I want an ambulance, and then slings me up (It was a poor sling, but I didn't feel the need to tell him this after teaching Emergency First Aid and CPR for 6 years, and being certified for the last 14).
I watch the rest of the game with a sling on, and the ice pack is my friend... and I listen to everyone speculate. It's just a strain, a sprain, dislocation... it couldn't be a break. Collarbones are painful and if you broke that... you would be in tears. Well, unless you have an abnormal pain tolerance...which I seem to have.
After the game, and in the hotel room, everyone is mulling about, but nobody really seems anxious to go to the hospital, and I'm messaging with friends on my trusty BlackBerry (shameless plug), and get told that they are taking me to the hospital.
Here is where the fun begins... Stephanie (an angel in her own right) and DP come and grab my gear and take me to the hospital. Not only do they take me, but they ruin their whole evening waiting at the hospital with me for over 5 hours.
I could go into great detail about the whole ordeal... but it would only set me off again. The end result is that there was only one nurse who seemed to give a damn about anyone in that hospital, and a 17 year old drunk kid that I got to spend a great deal of time with in the fracture area because he thought punching a steel pole was a good idea.
End result
Yup.. it's broken, and then some.
So, I get a prescription for percacets, a sling on my arm, and my guardians take me back to the Roger's centre.
I spend the rest of the weekend watching friends play ball, and wishing that I could have been on the field for more than one inning.
People at work see me in a sling and say "What did you do this time?" It's not this time... so I had a cast on my arm 2 years ago from a bike accident and the resulting surgery... it's not like I injure myself every week. (just every other one...)
Remember this... when my time comes, I will NOT show up at the pearly gates and hand St. Peter my body in pristine condition saying "Thank you for the use of this fine body... I would like my security deposit back now." I will slide in sideways, skidding and crashing into the gates, in a wreck of a body that won't be able to be used for spare parts, screaming "Yeehaw... that was one hell of a ride!! Where do you want this thing?" You can live your life from the comfort of the sidelines and never get injured, and never take chances, and never live... or you can risk it all and get in the game, effectively living this thing we call "Life" and let the chips fall where they may.
My boss says that I should take up something less damaging to my body... like knitting.... but thinks that even then, I may end up poking my eye out.
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