Currently Feeling: Pain



After 15 years of playing competitive hockey I escaped relatively unscathed, with no major visible injuries or scars. I survived one of the toughest sports known to man, and here I sit tonight, with a significant gash above my left eye from what - a friendly game of indoor soccer at our monthly youth gym night. How pathetic. This one will definitely leave a scar – a cool looking one I might add – and I will be forced to answer curious inquiries with, “No, it’s not from a fight, or a high stick in the face. I ate concrete while trying to deke around some 8th graders in a non-contact game of soccer.”

I guess I’ll explain – with dramatic exaggerations of course.

I was dominating. My prowess around the opposing goal was indescribable. Those junior high students didn’t know what they were up against. Goal after goal I scored. They cried, I taunted, then scored again. I was in my element. Until…one particular rush to the net.

“This one will be the prettiest of them all!” I schemed. “Once I own them this bad, they’ll all run for the door. They’ll worship the ground I dribble on (Not dribble like out of my mouth, dribble like smooth moves with the soccer ball). I will be their hero.” So, as I start to hum Enrique Iglesias’ ‘Hero’, I begin my approach towards the goal. I deke around one, then another…all that is left is the goalie…one more sweet move…then…BAM! It all happened so suddenly. Somehow between the goalie’s swipe for the ball, my ninja-kick-like move, and the ball being round, I ended up landing on the ball which threw me towards the ground.

Now normally when you’re falling your arms extend out to protect you and keep your head from taking the brunt of the impact. Mine, in this particular case, didn’t. I landed on my chest, followed shortly by the whip of my head, and then, finally, my arms. Immediately, as I was still seeing black, the goaltender yelled out, “He’s bleeding”. That idea hadn’t yet crossed my mind. Thoughts like, ‘am I experiencing a concussion’, ‘a disfigured-face isn’t cool’, and ‘how does that stupid song end’, had crossed my mind – but blood – not yet. So, up to my feet I jumped (I had to look tough, and unshaken by the cement floor), and ran/wobbled to the bathroom to find that, indeed, my face was covered with blood. Not knowing what to do in that situation, I thanked God that it was me, and not a student I was responsible for, pulled open a first-aid kit, and dabbed a little of ‘this’ and a little of ‘that’ on my wound. When the bleeding slowed, I sealed the deal by making it disappear with band aids, and headed back to the gym where I watched the rest of the soccer match.

Don’t worry about me. It’s not as big as it seems. It’s a gash, not a gouge. A cut, not a chop. A hurt, not a – sorry, my thesaurus doesn’t have any ‘h’ words that are more significant than a ‘hurt’. I will be fine. It is currently clotted and hopefully healing. If it doesn’t close up, I may need a stitch or two, but I don’t think it will come to that. And besides, I’ve always got lots of band-aids.

Poor Me in Port Moody