Monday, August 18, 2008


This year, myself and Papi both have damage to the ulnar collateral ligament sections of our wrists - and that's where the similiarities end. He's getting $13 million and is beloved by all of Red Sox Nation whether or not he's on the DL, and I'm getting considerably less than that to strap on a splint and play hurt no matter what. I, however, am beloved by wife and children and teeming throngs (okay, dozens) of listeners to my radio station.

Message: when on a grocery errand, don't try to see how many bags you can fit in one hand, and when hoisting children do so one at a time. Failure to observe these precautions will come back to bite you. I'm anticipating needing a cortisone shot to knock the swelling down, and my wife the fitness goddess is smirking.

It's gonna hurt! Oh, yes it will...I couldn't even drive after I got mine, but I did anyway. And then I trained for the marathon.

Super. Just super. My wife's a freakin' warrior, my daughter sailed right through over two years of infusion treatments for a kidney condition with barely a whimper, my son had tubes surgically installed in his ears and shamelessly flirted with the nurses as soon as the anesthetic wore off...and I'm the little nancypants who's gone DEFCON 2 over a needle in the wrist. Well, I'll show them who's

(edited to allow author chance to regain consciousness and maybe even dignity, perhaps)

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