Shaqtastic!

So I joined the basketball team at my work and was immediately given high praise as savior of the team. This savior nonsense has nothing to do with my skills as a basketball player which pretty much stopped developing after junior high school. On top of that, there have been periods where years passed without me even touching a basketball. Rather, the assumption from my Filipino colleagues is that my good genes, which have blessed me with long arms and legs, and a height of six feet three inches, automatically indicate that I must be amazing at basketball. And in part they are actually correct in regards to my size. My height easily places me almost nine inches taller than most of the other players. Such an advantage allows me to bring in virtually every rebound that comes my way. The savior part also partially stems from the team’s abysmal record last year in the inter business basket ball league. And when I say abysmal I mean 0-15 abysmal. So if we win at all, I guess that means that I have had a good impact.

So over the last several months I have been playing basketball with the team and often having pickup games with members of other teams in the league. And honestly I accounted pretty well for myself, scoring many points each game and quickly earning a reputation as a good but intense player. (I am also a bit competitive you see.) Again I still attribute the success more to my height of course. But it is funny how fast news spread. Everyone in my office of 150 people, many of whom I did not even know, would come up to me a say “great game.” Or “you’re gonna help us win this year!” I would also receive random waves from people while walking down the street who I vaguely remember playing basketball with. So needless to say, the expectations were quite high with the basketball season rapidly approaching.

One day last week, while playing in a practice game, everything was going pretty well. We were playing together as a team, scoring points, generally doing well. Then after going up for one particular rebound, I tripped on my way down and landed hard on my wrist and proceeded to roll on my face. The fall left me with a damaged wrist (which still has yet to get a final diagnosis from doctors outside of my own self diagnosis of ouchie that hurts), scrapes on my face and a bit of a bruised ego. When I arrived at work the next morning with a brace on my wrist, many people actually looked very very sad. I suppose that is a little flattering, but it was all anyone could talk about. People came up to me throughout the day asking me if my injury was serious, and will I be ready for the opening game? To which I responded, “I don’t know and I don’t know.”

While my face and ego have somewhat healed at this point, my wrist still is persistently giving me trouble. Worse off, it is my right hand which only leaves my weak uncoordinated left one to accomplish most daily tasks which I find remarkably hard to do one handed. I even have to have people do things like open doors and even soda bottles for me. Pretty pathetic! I have included a picture of my x-ray below. I have no idea what it indicates other than I think it is cool that my hand is made up of several bone bits, but thought I would share it anyway. Hopefully things will be healed enough to play in the season opener towards the end of next week. I mean I have a uniform with my name on it. I cannot let that go to waste. I’ll keep you posted.