Funny Story!?

I have this funny story for you. Very much true, very painful, and disfiguring (although not at first glance). This story is something that happened to me while I played ice hockey for Fresno State, back many years ago.

We were having Friday Night practice. In this practice, I, as the goaltender was to sit on the right hand post. A pass was coming from my right to the top of the left hand circle, where the shooter sat to take a one-timer. My job was to, obviously, block the shot. Our coach was clocking the shot speed with a radar gun.

So, everything was going well. Shooters did their thing, I did mine. Until M stepped up. Now looking at M, you wouldn't know that he was a big time defenseman in our league. Kind of short for the job, but he delivered the hit when called upon. He also had one of the hardest shots in the league. M steps into place, the pass is delivered, he takes the shot, I move from the post, stack my pads coming across to my left, and the puck hits me squarely in the cup!

Our coach yells, "90 (mph)!" Really, the last thing I hear before blacking out from the pain.

I come to after some thirty seconds or so. I got up and attempted to skate off of the ice. That was a long skate to the boards...I vaguely remember the process of getting off of the ice and into the locker room. Usually, it would take only a handfull of minutes to get out of my gear. This time, however, it took at least half an hour. When I got down to my jock strap, my cup was in thousands of pieces. I didn't even look at the little man and the boys. I didn't want to see it. After all, what you don't know, you don't know.

I pack my gear into my bag in a foggy haze. The pain is excrutiating. I slowly and methodically make my way to my truck parked outside. (My coach, meanwhile, is yelling at me to put my gear back on and get back on the ice. I tell him, "Go Fuck Yourself!", and leave).

I headed home to my parents house. To this day, I don't know how I drove in so much pain. But I made it there. I got to my room, dropped my stuff, and crawled into bed.

I stayed there all day Saturday and all day Sunday.

On Monday morning, my father walks in. He asks, "Are you going to school today?"

"No", I reply.

"You got hurt playing hockey, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Let me see 'em"

"Pop. I am not going to show you the boys."

"Show me or go sleep at the fraternity house." That was something that I desperately wanted to avoid. So, I drop the underwear.

"Shit, son. You got a pair of Easter eggs there!" The boys were swollen, black, blue, green, yellow, and purple. Not the thing that I wanted to see.

Pop calls the doc and off we go. I went through a battery of tests and pictures. The doc returns with the news.

"Well, the good news is that you get to keep both of the boys. The bad news is that the left one was seriously hurt. You are going to have to do x, y, and z...until the swelling goes down. Until then, I am issuing you this special jock strap to wear under your underwear. This pocket here will hold up the boys until you heal. Until then, no hockey."


Ultimately, the swelling went away and the boys regained their normal coloring. However, the left boy is now two to three times the size of the right. Docs say that everything is alright, but let's just say that things don't hang the same way.

Have a great weekend!