Lesson Learned (my terrible very bad injury)

I got seriously hurt this morning and learned an important lesson in the process. I sincerely hope this blog post will garner me hundreds of emails and comments of compassionate support, but fear I will just get more derision. Here goes.

It all started at about 8:30 AM this morning when I arrived at my club for my 9 AM tee time. Like so many times before, I went to the driving range to warm up for my round. My first few swings on the range were good. I was feeling it this morning. As I moved up my bag from pitching wedge to driver, everything was clicking. I finally got to the driver and striped a few drives down the center of the range. I saw big money winnings on the way in this morning’s game. I was almost ready to head to the putting green to practice with the flat stick when I decided to hit one more drive. I wish I hadn’t.

In all my years of watching sports, I’ve heard the phrase, “I felt something pop” many times. But, I never really understood what that meant. Until this morning. On that last drive, something “popped” and, holy shit, did it hurt. Unfortunately, the searing pain was in, well, my groin. I crumpled to the ground on the range, where I was hitting balls next to Dr. Singer, a friend and fellow member of my club. Unfortunately, “Doctor” Singer is not really a doctor at all. He’s a dentist. So, any hope that he might commence CPR, or whatever real doctors do for a groin pull, was immediately dashed.

Being the badass tough guy that I am, I was not willing to concede today’s round. So, I gathered myself together and tried to hit another shot. Again, piercing pain in, well, my groin. I dropped to my knees again, threw my 7 iron down, tossed (and broke) my $500 prescription Oakleys in anger, and came to the realization that today’s round was toast. By this time, my buddy Vinnie (his real name) had come over to see what all the commotion was about. He quickly intervened with his medical advice (none of us are really sure what Vinnie does for a living, but he seemed to know a lot about groin injuries so I was listening). Vinnie told me I had to go home immediately and get ice on my injury and he asked Dr. Singer if perhaps he could get me some drugs. Doc Singer offered up some propofol. While that was Michael Jackson’s drug of choice, it seemed like overkill in this situation, so I headed home to ice down, well, my groin.

Let’s pause for a moment to understand the deep implications of what’s happened here.

  1. 1. I don’t get to play golf today and that’s really bad.
  2. 2. We have a 16-man game scheduled for tomorrow and I’m probably going to have to bail….and explain why (see, well, groin injury).
  3. 3. Our big member-guest tournament starts on Thursday and my availability for that really fun event is in doubt due to, well, a groin injury.

So, I went home and immediately put a very large bag of ice on, well, my groin. As my tee time was scheduled for 9 AM, my group of buds was scheduled to be on the veranda eating lunch and drinking beer by about 1 PM. After failing to get any compassion from my family when I came home with my injury, I decided to limp back up the club at 1 PM to have lunch with my boys. Surely, they would understand the pain I was in, both physically and emotionally, and provide the support I needed to get through this very difficult time. Needless to say, I was dope-ass wrong.

When I first arrived back at the club, my boys were just walking off the 18th green. As they approached the veranda, Kevin gave me a man hug to show how much he cared. I was hopeful. Soon thereafter, I heard another one of the boys say, “Hey, one-ball, how ya feeling?” It was then that I realized that I should have immediately grabbed my hamstring when I pulled my groin.

I told Vinnie I was definitely out for tomorrow’s 16-man game. He sent an e-mail to all 16 guys saying, “Need one more for tomorrow. Robertson is out. Ball injury.”

F$#K!

A few minutes later, another foursome came off 18, having read Vinnie’s email and yelled up to the veranda, “Hey, what’s wrong with Robertson?” Before I had a chance to explain my potentially life-threatening injury, someone yelled back, “He pulled an ovary!” As more groups came by and more beer was consumed (yes, there was a brief game of bizz-buzz involved), more creative (and misogynistic) explanations of what happened emerged for my horrible injury. Many of us will be at the same 4th of July party tomorrow and there’s an over 50 (7 foot basket) slam dunk contest planned. There’s no doubt that a healthy Bruce would have won it. Instead, I was offered the role of being a guy sitting in a lawn chair that some other drunk dude jumps over to throw it home. Thanks guys.

Lesson learned. When your boys are this supportive, never admit to any injuries that take place anywhere near the vicinity of your, well, groin. Or, if you do, make sure you have Sam Malone from Cheers at your side. He seemed to handle it OK in this video!

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About Bruce Robertson

Bruce Robertson is an amateur writer and professional provocateur
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One Response to Lesson Learned (my terrible very bad injury)

  1. Andy Brusman says:

    I am just glad Doc Singer didn’t give CPR directly to the area that was hurt. On second thought, that would have made this even funnier. Seriously, torn groin?

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