Ahh! Sheee! Ahh! Sheee!

Will somebody call a Code Blue for my basement, please?

In case you're wondering why I have been slacking in the post department, it's because I'm laid up. And not in a good way. On Thursday night, our hockey team faced off against the lowly Piranhas; the same team we crushed last week by a score of 11-3. Ironically, they actually played worse this week! We started the onslaught with a goal 11 seconds in.

It never got any better for them.

By the end of the game, almost every player on our team had at least one point: Vinnie had two goals, Badger had two points, Fish had at least one point, Randal had two goals and two assists, and I had an assist. The final score was 10-0, and after the game, Randal stated, "That wasn't even fun." He was right; the other team laid down from the beginning.

Except when it came to being cheap.

It probably had a lot to do with the fact that they were getting their asses handed to them, but this team tripped, cross-checked, and punched their way into the penalty box. Normally, I wouldn't mind, since I am such a gentleman on the ice. But when I won a face off in our zone and skated toward the loose puck, their center politely hooked my skate with his stick and yanked me onto my face. I landed hard, right on my rib cage, and laid motionless for about a minute.

Inside my head, I was hearing, "Owee, owee, owee! It hurts!" I slowly climbed back onto my feet and skated toward the bench. Later that night, we were at the bar pounding Guinness, and after three pints, it still hurt really bad. Not a good sign. On Friday, I took Kyle ice skating, and in an idiotic attempt at skating, I turned around, lost my edge, and fell right on my kneecaps. It hurt like the Dickens.

So, when I awoke this morning, my knees were killing me, and my shoulder, ribs, and chest feel like I had been shot. It hurts to, well, breathe.

I'm getting too old for this crap.