Anyway, about 15 minutes in, I'm standing next to my kid Sam trying to give him some instruction. And he's doing a great job convincing me that I'm helping, even though we both know he's the one that should probably be teaching me how to do this bullshit.
The team was doing this passing drill, where they come down the ice, three at a time, pass the puck back and forth, and then take a shot. The kids at 13 and 14 can shoot pretty hard, so while the drill is in progress, I step pretty far off to the side so that I won't get hit by a stray shot. I wear a helmet, but that's really the only protection I have. Then when the drill goes back the other way, that's when I step back in and give some tips to Sam or Mac, who's our other goalie.
With me so far? Good...
So the boys took their shots at Sam, and I didn't really have anything to tell him at that moment, so I stayed about 15 feet to his left, watching the boys skate in the other direction. I didn't even look over at Sam.
Now, had I been looking that way, I might have noticed Assistant Coach Keith winding up to take an extra shot on Sam. He does that now and again to give the goalies a little extra work. Keith's a good friend of mine- big Canadian boy, about 6'2", 200 pounds. Grew up playing hockey, and can still shoot slap shots like bullets.
Had I also been looking in that direction, I may have also noticed that Keith was shooting from Sam's right, and I was on the left, still 15 feet wide of the goal.
Finally, if I would have looked in that direction, I just might have realized that Keith missed his shot very, very badly. So instead putting his slapshot on goal, the puck instead made a beeline for...
Wait for it...
My right testicle.
I don't know how it was possible, but that puck, which is 4 inches around and an inch thick, hit nothing except my right nut. Not "lefty", not any part of my leg, not even Mr. Pee Pee (good thing it hangs naturally to the left). I'm talkin' nothing else. Full impact, directly on the right clanger.
Kids, I've been playing sports for over 40 years, plus I have four kids, so I'm no stranger to getting hit in the gonards. Shit, pinatas haven't been hit as many times as my daughter has hit me in the balls. But I have never, ever experienced the pain that went through me when that missile connected with it's target.
From what I understand, I made the "Lee Harvey Oswald Face" when the puck arrived at it's final destination. What's the "Lee Harvey Oswald Face", you ask? It goes a little something like this:
By the way, super security job by the Dallas police on this one...
I felt an immediate burning pain, and looked down just in time for the puck to release from by nut, and drop harmlessly to the ice, right in front of me. At first glance, it did not appear that my right ball had done any damage to the puck. I made a grunt like Chewbacca from Star Wars, and looked for a soft place to lay down for a moment.
But for some reason, my brain wouldn't let me go down. Maybe because it knew that if I hit the ice knees-first, they would both snap like balsa wood, and I would have even more problems. So I dropped my stick and gloves, and headed immediately to the sanctuary of the locker room.
My good pal Keith came over right away, and did an admirable job of being very concerned, while trying not to laugh his ass off. I don't think he realized just how hard that goddamn puck hit me, and I was trying very hard to be a man in front of the kids.
I got into the locker room, and discovered that I was going to be ill, and very soon. That's always been my barometer for injury- I know I'm really hurt if I have to barf. And barf I did, boys and girls...
I stood there for awhile, and tried to wait for the pain to go away. That's what happens when you get hit in the nuts, right? It hurts for a little bit, and then subsides. Right?
Wrong. It ached, and ached, and then ached some more. I could tell that this was one that was going to linger for awhile. I went back out and tried to sit on the bench, but then about five minutes later, I had to go back in and blow chunks again. This was not good.
So practice ended, and I went to the coaches locker room and spent maybe the longest five minutes of my life, taking off my skates. And then walked gingerly out to the car, and spent the longest 10 minutes of my life driving home.
I didn't know what else to do, so I walked into the house, grabbed a bag of frozen cranberries, and headed downstairs to my easy chair. Believe it or not, this raised a little curiosity from my lovely wife Annie, as to why I was carefully placing the cranberries meant for Thanksgiving upon my groinal region, and whimpering like a starving puppy.
So I regaled her with my story, hoping for a little sympathy and concern. When I finished, I looked over, and she had her head buried in her pillow, her body silently shaking all over. And I guess Sam must have broken the news to my oldest son Mike, because I could hear that little fucker laughing all the way upstairs in his bedroom.
To her credit, Annie tried to make it up to me later on. She said her mom had given her some Percocets just in case we ever needed them, and she would be happy to run and get me one. She left for a moment, and then came sashaying down the stairs holding a little pill with a "P" etched in it. I was very grateful to her as I gobbled that sucker down, and didn't take any other medicine. I didn't want to risk mixing painkillers, and pull a Heath Ledger right before the holidays.
But I was still uncomfortable all night. The pain just wouldn't go away, and I hardly got any sleep. It was like the Percocet wasn't working at all.
That turned out to be because the pill wasn't a fucking Percocet. She accidentally grabbed a Prilocec, which is a heartburn medication. So the bad news was that there was nothing helping the throbbing in my nut. But the good news was that I could have eaten that chimichanga before bedtime without having to worry about anything.
Fuck me.
Dear Santa,
I'd like to think I've been a good boy this year. All I want for Christmas is a new family. At this point, they can even be French. I don't give a shit anymore. Dude, I'll do whatever it takes. I'll blow you at the mall. Just get me the fuck outta here, will you please, big fella?
Love,
Al
So this morning, after some medication that could actually help a little, some of the pain has subsided.
However, I've got a new situation, kids.
My right nut is currently three times the size of my left. For dimensional purposes only, imagine a golf ball next to a tennis ball. Neither are that big, but the difference is about right. I've got the cranberries out again (fuck it, I already wrecked Thanksgiving), and I'm hoping this gets better soon.
Otherwise I'm going to have to get some custom made khakis for work. Anyone out there know a seamstress?
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