Sportsman's Woes

Writing this is taking longer than usual.
Now, I'm not all that great in typing, but I can hold my own when it comes down to it. What's keeping me at under fifty words per minute right now is one finger.

I don't know how many times I have to tell myself I'm not going to play basketball again. Ever since I quit the team in exchange for running my freshman year of High School, I have gotten hurt almost every single time I step on that court. I don't know why I keep playing, I'm not good at all.

Either way, after coming home for the summer, I challenged my brother to a tennis match. I took advantage of all the playing I've done at school the past few months to finally beat him at something. I'm not very good at tennis either, but I'm better than my brother--okay, he probably never plays. So it was unfair, and sure enough, my ego was boosted for a while and I felt good about myself after winning without dropping a set.

The next day the tables were turned.
He challenged me to a game of basketball, and I knew he was trying to get back at me after the night before. I accepted the challenge, and regretted it almost instantly. He went on to a 134568145-1 point run against me, and I was feeling as though it was all revenge.

Then, he shot it and missed, hitting the rim. This rim we were playing at has got to be the stiffest rim in the world, so when the ball hit it ricocheted back towards my face at two and a half times the speed of light. I managed to put my left hand up and the next thing I knew my pinky felt like it had been laid in the path of a train. I quickly pulled it just in case it was dislocated, and thankfully it wasn't, so I tried shaking it off, but it bothered me. Two minutes later it had turned a weird shade of green. Two minutes after it was swelling, and by the time the game had ended and home was in sight, it had grown to twice the size of a normal giant's thumb.

Ever since then, I have been miserably denied any movement with my pinky, and this puts the tip of my ring finger out of order as well, courtesy of the shared tendon.

I guess it just comes with trying to be athletic. Like a friend told me, "Silly Pablo, don't play if you don't know how." She followed that up with a ":)". Not cool. But I guess she was right. So for the billionth-and-one time, I'm not going to play basketball again!