4 stitches, and a loss. That’s how the day ended.
I’m still at a loss, thinking that I could have done more had I not had the injury.
I got a laceration on the forehead because of a wayward elbow of an opposing player on a basketball game. Damn teammates did not show up on time, and the teammates that did forgot to bring their pride with them. We were down fifteen to naught, until I decided that the embarrassment was enough.
A few blocks and a couple of steals later, I still couldn’t get a shot off. We’re still down by 18 points. I looked at the bench to check if my teammates were there.
We were playing against the top team in the company, and I was not expecting them to be late, as this was a very important game. Being winless, I was hoping that we could beat the top team and finally have a win and move up the standings. If we beat this team, then it’s going to give us a boost in our confidence. All of our losses are within 5 points, but I still wanted to have at least a win.
My teammates didn’t think the same.
I had to do things myself. I was able to get the ball after the timeout, ran to the other side of the court, felt like I got fouled, but I was still able to score the lay up. I ran back on defense screaming at the referee. I admit it’s not sportsmanlike, but being down almost 20 points with no help could mess up your temperament.
Next possession, I took another shot. Missed. I had to steal the ball away from their center, and took another shot. This time the referee whistled a foul. I was going to the free throw line.
I did not feel any foul that time, so I looked at the referee, wondering who fouled me. This time, I did not complain, as I felt like he was making up for his missed call earlier. Or he felt sorry for the littlest guy on the court, trying so desperately to score.
I’ll take it either way.
I shot the first free throw, and it went swishing in. 20-3.
I looked at the bench, and it was still empty. Now, I had not played competitively in years, and this was my first start in the Sportsfest. I was running on adrenalin. And it was going down as I was taking a breather at the free throw line.
I missed the next one. I was so preoccupied with thoughts that I was not able to concentrate.
Next possession was where it happened. I blocked their center and ran after the ball. They were able to get it back. Next thing I know, I was jumping up again, as high as I could, to maybe get another block or at least alter their shot. As soon as I came down, I felt an elbow connecting to my forehead.
I did not mind it at first. I was still going up for another block, but my legs did not move. I felt a sharp pain in my forehead, the same spot where the wayward elbow landed. I went down without knowing it.
Next thing I know, I was looking at the gymnasium roof. Teammates around, opponents standing beside me.
Blood all over me.
That was one hell of an elbow.
I couldn’t remember the other details before I went to the hospital to get stitched up, but someone told me that I wanted to go back to the court so bad, that I kept asking about the score. Next thing I remember was I was on a van, on the way to the hospital.
A few minutes later, the doctor was all over my wound, cleaning it, preparing it to be closed.
She then asked me one surprising question: “Do you want to take a picture of it for your Facebook?”
I was like, “Seriously? God damn, doctor. Just stitch it up and let me go back to the court!”
Needless to say, I was agitated the whole operation, which lasted less than 30 minutes. I did not even ask for anesthesia.
I was not allowed to go back either.
We lost too, by 8 points.
Now, all I have are 4 stitches, and a question of another retirement. Maybe this is a sign.