I went to the bathroom to take a look, where I saw the decent-sized gash. I probably needed stitches, but I had games to play. Luckily, we had a first aid kit on-hand. The cut required a single bandage and I was good to go.
I returned to the field. The guy who had thrown the ball asked how I was doing; the other guys didn't give a shit. Okay, it's not like I had to have something amputated; but if it had happened to one of them, I would asked if he was alright.
Besides that, the night was a normal one. After two stellar weeks of play, I regressed. (I blame the eye.) Christ, I even struck out. Twice. Who the hell strikes out in slow-pitch softball? Heading back up to bat after the first strikeout, one of the guys implored, "Keep your eye on the ball." I actually found that funny since I was working with only one good eye, the band-aid pushing down on my left eyelid. So, instead of channeling my anger like the previous week, I proceeded to strikeout again. Piss me off and I'll get on base; make me laugh and I'm quickly back to the dugout.
And it was another week of unsolicited pointers from practically the entire team. But I've already talked about how much I love that.
The following morning, the cut was a bit swollen and my lower brow and eyelid were red. I swear I was going to wake-up not being able to open my eye. But the worst of the damage was hidden unless I purposely showed off my wound. What fun is that?
A week later, my eye has just about healed, not a bad recovery considering I was popped pretty good. The cut is still noticeable and, given my body's propensity to scarring, will probably leave a mark. But I was in need of a facial scar anyway, you know, for street cred.
Here I am looking tough after arriving home from softball:
P.S. The sunglasses weren't even scratched. Good thing because I was wearing the Oakleys.
1 comment:
I'm hoping for a hot, barely noticeable, scar.
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