Hoop Dreams

It appears as though my career as a bad amateur basketball player is all but over.

There was no farewell tour. No season-ending tournament game in front of thousands of cheering fans. My moment of glory didn’t make the highlight reel on ESPN’s Sports Center. Hell, it wasn’t even captured on home video, which is too bad because American TV audiences evidently find video clips of people getting hurt to be endlessly amusing.

My hoop dreams ended in a high school gymnasium on a Sunday afternoon 15 minutes into the first game. The only witnesses were the other 9 players and 2 guys waiting for the next game. I got the ball in the paint, went hard to my right to go around the defender, pushed off my right foot towards the hole and… down I went.

I tore the medial meniscus in my right knee so badly that it had flipped over and lodged between the knee joint, preventing me from straightening my leg.

That night, I maneuvered myself around the house by resting the foot of my bent leg on a chair. I’d take a step with my good leg, stop, move the chair and my right leg at the same time, and repeat.

At the Sports Clinic the next day, the surgeon told me he’d have to manually straighten my leg before they could do anything. It turns out I’m not nearly as tough in reality as I am in my imagination.

As the doctor sloooooowly pushed down on my knee, tears streamed from both eyes, and I made noises that would’ve no doubt frightened away lions or possibly even crack-addict burglars with handguns.

My doctor (who I’m guessing skipped his med-school sessions on bedside manners) apparently felt as though I was overreacting because at one point he said, “Come on, now. This is getting ridiculous.”

When I said, “So are your fees,” I’m pretty sure he pushed harder.

The next day, he removed 75% of the meniscus. At the follow up a week later, he strongly recommended that I stop playing hoops unless the prospect of knee-replacement surgery in 10-15 years was appealing to me.

“Plus,” he added, “I’ve seen you play.”

“Very funny, doc” I said. “At least you didn’t suggest I work this into my act.”