My lovely finger got to know a baseball quite intimately last night at Wrigley Field during the Brewer's batting practice. In hindsight, what the heck was I trying to do in attempting to catch a ball from our rivals???? I asked myself this question many times over the course of the evening: while trying to stop the cut from bleeding, while trying to eat a hotdog without crying, while receiving a splint in the first aid center, and while being x-rayed after we won the game 5-3. I'm even asking myself WHY as I sit here typing with one hand, and I will probably ask myself the same question when I'm waiting to see my orthopaedic doctor tomorrow. When you see a baseball hurling toward you it seems like a fun idea to catch it, until it ricochets off your finger and lands in the hands of some idiot man who then passes the ball to his idiot girlfriend and not the bleeding woman to his right.
I hope that man to the right is happy with his ball! Since I was having mobility issues I had to give him the finger for the remainder of the game, doctor's orders. They don't call it the friendly confines for nothing!
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