168 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
168 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
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$$$$$$$$$$$
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$$$$$$$$$$$ hogz of entropy #229
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$$$$$P $$$$ $$$$ moo, oink, up your butt.
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$$$$P $$$$ x$$$$
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$$$P $$$$ xP$$$$ d$$$$$$$$$$$.
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$$$. $$$$xP $$$$ $$$$$$' >$$$$
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$$$$$$$$$. $$$$P $$$$ 4$$$$$. .$$$$'
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$$$$'`4$$$b. $$$$ $$$$ 4$$$$$$$$$P'
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$$$$b 4$$$$b. $$$$$$$$$$$ 4$$$< %%
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$$$$$b 4$$$$$x $$$$$$$$$$$ 4$$$$$$$$$ %%
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>> "Game Over" <<
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by -> RedMan
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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This little gem was provided to us by RedMan, a charming gentleman
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who wrote this as a submission to h0e, in exchange for his IRC channel back,
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which various h0e writers had taken over. He's a regular on #writers.
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I'm sure you'll enjoy.
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-- Mogel [dto@op.net]
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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As I stood at the three point line, the ball seemed to be in slow
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motion. Screams from the crowd came as the ball dropped through the net. Not
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only did this shot go in but it dropped through the net with such force that
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it made a sound that was heard throughout the gym. The gym was packed and
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the fans were on their feet, I had just hit my first three pointer of my
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varsity basketball career. As our team set up the press, sweat dripped from
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my face. I was close enough to kiss my opponent, there was no way he was
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going to get the ball. He shoved me backward and he planted his foot on
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mine, he then pushed off and ran for the inbounder. I fell back a few feet
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and sprinted towards my man. As the inbounder released the ball with a firm
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push I stuck my handout in hopes for a steal, SNAP! As the ball was
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deflected towards the right my man ran and picked it up. I quickly looked
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down at my finger and with fear and pain walked over to my bench. My
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pinkie-finger on my right hand was at a ninety degree ankle, as sweat
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dripped down may face I could feel myself getting hot. My stomach seemed to
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drop and I was feeling as if I was on a roller coaster. The game had been
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stopped and I was brought into the coaches room. My assistant coach led me
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into the room and sat me down on a wooden chair. I began to feel very cold,
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and my finger began to have a shooting pain. This pain was not present
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before and was no making itself known that there was something wrong with.
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My parents entered the room, my mother carrying a face that I never
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had seen before. My father with a calm collective look to him. The assistant
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then began to explain that there was to deal with this, either go to the
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hospital and miss the game or deal with it write in the room.
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My mother stared over at my coach when he relayed this message to me
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and my father seem to agree with my coach. I looked at my coach with eyes of
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trust and horror, and then laid my hand in his. He then took his hand and
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placed it over my pinkie. Which by now was swelling and extremely painful,
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he then got a firm grip and with one quick tug my finger was now vertically
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correct. My coach then looked at me with bulging eyes and asked how it felt.
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Being the starting point guard on my schools varsity team there was no way I
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was going to say that I needed to leave the game. With a convincing nod and
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a energetic response I was on my way back onto the court. I reentered the
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game and the crowd began to applaud, I was so nervous. It was like the first
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time I had ever played basketball in front of a crowd. The game resumed and
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I ran down the court, my finger throbbed and I could not help but think of
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it. My teammates snapped the ball quickly over to me and I caught it. I felt
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like dropping the ball and running to the sideline but instead I got rid of
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the ball as soon as I could. I then proceeded to run over to the sideline
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and with a look of pain in my eyes I let my coach know that I needed to come
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out of the game. As I sat there and watched my team lose the game I could
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not decide if I was hurting more from my finger or form the fact that I was
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not in there helping my team.As the coach was screaming and yelling in the
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locker room I could not help but think about my finger, the pain was no
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shooting down my arm and I was praying that I did not break it. I showered
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and proceeded to get dressed. Each time I buttoned a button on my shirt I
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would get a shooting pain, I began to believe that I should go to the
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hospital but I did not want to let anyone know. I walked up the steps and
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there were my parents, my Mom gave me a look of compassion and she seemed
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very concerned. Sternly, my father said that I should o to the hospital but
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with a convincing tone of voice I talked them out of it. I went home that
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night and stayed up thinking about the possibility that I might have a
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broken finger. As I dazed off to sleep I repeated to myself that things were
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going to be O.K.
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I woke up in some pain but I thought nothing of I because injuries
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are always worse the day after. It was Saturday so I had a couple of days to
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rest my finger, by mid-afternoon my finger as throbbing like it had just
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been hit by a hammer. At this time I decided that I needed to go to the
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emergency room. My father and I hopped into the 95 Mazda 626 and of to the
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hospital we went. On the ride there several things were going though my
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mind, although I was very optimistic. At most I thought I would miss a month
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or so, and that was absolute tops. I got to the hospital and filled out
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paperwork. Actually I filled out endless pages of paperwork that was quite
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painful to my finger. About twenty minutes later a short, skinny blond hair
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nurse came out and with a soft voice said "Sheahan." I then got up and with
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a nervous step in my walk proceeded to the examination room. I took a seat
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and the nurse asked to see my finger. She gently touched my finger. With a
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stare that made me nervous, replied "this does not look good." With a
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threatened voice I said" What do you mean," she then pointed out to me that
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the top part of my finger was twisted to the left. My knuckle was twice the
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size of any other one on my finger and it had a blue color to it, the kind
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of blue you see when you have been bruised very badly. I had notice this
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before but I had failed to make a big deal of it, then the doctor walked in.
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He was a tall man with a thick mustache and thick brown hair. He opened his
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mouth and the words "how did you do this?" came out. I replied in a
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basketball game and he then began to take a look at my finger. He had a look
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of concern on his face and before I knew it I was gong to have my fingered
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x-rayed. I had this done which took all of ten minutes and then he returned
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with the results. I had been siting there in anticipation of the results. I
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was on the edge of my seat waiting for his return. Then the door opened
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slowly and the doctor walked in. He took a seat next to me and with a calm
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voice said" It looks as if you are going to need surgery." I almost fell out
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of my seat this would mean that I would miss just about my whole season. Me,
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the starting point guard out for the season. I looked at my father with hope
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and desperation hoping that he would have some advice to give me. What could
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he say the doctor had given his diagnosis and he was right. The doctor then
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proceeded with a stern convincing voice to say that I had shattered the
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bones in my right pinkie finger. I would have to have surgery to pin these
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bones back together, the process is going to take about two and half hours.
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I picked myself up off the floor and my dad and I got back into the Mazda
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and drove home. I was extremely quite on the way home and felt as if all my
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hard work and preparation for this basketball season was for nothing.
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Although my father tried to keep my hopes up it was not having any effect on
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me. The trip to hospital was one that I regretted and in two weeks form
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then, would be paying for in the operating room.
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The weekend seemed to drag on forever and finally Monday rolled
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around. Throughout school I had shooting pains in my finger and all I could
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think about was what exactly my coach was going to say when I gave him the
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news that I was going to be out for six weeks. The day ended and I packed my
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school bag as usual, I then headed for basketball practice. I got there and
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everyone came up to me asking ho my finger was, I responded with an upset
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disappointing tone, that I would be out for six weeks. The team was as
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surprised as I was when I heard the noise. Although the team felt bad, they
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were not the ones that were going to have the doctor cut open their finger,
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and pin tiny bones back together. I had stay on the sidelines and watch the
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team day in and day out play the game that I loved so much. The worst of it
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was that I had to watch someone fill my spot, a spot that I had worked long
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hours for in the summer. Someone was just going to step in and take the spot
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that I had reserved for myself. That was worse than the pain of my finger or
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the surgery I had to go through.
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The day had come, and I woke up extremely early that mourning. I was
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not allowed to eat anything and as I was driving in with my father my
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stomach was growling. We arrived at the hospital and I checked in at the
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front desk, a rather large women with brown hair took the information that
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they needed. They brought me into a room and had me put on a johnny. You
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know, one of those pieces of clothing that shows your ass to the world. I
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cam out of the bathroom and they had brought in a television for my father
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and I to watch as I waited. We put in "White men can't jump" and just as
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Woody was going to take the court for the first time the overweight nurse
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walked in. They brought me to the prep room and there I lay just waiting to
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go under. As they started my IV I began to get nervous. I thought of nothing
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except for the surgery to come the doctor then added vallium to my iv and
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before I could count to five I was out.
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I woke up and felt very sluggish, I lay there for a while and then
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proceeded to get dressed. The operation was over and I was on my way to
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recovery. Two weeks passed and I was still attending every practice and
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every game, this was very hard for me because I was unable to play. The
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season went on and I watched for the sidelines, and on the final game of the
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season I got my cast off. However, I was unable to play because I still
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needed to go to therapy for my finger. My junior basketball season was lost,
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and I could never get it back. The effects came a year later, May of senior
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year.
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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* (c) HoE publications. HoE #229 -- written by RedMan -- 4/7/98 *
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