Poor, Poor Pitiful Me

   I have a black eye and a strained left calf muscle. I got yelled at by coaches and fans alike. One kid dog cussed me.

   No, it was not youth fellowship time. I was reffing basketball Tuesday night.

   I got up Wednesday morning with a black eye (broken blood vessel), a very sore left calf and the usual pains of exertion from the previous night. I was ready to pack it in to them.

   Brief pity party.

   Ok, now it’s over. I do this for exercise, to be around the Holy Game and to exert myself mentally in critical circumstances in a hostile environment. Such is life in the 21st century.

   If a blood vessel pops now and then, or a muscle strains, or a fan gets weird, or a coach stresses out, that is part of the game and part of the price.

   Wednesday a fellow approached me during my afternoon coffee break. He was somewhat timid.

   "I was at your game last night," he said.

   "Great," I thought but smiled.

   "You two guys did a good job. The way our team, fans and coaches acted was just embarrassing to some of us. I’m really sorry. That is not how we all want to be known," he told me.

   "I appreciate it," I told him. "You cannot imagine just now how much I appreciate it."

   End of pity party. On to the next massacre.

2 Responses to Poor, Poor Pitiful Me

  1. Craig Wallace says:

    You are the man!

  2. Kerry Wood says:

    Dr. D:
    YOu keep it up, big guy–and remember that Basketball officials always leave the gym with at least half of the crowd hating them! You are truly the man!

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