Thursday, March 4, 2010

The Bigger They Are, The Harder They Fall

When my brother calls and says, "Call me back.....I've got a funny story" you can be sure it really IS a funny story. The yarn, however, is not usually about HIM. Oh, but in this case it was. A little background: Lacrosse is pretty big here in Colorado, and the season is starting up. My youngest nephew has decided he'd like to play and is entering his first season. So in preparation, it seems that my brother was out in his backyard tossing the ball around with my nephews. At some point in time, the boys lost interest and decided to otherwise occupy themselves. They have their Auntie Mollie's gnat-like attention span, apparently. Or maybe they're just boys. My brother, not to be daunted by lack of participation decides that he will simply play catch solo by launching the lacrosse ball at the fence. At some point, and this explains EVERYTHING about not just my brother but me, Tim decides that he's going to "see how hard" he can whip the ball at said fence. Because why wouldn't you? Why NOT push things to the very limit and let the chips fall where they may? We both seem to be missing the gene that causes one to exercise caution. It's just not in the mix. So he whips it. I'm not sure if I mentioned this but my brother is a pretty big guy. Not fat in the least but very tall and athletic. There's a bit of power behind the shot. Turns out "how hard" is pretty hard indeed. And a lacrosse ball is an EXTREMELY hard thing. I've been hit by one launched by a little kid and it hurts like a son of a bitch. The ball hits a metal fence post. It comes back, hits Tim squarely between the eyes, both lenses pop out of his sunglasses and what remains is smashed into his face. He is knocked to the ground. All 6'4" or so of him. A neighbor kid, who had appeared at some point, says to my nephews, "I think something's wrong with your dad". Understatement of the year. Something is wrong with their dad alright. And their aunt. Tim has an extremely impressive black eye, which would be all well and good if he were a hockey player. He is not. He is a builder. A builder that has to meet with potential homebuyers next week, which should be just in time for his eye to turn that lovely sickly yellow color that only a seven-day old black eye can muster. I hope he's coming up with a good story. I'm not really sure the truth says, "I am a person you should trust with your money. And a lacrosse stick." Errrr..........

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