Physio and the Vuvuzela Theory

I think we can all agree that the 2010 World Cup vuvuzelas are tortuous and mind numbing. (Thank you, Urban Dictionary, for the perfect definition.) You don’t even have to be a soccer fan to notice these – maybe you are just walking by a cafe showing a World Cup game, or scrolling through the TV channels trying to find something to watch, and you’ll start to think “am I being followed by a swarm of bees?” or, as some commentators have put it, “is a goat being lead to slaughter nearby?” or "is there an elephant somewhere passing wind?" Watch enough of the soccer, and you sorta get used to them. But you know what else is tortuous and mind numbing, and that I won’t get used to? Physio.

Physiotherapists are unbelievably smart and they know all sorts of stuff about your joints and your body that you never knew. They went to school for a long time and charge high fees for a reason. But I have had physio for my knees twice now – once in the last millennium when I had surgery on my torn ACL and once this week for this – whatever this is. And both times the physio is positively primitive and barbaric. Three times a day, for a variety of sets and reps, I must lie on my back, tie a rope around my foot, and pull on it so my knee bends. It really hurts. (Then I must cover my knees with frozen peas.) This is the best they can do, with all their schooling and advanced knowledge? Explain to me how this is different than the medieval rack. It is truly both mind-numbing and tortuous. I’d rather clean. I’d rather poke myself in the eye with something sharp. Good god, I’d rather do yoga. (He he....)

Do you detect a touch of cranky? Perhaps. I haven’t been able to player soccer for 12 days now and it just might be getting to me. I complained to Steve about my medieval torture and he thinks I should embrace the noise of the vuvuzela. He suggests that I lie on the floor and do my physio exercises in front of the TV when a game is playing, turn up the volume really loud, and put my head right by the speaker. Bring on the brutal! (I’m not sure what this would accomplish, to be truthful. Two annoying things don’t cancel each other out and make life pleasant. Imagine, for instance, listening to a very loud Rick Astley song while scrubbing your toilet.)

Do you think maybe Steve is getting tired of waiting on me?

The Knee Interview

So, I got hurt. I’ve been on crutches most of the week. Because this is far too depressing to even think about directly in terms of playing soccer and blogging about it, I have decided to accept a fictional interview request from Christiano Ronaldo to explain my injury. Here he is:



Ronaldo: So here I am. Can we make it quick? I have a game tomorrow.

Me: Oh sure, try to shirk your journalistic responsibilities with some game....

Ronaldo: It’s the World Cup? The Biggest sporting event in the world? Against Ivory Coast? Drogba’s team?

Me: Oh, right. I’ve PVR’d it. Okay. I’ll be brief.

Ronaldo: Thanks. So, you hurt your leg or something?

Me: Yes, my knee.

Ronaldo: What happened?

Me: Well I was playing a soccer game for this women’s team I just joined and I sort of twisted and collapsed and it really hurts.

Ronaldo: Was it a real injury, or fake?

Me: Uh,real. We don’t do fake injuries.

Ronaldo: Why not? You can get free kicks out of them.

Me: Yes, well, but everyone can see they’re fake, right? It’s one of the worst things about watching you guys.

Ronaldo just glares.

Me again: But, uh, anyway, our refs probably wouldn’t even notice if we faked injuries anyway. They don’t run much. They just stand in the centre circle and try to see everything from there.

Ronaldo: What?!

Me: I know.

We have a shared, bonding moment of hatred for lazy, stupid refs. Look how similar we are to each other!

Ronaldo: So why is this knee thing such a big deal?

Me: Well, it’s just that this time it was my good knee.

Ronaldo: What do you mean, your good knee?

Me: Well I have had two ACL surgeries on my other knee, many years ago, so I think of that as my bad knee. Now I will have two bad knees. Even though this is hopefully less serious. Perhaps only a torn meniscus.

Ronaldo: I’ve had trouble with one ankle, but they just fixed it and it’s fine. I don’t understand the concept of part of a body being bad. My body is perfect.

Me, quietly: I know. Sigh.

Ronaldo: Pardon?

Me: Nothing.

Ronaldo: So, if it is just going to get better, what’s the big deal?

Me: Well, it is at least 6 or 7 weeks of no soccer while I do physio. So depressing.

Ronaldo: Oh, that is depressing. You know, when I get depressed, like when I crash a Ferrari, I just buy another Ferrari.

Me: How nice for you. For me, that’s not really an option. I’m thinking about making the kids get a paper route so they can earn enough money to pay for my MRI.

Ronaldo: What’s a paper route?

Me: Never mind.

Ronaldo: So you said you had the other injuries a long time ago. You’ve been playing soccer a long time?

Me: Yes. ahem. More years than you’ve been alive.

Ronaldo: With who?

Me: Well, I used to play for UVIC, but now, mostly just drop-in.

Ronaldo: What’s UVIC?

Me: Oh, it’s roughly the female equivalent of playing for Manchester United or Real Madrid.

Ronado: Oh, so you’re good.

Me: Uh, I used to be okayish.

Ronaldo: You’re a famous female soccer player, then? That's why I'm here?

Me: No, you’re here as a fictional construct that allows me to explain my effing injury without sounding too sorry for myself.

Ronaldo: Glad to be of use.

Me: If you score for Portugal tomorrow, will you dedicate it to me?

Ronaldo: No.