Ooooof!

So I got hit in the crotch with the ball at last week’s soccer game, and it really got me thinking. It got me thinking that I don’t like getting hit in the crotch. No, actually (true as that is) it got me thinking about all the times I’ve taken a shot to the goods over the years. A little highlight reel played in my head on the drive home, and I haven’t quite shaken it since. So here, in chronological order, are the strongest crotch trauma memories I have:

1988 – This was the first time a girl just hoofed me right in the groin. It was Jen Crocker who did this to me. And I don’t really remember why (I probably said something sassy to her,) I only know that her junk-kicky reaction was a very disproportionate response. I also remember her turning to my friend Steve afterward and dismissing, “That didn’t hurt” as I lay there face down on floor.

1991 or 92 – We used to do all kinds of crazy shit on the school playground, and chief among my bag of tricks was walking across the top of the monkey bars. It was a good four feet off the ground so it was a brave (stupid) thing to do. And of course, it was only a matter of time—one day I missteped and came down crotch-first on one of the bars. I don’t remember it hurting as much as it should have, but I do remember the indignity of a playground full of kids watching me square myself. There was no concern; there was only laughter.

1993 – A bunch of us were swimming at Brady’s house. I don’t know what series of events led to what occurred, but for some reason I was marching up and down the side of the pool singing “Anchors Aweigh!” (of which, I really only knew two lines,) and once again, a quick misstep and my crotch met a hard ass surface. At least this time I could hide underwater and gurgle in pain, missing at least some of the laughter.

1995 – A bunch of my cousins were playing soccer, and I didn’t want to play so I tried to scale the goalpost instead. I made it about halfway up then slid back down. My cousin Frank, in goal, for some reason decided to grab my legs (splayed on opposite sides of the pole) and haul me towards him. ‘Hilarity’ ensued.

1996 or 97 – On and off for at least a year, my friends and I played a game called ‘Bag Tag.’ The game went like this: you throw something at the other guy’s crotch, and then you say, “Bag Tag: you’re it.” (That’s both the start and the end of the game.) Generally the throws were half-hearted, or poorly aimed, but I remember one time where I was sitting on a couch with my leg propped up on a coffee table, and Brady threw a tennis ball low and fast that shot underneath my propped-up leg and destroyed me.

September 23, 2008 – We’re playing indoor soccer and a lot of collisions are happening. In part because the playing field (a high school gym) is super small, in part because the floor is very slippery. The collisions are all minor—except for this one time where a guy steps in front of me to steal the ball at exactly the same moment I trip over my overly-long pants. The guy is about an inch ahead of me so I grab hold of him to stop my fall, but I can’t stop myself and I end up throwing this guy to ground. He turns around all WTF?!? but figures out what happened when he sees me sprawled out. We get up, the ball goes back in play, and right away one of the girls on the other team hammers it straight into my crotch. Coincidence? Payback? (Meh. Probably the former.) Either way, it hurt, and I didn’t like it, and a week later I’m still talking about it.