Déjà vu all over again

Most who know me well, and many who don't, are aware of my obvious love for the game of basketball. I love playing basketball, watching basketball (especially live), talking about basketball, and probably even talking about people watching other people playing basketball. It's easily my favorite sport, and has long been a significant part of my life in one way or another.

About seven years ago, I was playing a pickup game in a Scottsdale park on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in December. I had the ball, was driving to the basket from the left elbow, made a slick left-to-right crossover move, and made my way to the hoop. I juked my defender nearly out of his shorts, but the trouble is, I also juked three of my right ankle ligaments out of their structural integrity. I heard my ankle pop (as did a few other people), I collapsed in pain, my ankle blew up to the size of one of my grandmother's famed cantaloupes, and I was done for the day.

After reinjuring the darn thing about a dozen times over the next couple years, I went in for ligament repair surgery. After a few months of physical therapy, I finally felt confident enough to start playing basketball again. After a few more months of playing with a brace, I even felt good enough to play without it, and I was back in business.

So that brings us up to date, as of last Tuesday. That night I went to the church for our usual Tuesday night Elder's Quorum pickup game. The game went well, and I was happy to be in good enough shape (for the first time in a while) to sprint up and down the court the whole time without getting winded. Basketball is really the only exercise I thoroughly enjoy - the rest of it is just work for me. Anyway, with a few minutes left in the game, I came down on someone else's foot and sprained that bad ankle again. It wasn't too bad, and I was able to continue playing after a few minutes. I vowed to put the brace back on for all future hardcourt adventures.

So last night, I dutifully marched back to the church, right ankle firmly laced up in the brace, and started up another pickup game. Everything was as usual - I was driving to the left every time, I couldn't make a jumper to save my life, and my forays to the hoop were eerily reminiscent of a fullback bowling defenders over on the way to a touchdown. But then, on my descent from pulling down an offensive rebound, my left ankle landed on someone's foot.

Pop! Not a pleasant sound, nor feeling. I actually felt three distinct pops as I fell to the ground once more, instantly knowing what happened. I'm reasonably certain this is the exact same injury I suffered seven years ago. That sucks and all, but it's more frustrating than anything. I'm just trying to exercise, for crying out loud. Can't I just play a stupid basketball game without being maimed?

So I guess it's back to watching and talking, rather than playing the game I love. At least that's what I should do. I'm sure I'll talk myself back onto the court at some point, but I'll be sure to wear two ankle braces next time. And maybe a suit of armor.