The Dead Finger

Okay, so most if not all of my friends and acquaintences have seen my "dead finger." If you are a visiting reader, in short, my left ring finger kind of dangles ... okay, not "kind of" - it just dangles. I can make a fist, but when I straighten my hand it doesn't come with. Also, when I shake my hand with any vigorousness, it wiggles independently of the others. Try it - shake your hand like you're waving "goodbye" very fast. Any fingers shake independently of the others or do they move in unison? Ri-i-i-ght. It came as the result of an altercation last year at a baseball game, but I often haven't explained much beyond that. I'll explain why today the finger is dead at the end of the story, but the short version is because I was stupid.

Back in July of '04 I was excited about going to Milwaukee for a Cubs-Brewers game. Not because I love Milwaukee (how anyone can is beyond me,) but because I'd not been to Miller Park yet (yes, a stadium named after a beer - how "Simpsons.") I have a thing about wanting to visit every professional sports venue before I kick so I was fired up. This was also a period when I was at a workout peak and probably came in at a very lean 250+lb. (I'm 6'1"/6'2")

So, I went to the game with my Mom, my little sister and one of my best friends (who just happened to be dating my sister at the time - somehow I was cool with it.) Well, we're in the left field bleachers and the Cubs are getting it handed to them, as usual, but there is a group of two guys and a girl behind us and one of them felt the need to rest their dirty shoes on the top of my sister's seat, while she was in it. Understand, my sister can get attitude, and being an athlete and 5'10" she can back it as well. So it starts with some under-the-breath comments and more shoes on the back of seats. Then stares all-the-way-around as people get up to get food and go to the bathroom.

The Cubs finish receiving their shellacing from the Brew-crew and we're ready to go when the girl in the threesome behind us asks my sister what her problem is, in a less than polite way. My sister told her that she would never let her friends make some of the comments she overheard the two guys make and if they had something to say, they should say it to her face, "because that's how we do it in Chicago." She made sure to compensate for the possibility that this girl was deaf by speaking loudly and by getting about 2 inches from her face. At this point, the heavier of the two guys says, "Why don't you go back to Chicago, ya dirty South Side whore?!" First off, I'll assume that what kept my buddy from reacting was the confusion caused by the fact that although the Cubs are on the North Side, my sister actually lives on the South Side. How does this guy know that?

Short story long, that was all I needed. I saw my sister start to lean back so I assumed she was going to swing. Well, before she could move, I leapt over our row of bleachers directly at the geographical Kreskin and began to choke the life out of him with my right hand. As he sat back in his chair and tried to duck his head so "the choke" didn't become "the punch," the other guy figured I was too occupied to see him coming. Hmm, what are left hands for? That's right - punching late-comers in the head. The only problem is that I punched they guy in the head so rapidly and often that as soon as I stopped, my whole hand felt numb. Still, when he fell down, the other guy looked up. For some reason I asked him how long he thought it'd be before security came, and began pummeling his nose with my right hand.

By the time I got to the top of the bleachers I told my Mom, "That was fun and all, but I broke my hand." My Mother loathes fighting of any kind, but even she said she'd give me a pass on that one. I don't know why my buddy didn't react considering I've seen him get after it and he's pretty quick to swing, but he said it was over too quick. That's not a pat on the back for me. I still ended up with the broken hand. Lacking insurance, I spent 18 hours at Cook County waiting to be told what I already knew and another hour waiting for a hack job of a cast. Cook County Hospital is not the County Hospital they show on "E.R." Same city, same location, totally different hospital.

Considering I was in the midst of some serious weight training, taking four weeks to only do cardio was murder. So at about three I ripped the cast off. This is probably why my finger dangles. The knuckle at the base of the finger is just non-existent. Oh well, I've never had hand surgery before, but I'm sure it'll be fun.