Transverse Fracture of the Radius: A Love Story

If there's one thing you never want to see on a kickball field, it's an injury. Sadly, when you combine booze, a neighborhood park, a children's game, and a bunch of people who probably need to admit that they aren't in the same shape they were in college but will be DAMNED if they stop flying around like MLB players, you end up with a few bumps and bruises. And ACL tears. And bone lesions. A compound fracture or two. It's a brutal sport y'all.

Of course, the world is a dangerous place and the potential for injury is not just limited to the kickball field. As it turns out, if you try and take a work call on your cell phone while simultaneously riding your bicycle down Mary Street after leaving Corner Bar at 10:45, there's a very high probability that you will fall down and absolutely wreck your shit. SHOCKER, I know!

Such was the scene as I left the bar last night headed to Jake's car for a ride home. Smack in the middle of the road we've got a crumpled Jason Pilon lying next to his bicycle and clutching his forearm in pain. Super heartwarming to see a pair of complete strangers stop to help (I'm pretty sure they actually saw him eat it), but we assured these good samaritans that he was WAKA family and we'd be taking care of him.

Seeing an elite athlete like Jason injured is heartbreaking. It's like seeing a bird of paradise with its wings clipped. I mean look at this glorious bastard:

Ladies, take a moment to pull your panties up. I understand that they probably just dropped without you even realizing it.

A plan was immediately put into action to rescue and repair this glorious creature, and after an inexplicable attempt to fashion a splint out of some scrap cardboard and a couple of t-shirts, we got him over to the new Emergency Medical Clinic on S. Lamar and got acquainted with the staff as we settled in to set things right.

Now, Jason may be writhing in pain at this point, but that's not going to stop him from spitting game. While one of the med techs on duty was a grumpy crone that was not amused by us, Angela was a whole different story. Bedside manner for days y'all. Good looking blonde, great smile, and ready to pump delightful drugs all up in herr.

That's a connection y'all. She's only wearing gloves so that she won't be shocked by the electricity dancing between them. At first it was just sidelong glances and smiles, but once the morphine started flowing, the Jason game came alive and the compliments were plentiful. He asks for her number, she blushes and giggles, almost like she knows something we don't. A few milligrams later, there's a marriage proposal. I'm pretty sure he was only half kidding, you could see it in those starstruck eyes.

Brief aside, he really did break the shit out of his arm. Check this shit out:

Anyway, eventually Jason and Angela had to part ways. It was 3:30 in the morning, we had a vicodin prescription to fill and needed to get this guy to bed after Angela hooked him up with one last shot of morphine. A roadie, if you will. 

But the romance was not over. We're maybe two minutes out the door when Jason's phone lights up with an incoming text. Odd for almost four in the morning. I assumed that it was his drug addled brain just trying to make sense of the text through his shattered phone screen that gave him such pause, but then he passed the phone to me. Here's the text:

From: Angela Tinder

So, I don't suppose you've got a shattered phone screen and broken arm do you?

That's right, these star-crossed lovers had already connected on Tinder, exchanged phone numbers, and had some solid banter going before he ever walked into her clinic. Truly, this is destiny. Marveling at the wonder in the universe, we got Jason back home safe where I can only assume he popped a couple vikes and started sexting.

We're all anxiously awaiting the wedding invitations.

JASON + ANGELA 4 EVA