I’d sprained my back because I have a poor memory; I keep forgetting that I’m not eighteen.
It happened during the Australia Day Street Cricket Test, when I rocketed a ball down the driveway and took the last vital wicket. As the wheelie bin toppled and the disgusted batsman slung his bat into the neighbour’s garden, I went down faster than a schoolbag on a Friday afternoon.
Sadly, it was quite some time before anyone noticed I was missing during the post-match celebration around the esky.
The next day, things got much worse; starting with second degree burns to my back and other vital parts. Note: When the liniment packet says, ‘New Formula – Extra HOT!’ they really mean it.
Also, (and you may want to write this down), thoroughly wash the liniment off your hands before going to the toilet; trust me, that’s a red hot tip.
Anyway, there was a bit of a line up at the chiropractors, so they propped me in a corner next to a pot plant. Eventually the bone cracker arrived and asked the groaning palm tree, “Australia Day injury?” Apparently I was his sixth case that day.
“So,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “what was it, cricket? Touch footy? Waterslide? Billy swinging? Overloaded esky?”
My response was lost in the screams that followed as he touched my back, “I see,” he murmured. “How’s this feel?” he asked as he swivelled my right leg over my head.
“Gosh! Quite pleasant actually! You’re wonderful!” would be the exact opposite of what I yelled at him.
Long story short; I survived, and preparations for next years’ Australia Day Street Test have already begun, starting with an order for a new stubby cooler with the following words emblazoned on it:
‘Remember Stupid: You Are 49!’