a memorable game (m)

Saturday.  Sam's team is in the hockey play-offs and the quarter finals are being played in Massachusetts, about 2 hours from our home. 

I usually drive on these trips but my right knee (formerly, the good knee) has been killing me all week.  I don't know what I did to it.  Maybe it just quit on me as punishment for making it bear the brunt of the left knee injury which happened in September.  Maybe it's a ligament strain from driving 8 hours for each of the past two weekends.  Regardless, I decide I can't drive today and my husband reluctantly takes the wheel.

I pack a dinner for us:  turkey sandwiches, Fiber One yogurts, apples and some bars--WW for me, Balance bars for my husband.  Water for both.

I was supposed to make cookies for the team but decided the temptation would be too great.  I bought several dozen at the bakery.  I thought I would have to re-finance my house with what they charged.

Driving out along the Pike and it starts to snow.  My husband puts the wipers on manually and shuts them off.  This goes on for about 45 minutes.  On...and off...manually. I'm trying not to break into the cooler for another half hour and I'm getting cranky.  I tell him to put the wipers on "automatic...intermittent" but stop doing it manually and waiting so long.  What's the big deal? he says.  The big deal is I feel like I have glaucoma because you let the windshield get so snowy.

 Screw it.  I eat my dinner.  It's 5 p.m. and I'm finished eating for the day. 

We get to the rink.  It's packed and the air is electric.  Playoff time.  I hobble up to the bleachers and we sit with the parents we know. 

The game is very tight all along.  At the end of the third period, the score is tied 1:1.  My stomach is growling.  All I've had at the rink so far is a cup of hot green tea.

We are not supposed to win this game, but we do look strong.  Sam is playing and I look up...he's in the overtime period.  My stomach is in a knot...nerves?  No.  Hunger? Yes.

Just then...we score!  I jump up from my seat and hear a POP! in my knee.  I fall back down.  I try to get up and can't move.  My husband says let's go.  I tell him I can't.  He says of course you can.  How does he know this?  He doesn't.  Some women help me down the steps.  I feel ridiculous.  I can only go two steps and then I have to stop. How the heck am I going to get out of this building.  Somehow, I pull myself along the boards of the rink and make it to a bench.  My husband, realizing I'm in trouble, calls the athletic trainer over and he applies an ice pack and tapes it on my knee.  I throw on my long down parka and hope it covers my knee.

Sam comes out of the locker room, gives me a hug and kiss, looks down and says "you're kidding me."  He gives me his two hockey sticks to use as crutches.  I make it out of the building and into the car.  Many parents kindly offer to help.

Get in the car and call Harrison to let him know we'll be home in two hours.  He asks how the game went and we tell him.  And about my knee.

"So, basically, you're telling me I can't apply to either of these great colleges since you made such a scene."