A hot summer day in August, no clouds, and no breeze. Two teams are competing on the blazing turf, and I’m on one of them. My quarterback is yelling. “Sixty” I breathe, “Sixty” I look at the enemy in front of me, “Set!” I hear a clap, step back, and throw my hands at the oncoming defender. I feel a sharp pain in my right hand, I look down after the play and notice that my middle finger is crooked, I run to the sideline and talk to my trainer, who tells me that my finger is broken. I was devastated.
It was the week before my first football season as a varsity starter. However, my trainer did have some good news. I would still be able to play football that year, but I would have to wear a monster of a splint, and about a million pounds of tape