Brad injures Mark

 

Hayter article for May 26, 2024

“How Brad Meyer Messed Me Up”

 

 

       Brad Meyer was involved in two of my most painful injuries. I just felt the need to share that with you. All of you may not remember Brad, so I’ll unload him on you in the next paragraph.

 

       Brad’s history is as exciting as all get out, and I don’t have the time nor the inclination to lead you through it. Suffice it to say that Brad Meyer was at one time a newspaper reporter, photographer, occasional columnist, and reviewer of stage plays and restaurants, for the Courier and Villager. I tagged along with him during most of the restaurant reviews. Videos of our reviews can be found on YouTube. – I only plugged that part because of my involvement, and give you a chance to see how poorly Brad treated me.

 

        I don’t remember how long ago it was, but at some point, Brad and I started playing racquetball. We bought our own racquets and everything. We both purchased some racquetballs, but Brad refused to use the red ones that I bought. He claimed not to be able to see red balls. I think he meant he couldn’t distinguish red objects from blue. The ball is not invisible it’s just a different color. Regardless, I let Brad be in charge of the color of the ball.

 

       From the get-go, Brad and I were equally not very good. At this point, we’ve both improved, but Brad is now better than I am. That’s because he almost killed me on the court last week. An understandable accident. The guy tried to run through me to get to a ball that he couldn’t have reached with a broomstick. The sound of me hitting the court was heard by… well, no one. Anyone standing in the hallway of the four-walled courts would have trouble hearing a heavy thud. From inside, it’s loud.

 

       Bradly didn’t say, “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I almost kill you?” After noticing me on the floor in a curled-up position, he said, “You, all right? Do you need to stay down there awhile?”

 

       I wiped my tears on my shirt before standing. At that point, I was shocked to see that I could even walk. I was not going to need an ambulance this time. I shook it off and agreed to finish the game. The only problem was that I didn’t know which game we were playing, and who was serving. Brad let me know that he was serving and would go ahead and not count the point because of my fall. My fall? A fall is generally caused a person slipping on something. I was knocked off my feet and landed on my left side.

 

       The part of me that hurt the most was a small part of my chest. I don’t know if cracked a rib or smashed the top part of my heart. At the time, I thought I was fine, so we continued to play. My eyesight was a bit hazy but that can happen when you’re knocked off your feet.

 

       The sad part of the story was, that though I had won the first game, I lost the last two. After two days of groaning when I move, I need to go get this thing x-rayed. That’s what Kay told me. Brad told me that he’d see me on the court Thursday. As it is, Kay has to help me in and out of bed and the recliner. “For better or worse.” Know whatta mean?

 

Today is the second day of my injury. My upper chest area hurts anytime I try to stand up or sit down. I emailed Bradford today to tell him I wouldn’t be able to play Thursday. He said, “Okay, then I’ll see you Monday.” By Monday, I’ll probably be wearing a cast from my shoulders down to my beltline.

 

Perhaps it needs to be said that I have damaged Brad a time or two. But never knocked him off his feet. I only hit him with the ball. I’ve hit him in the ear, the back of the head, the neck, the upper back, and in the rear, both cheeks. I only hit him when his back’s to me. In other words, I never bloodied his nose put out an eye, or caused sterility.

 

His steamroller incident makes up for any pain I have ever caused him. While I hurt badly it’s not as bad as what happened years back when I ran into the back wall. That hurt a bunch.

 

While waiting for the ambulance that the director immediately called I asked Brad to get my spare pair of shorts from my bag because I had ripped the pair I was wearing. I think the threads were nearly bare. I needed him to change me out, so no one would notice the rip as I was dragged out.

 

Brad refused. He used words that far exceed the butt word.  He said he made it a point to never change another man’s shorts. What a ridiculous pledge.

 

After noticing my tears, he swallowed his pride and got me into my other pair of gym shorts. Of course, he told me never to tell anyone what he did. So, I’m not telling. I’m merely submitting it to the newspaper so I can share it with county residents.

 

The man knocked me off my feet, messing up a rib or the left ventricle part of my heart. And, he says he’ll see me Monday. Oh, yeah.  

 

Doctor Report: Brad broke my rib.

 

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