My softball game last week was very strange.

That’s a horrible opening! The game wasn’t strange–it was a softball game. Strange is a 280-pound linebacker singing Ashlee Simpson songs in a mall while wearing a tutu. The game was noteworthy–but certainly not strange.

The biggest (and most noteworthy) event occurred when one of our players dislocated his shoulder while jogging around the second base. Mr. Fudge slipped for no obvious or apparent reason and landed awkwardly on his left shoulder. Everyone knew he was hurt bad immediately after it happened because quickly took himself out of the game. He walked back to our dugout and was in obvious pain; his face was trembling and he grimaced with every breath. “Does anyone know how to pop it back in,” Fudge asked.

Half the team told him to let a doctor do it; the other half was in shocked by the repulsiveness of the question (that sorta bravado is reserved for fictionalized action movies–not overweight, outta shape schleps who play softball). “No way,” someone said. Another person called him nuts. Someone else asked for Dr. Nick. There were a lot of chaotic suggestions thrown out until Wagon spoke up.

“This is what . . . . .