Greetings from my Vicodin haze. There will probably be some radio silence for a few days while my body attempts to heal itself. Yesterday morning a skateboarder cut me off on Second Ave, and I fell. Hard. My knee is totally shredded, and has a hole in it the size of a marble. I spent all day in the ER, where they thought it was so bad I might need surgery. They took one of these 20 inch needles with an Aquanet-sized cannister filled with 50 ccs of saline attached, and injected it into my knee joint to see if it would come shooting out of the hole. (Which gave me some insight into what a balloon must feel like before it is about to pop). If the saline did shoot out the hole, they’d know my joint was compromised, and I’d need to be rolled to the OR. (It’s all fine until you hear a doctor mention the letters “O” and “R” to another doctor when she thinks you can’t hear, then you start to panic, eyes darting for the exit). Luckily, my joint is fine, so no surgery was needed. I only got a tetanus shot, eight stitches, about ten shots of novocaine down in the wound, some antibiotics to kill that flesh eating bacteria that’s been going around, and a cane, for my troubles. If any of you would like to see what’s left of my kneecap, you may click here. But it’s really gnarly, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Congratulations to Dustin Pedroia for winning the American League Rookie of the Year. You’re a hell of a player, and an even better dude, Pedro.