Big Papi has a very big boo-boo. The doctor’s say that the extensor carpi ulnaris sheath in his left wrist is partially torn. I don’t care what they call it; I call it a curse. The Sox are cursed again.
I spoke to a number of medical people yesterday and they all told me this is just something you don’t see a lot in baseball; it’s more of a hockey player or golfer’s injury. In fact, when GM Theo Epstein was asked in a press conference yesterday who Ortiz’ injury could be compared to he was somewhat stumped, “The closest would be Schilling’s ankle, but that was a complete rupture, this is only a partial tear.” He also said that you can’t compare it to Nomar Garciaparra’s wrist injury because he split the tendon. Ortiz’ tendon is fine, it just keeps popping over the bone and he can hear it pop, and when it does, it hurts.
I asked a couple of members of the Red Sox hierarchy what caused the injury and as far as they could tell it was an awkward swing that Big Papi took. Now with all the thousands of swings that major leaguers have taken and really no other reports of an injury of this nature having occurred, are you going to tell me that this is not a curse?
Hell, dog. If a curse brings us two World Series titles in four seasons and keeps us at the top of the division and baseball’s food chain despite all these injuries, I say bring it on! Send us the Plague of Grebeck, Locusts ‘n’ Little, and the Boone Pox. We’ll be too busy watching Manny gunning for number 600 and our veritable revolving door of soon-to-be-superstar players to even notice.