Tuesday, March 5, 2013

A Tale of Two Balls: From Fertility to Futility

A Tale of Two Balls: From Fertility to Futility
By: Balls

It started off like any other day.  We woke up, got scratched and headed out to a doctor’s appointment of some sort.  When we pulled into the parking lot of the local medical clinic, everything seemed fine, but as we headed in the door, we began to feel a rush of adrenaline.  This wasn’t a new feeling.  It reminded us of how we felt before a big baseball game or when we stood above an important putt.  TODAY WAS GOING TO BE FUN!!!

In the waiting room, we began to feel really nervous, but the feeling quickly subsided, as we remembered how well we’ve been protected over the last 33 years.  When we played baseball, he wore a cup and anytime our kids run towards us, he quickly throws up a two-handed block.  Sure we’ve been knocked around from time to time, but he’s always cared for us, so we weren’t worried.

Over the next hour, things took a strange twist and before we knew it, he was laying on a bed talking to a doctor.  Neither of us could make out what they were saying, but we could see the whole conversation, which is something we’re not entirely used to.  But he was calm, so again, we were calm.  That calm, tranquil feeling quickly turned to anger, confusion, light-headedness, and pain.

The first thing that really caught our attention was the doctor gave us a shot this time.  Not the arm, not the butt, but US!  At this point, we knew something was about to go terribly wrong.  The only thing either of us saw, before losing consciousness, was the doctor’s hand coming at us with a knife.  Yes…A FREAKING KNIFE!  Now this wasn’t the first time we had experienced something like this.  The “Circumcision” or as I refer to it, the “The Severing of 79,” scared the hell out of us, but this time, there was no wiggling out of the way.  THE KNIFE WAS COMING RIGHT TOWARD US!!!

Within a flash, there we were hovering above the whole thing, watching as everything we had ever known was being savagely changed.  I mean, everyone hears about “Out-of-Ball Experiences,” but this time it was our Out-of-Ball Experience!  Amazed and horrified at the same time, we watched as the doc, nay…The Butcher, picked up tool after tool.  Needles, clamps, knives, scissors…  Even this seemed like a ‘Saw’ movie gone wrong, but there we were watching the whole thing.  If it was physically possible, both of us would have thrown up right then and there.

Needless to say, we could watch no longer, so we dizzily turned our attention to the big idiot who had walked us into this place and what was he doing?  Calmly discussing football.  Yes…FREAKING FOOTBALL and to top it off, he almost seemed happy at what was going on.  The same guy who had guarded us countless times, who had cringed and moaned anytime we were harmed in the past, was now talking about football as we were being damaged repeatedly!  “HEY CHARLIE!  DOWN HERE, YOU TRAITOR!  IT’S US!!!  YOU KNOW THE GUYS WHO HAD A PRETTY BIG PART IN HELPING TO CREATE 2 OF THOSE 3 KIDS YOU RAVE ABOUT!  THE TWO WHO ARE PRAISED WHENEVER YOU DO SOMETHING BRAVE.  DO THE PHRAISES, ‘THAT TOOK SOME BALLS’ OR ‘MAN, YOU HAVE BALLS OF STEEL’ MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU?!!!  HELLO!!!!!”  And there he sat, not even giving us a courtesy glance, as he continued to discuss a sport which praises manliness, while our own was being savagely taken.  As we pondered how to end our 33 year-long relationship with Gutless Chuck, the pain, anger, and disgust were too much to handle and we again lost consciousness.

We awoke in our normal, warm surroundings.  It was comforting, but we both knew things would never be the same.  Something deep inside the two of us had been stolen.  As balls, we play a pretty big part in indicating the person we’re a part of is a man, but we couldn’t have felt less manly.  I mean, yeah we felt new, but in an empty sort of way.  All we could think about at that point was how we would be viewed in the future.  Would either of us ever be looked at the same when hanging out in a gym or pool locker room?  Would we be laughed at, frowned upon or pitied…or maybe, just maybe there were others like us?  If so, maybe there’s a support group or we can all go to counseling together or something!  But how would Right-Side Roger and I ever be able to tell if another set had encountered the same horrifying thing we did?  We can’t talk and clearly can’t do sign language, so what the hell can we do?!!!

It’s been a rough couple of days, since the “Snip Snip,” as the Big Idiot likes to call it.  We’ve heard plenty of jokes, met Mr. Ice Bag (avoid him if you can), but we’ve also had a few conversations with the Big Id…ok… with Charlie.  He explained that he did what he did for a reason.  Explained a few advantages resulting from the “procedure,” with the biggest being no more new children excitedly running up and accidentally head-butting us.  I suppose that’s a good thing.  I think one day, when the images are no longer trapped in our brains, we’ll be able to forgive him.  In the meantime, whether it’s standing over a five-foot putt to win a match or watching a closely contested sporting event, neither of us look forward to the next adrenaline filled moment of our lives, as it will no doubt remind us of the “Double-Murder of 2012.”

PS…Can someone please explain to Charlie and men everywhere, that when Bob Barker says, “Please spay and neuter you pets,” HE’S NOT REFERING TO YOUR BALLS!!!