Post Op

I have just come from my first bath since having my left knee "scoped" Wednesday. It was not a case of the wounded athlete sexily soaking his scars in a steamy hot tub, so, calm down, ladies. Instead, to keep the stitches dry, I had a Little Mermaid diaper taped to my knee wrapped in Saran wrap. Yum. And Saran wrap, as many comedians have already noted, only sticks to itself, so it was basically useless. Nice product you've got there.

Anyway, the bath was nice, and the surgery went well. My big concern going into the surgery was the anesthesia. I don't have much experience with drugs. I've never used them to induce sleep, so I didn't know what to expect. I imagined that my awake, alert consciousness would be trapped inside this doped out shell, bouncing around inside like a pinball, struggling to get out. Or perhaps a series of bizarre dreams, featuring gargoyles nibbling at my knees. In other words, a bad trip. I got none of that, of course. I dropped off to sleep in an instant, dreamed nothing and awoke what seemed to be just seconds later, groggy and a little chilly. My lovely wife scooped me up, took me home, put me in the downstairs bedroom and there I lay until the aforementioned bath.

Thus far, the recovery has gone well. The pain and discomfort have been minimal; I haven't used any of the prescribed pain medication. I'm restricted from walking around much, which has been biggest inconvenience. I write while walking around the neighborhood, so if this blog post sucks, blame the knee. Once the knee heals--in about a month, according to the doctor--I can resume my pursuit of the dunk. The doctor said that my miniscus, which acts as a shock absorber between the bones of the knee, is as thick now as it was the day I was born, so I should be able to return to full strength.

I'm no doubt a fool to resume the strenuous work of shaping up for the dunk, but then I was a fool to begin that pursuit in the first place, so why stop now? Come April I'll be sprinting up hills, doing knee-up jumps and, of course, warm up the Super Cat, Gil, I'm coming back.

Dream a Little Dream

Gil Thomas, my Dunk Dreams trainer, has a dream: equality for all, black and white, on the basketball court. On the hardwood, no one need feel inferior just because of the color of their skin. Because Gil, you see, has this crazy idea that white men CAN jump. With the proper training.

He has made a believer out of me. Before I injured my knee, I had improved my vertical jump by seven to eight inches. And I'm not only white, I'm old. At Gil's request, I give you video of some of the Great White Dunkers to inspire us all to greater heights.

What's In a Name?

Dunk. Slam Dunk. Slam. Jam. Slamma-jamma. Cram. Stuff. Throw down. Posterize. Boom-shak-a-lacka. Then there's the windmill, tomahawk, double-clutch, rock-the-baby, 360, alley-oop, and behind-the-head. People who have dunked are said to have the hops, to have skyed, flown, walked on air, climbed the ladder, gotten up and gotten sick with it. They've had air time, hang time and given someone a facial.

Home run. Homer. Tater. Four-bagger. Slam. Blast. Park it. Go yard. Touch-em-all. Take it downtown. Dinger. Long ball. Big fly. Bomb. Gopher. Money ball. Circuit clout. Crack. Moon shot. Round-tripper. Seat boomer. Tong. Tonk. Downtowner. Dial eight. Bash. Fence buster.

Have I missed any? Have you made up any that you're particularly proud of? Which has the most and the most colorful synonyms--the dunk or the home run? Let me know. Talk to me.