Today I kicked the ground

Kicking the ball on a nice day in December.
What could be better?

It was at noontime soccer.  I had possession and had just looked upfield to see one of my teammates open and in a fine position to advance the ball toward a good scoring opportunity.  Everyone else wearing a white shirt was either hiding behind a person in a dark shirt, or looking at the ground with hands on knees, gasping for breath, and not doing so as a ruse.

I pushed the ball away into striking position with the outside of my right foot, thus keeping the defender on my back as I prepared what was certain to be the best pass of the match.  Looking up once more to see that my teammate remained in good position, I wound up with my left and returned my gaze to almost where the ball was.  Then I proceeded to smash my foot into the ground.  Hard.

Really, it's not my fault.  It's the dastardly condition of the noontime soccer pitch.  It is a great concave patch of earth with occasional clumps of grass, and additional uneven features.  Where I placed the ball for kicking was an uncharacteristically flat spot with some real grass on it, so I could not be expected to locate the ball in the usual fashion.  

My foot bounced over the untouched ball.  As usual, unintended whiffs make excellent fakes, and the opponent who was guarding me froze.  I was able to wimpily play the ball to a suddenly open closer teammate before the pain set in.  Falling to the ground, I did the near-fetal roll-around grabbing my ankle, both wanting to cry and to not violate the unstated macho "reaction to injury" code of conduct at the same time.  

I'm not sure which desire won.  Regardless, I had done a nice job stretching the ligaments in my ankle, and later I realized that the shock had also transferred to my knee.  But the worst injury of the whole affair was the bruise to my ego.

One kick, dual ice packs.
I've had some experience with this.
The ice packs...not so much with the ground kicking.

Maybe I'm just getting too old for running around kicking soccer balls.  There is a finite life to all futile human pursuits, and this one is no different.  Perhaps I should hang up the cleats and knee brace and knee pad, and...and...and...

One of the aging athlete's best friends.

Oh well...I've done much worse to myself.  I know what to do, and the ice and ibuprofen are helping.  This too shall heal.  Except, of course for the ego bruise.