Damn You Alex Smith

 Am I really mad at Alex Smith? No, but his recent travails underscore the notion that I should have been a professional athlete.

It’s not because of grace or speed, I would have had to go faster to have been called slow. Nor is it because of the unimpressive football season I put in with Bowie State University.

No, it’s because I get injured like a pro.

In the past decade or so I’ve had enough things occur that when it happens to a player, whether it be football, baseball or the like, I can sympathize.

When a major league pitcher has rotator cuff problems, I feel for him as I’ve been there. Obviously, it wasn't from the violent motion of throwing a 90-plus fastball, but it hurt nonetheless. It wasn’t surgery bad, but still enough that it was painful to turn the steering wheel of my car.

Talk about being sidelined because of biceps tendonitis, I’m still there.

The Atlanta Braves’ Nick Markakis was out for a bit with spine surgery-been there done that. I rehabbed to hold my son, he continued to play baseball. And it was akin to the surgery Peyton Manning went through.

To Alex Smith. Listening to the radio Tuesday morning, I hear he might play Sunday if his calf doesn’t hurt too much. I’m thinking, can’t he just play through a sore calf? Cue karma.

Playing freeze tag with Harper and Connor Tuesday night, I threw caution to the wind at one point and decided to flash a burst of “speed” to catch Connor.

Pop!

I didn’t hear it, but that’s what it felt like in my right calf. Immediately I pulled up lame as the kids and Melanie watched me hobble around the back yard. I limped through the house for a bit before the recliner became my friend until it was time for the kids to go up to bed.

It feels better now, but I have the luxury of not having to go full speed and perform while 300-pound behemoths chase after me. For my selfish reasons I want Smith on the field Sunday against the Eagles.

 But if not, I understand.