Last year I went to play badminton with my friend Jon.
Yes, it turned out he was a member of the local racket (hey-ohhhhh!) and was in the business of casually inviting friends to join him for a night as his Doubles Partner.
Now badminton, like all sports, was completely foreign to me so I had a pile of excuses ready when he asked including: “I don’t have a racquet”, “I don’t have a ball”, “I don’t know how to play”, and finally my trusty failsafe “No.”
But Jon would have none of it.
“Come on, I’ll pick you up and drop you off. You can use my extra equipment and I’ll bring a bottle of water for you. Plus, the guys there are really easy going and casual. You’ll have a great time. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
There was a bit of a Mexican standoff as we sized each other up, squinted a bit, and jutted our chins out, but eventually I sucked it up, threw on some sweatpants, and went along for the ride.
Turns out Jon was a liar.
I entered the dimly lit high-school gymnasium to the sight of high-flying Asian superstars spiking the birdie in all directions. Zipping and zooming across the court, they leapt three, four, five feet off the ground, whacking the bird in high-stakes, high-drama back and forth exchanges.
“Oh, it’s not as tough as it looks,” Jon said to my pale and worried face. “And don’t worry — no one cares how good you are. They just want to get some exercise.”
I stared at Jon with a worried glance, but eventually unpeeled my racquet, yanked up my tube socks, shivered a few times, and stepped timidly onto the court, where I proceeded to immediately get beaned in the eye by a well-smacked birdie. People, I’m telling you straight up: I got shuttlecocked.
It happened quick and I dropped my racquet stunned, cupping my eye with both hands and sucking air in loudly like a wheezy Shop-Vac. Throbbing, swelling, bruising fast, I was experiencing the birth of my first-ever black eye.
Thick and dark, purple and navy blue, I sported the big fat shiner for the next week at work. And it felt great, it felt liberating, it felt like I was free — because for once I wasn’t a wimp. No, for a moment I shed my thin, fragile shell and motored around town as a fighting thug with an attitude problem. The black eye screamed “Don’t mess with me”, “Don’t make me do it again”, and “You should see the other guy.”
Now, don’t get me wrong: it’s not great to get nailed in the face. Eyes are delicate little peeled grapes which we don’t want squash balls, door corners, or accelerating fists smacking into. All I’m saying is that if it happens and everything works out fine, then just enjoy that week of walking around with a black eye, tough guy.
AWESOME!
I’ve always wanted to sport a black eye. But in the same sense as that I’ve always wanted to have a cast on my arm or need to use crutches. I don’t want the pain of the injury; I just want the attention and the sympathy. :P
LMAO! Plus the cred of being tough!!
I got a black eye almost the same way Neil did! Except, I was only a little kid, and instead of playing badminton me and another kid were hitting rocks with little plastic tennis rackets. Thankfully, my black eye was the only injury of the day. I learned that day that rocks are not for playing sports with. Live and learn.
Hey, very nice to see you, Max! We’ve missed your purple city-dwelling elephant!
I’ve had a black eye twice in my whole life. I was 3 and I got too close to my brothers playing baseball in the backyard and I got hit in the face with a metal bat. Another time I was in middle school and me and another girl were playing to see who could pretend to hit the other one and just how close we could get to each other’s faces…. she got too close and actually hit me.
I’ve had 2 black eyes. Both caused by women. First time I was playing frisbee when I decided to make eye contact with a girl walking past. My frisbee partner didn’t notice and smoked me right in the eye with the disk. The second time I was playing baseball when 2 girls walked by. When I was giving them the “look at how cool I am” look, BAM… baseball in the eye.
BTW.. Neither of those chicks turned out to be interested in me.
I got my best black eye in college. I was at a tiny beer and wing joint in TN that was hosting a local death metal act. Apparently some of the guys had no clue about mosh pit etiquette (which does exist) and a little skinny guy got thrown across the floor and the back of his skull collided with my right eye socket (he was fine). I had to go to work that Monday with a gorgeous shiner that makeup didn’t even begin to cover.
I’ve had some very colourful ones! I walked into a door knob. The dog was happy to see me and jumped up on his hind legs! I fell up the stairs in the night… and then some! Oh the stories I learned to tell to protect myself from the potential effects of two black eyes! I wonder how many people actually believed me?!*
Now Neil, I suppose you could call yours a Bird’s Eye!!! Get it? Hardy-har-har!
LOL!
In my teens I had my first ever black eye playing lacrosse as I missed catching the heavy ball that landed on my eye. When I moved to my hand back to scoop the fallen ball from the ground, my little finger ended up in someone’s mouth and it got bitten. I shall never ever forget this double whammy awesome experience. A black eyes and swollen finger!
Ha, i received a black eye at a kendrick lamar concert by some female that was overtly excited to see him, i accidently received an elbow to the eye while she was jumping up and down…smh…lol…She didn’t do it purposely, but damn just my luck…I know next time to bring a helmet with me to any concert i go to…lol
Wow that was strange. I just wrote an extremely long comment but after I clicked submit my comment didn’t
show up. Grrrr… well I’m not writing all that over again.
Anyway, just wanted to say fantastic blog!