Today my colleagues and I were treated to an afternoon of beer and bowling.

I had a Guinness and marveled at my friend Tom’s prowess on the lanes (he was the leading scorer, once we got past the Pythonesque “silly round”).

I ate a couple of mini-wieners and started in on a Sprite. I had a lucky strike, followed by an easy split. But then my luck ran out. In the middle of all that excitement, I somehow managed to tear my calf muscle.

There’s nothing so disconcerting as the sound of ripping fabric, when it comes from inside your body. And there’s nothing quite so humbling as having to ice a naked, hairy white leg in front of your co-workers.

Except maybe having to admit that I’m limping because of a bowling injury.

Groan.