the list just keeps on going. With this many guys getting taped, it can take quite a while to get strapped up and out the door.
So the other day I was flashing back to my time in Denmark and the first time I got taped by the trainer over there. Talk about debacles! I think the tape job actually made my ankle less stable. Soon, however, I realized that the trainer must have done this on purpose, as it was common over there for guys to tape their own ankles. I also soon realized (after I had sprained my ankle a few times from inadequate self-tape jobs) that the quality of treatment over there was just not up to par with what we have here in the U.S. Bruce Morgan, hereafter Man Mountain, takes pretty good care of us, and is constantly taping or ultrasounding or electrically stimulating or deep muscle massaging or causing various types of pain that actually speed up the recovery time (you know what I mean Craig!). Over there, I'd get two aspirin and a glass of chocolate milk (Dude, I have no idea, but it's like the Danish cure-all). Man Mountain doesn't even allow chocolate milk in the training room!
While with Fredrikstad in Norway, I learned that the Norwegians differ with the Danes in their choice of elixirs. I severely strained a muscle in my groin 43 minutes into my first game against Valerenga. I was devastated, and was positive I would miss considerable time as it felt like something had "popped."
"Not to worry," my trainer said, "the witch doctor will fix you in no time!"
Needless to say, I was skeptical, and a little wary that he was sending me out into the country to see an "alternative" healer. But hey, I was willing to do whatever it took to get back on the field. So two days later I drive out to the boonies and see this doctor. The first thing that struck me was the heavy smell of hot corn in the waiting room. I kid you not. I kept looking around to see if someone had been snacking on some creamed corn or something. I then met the man, who will forever be "the Witch Doctor" to me, who proceeded to give me two shots in my back, then hooked up an IV that delivered what I found out later to be the corn-smelling medicine, then gave me four shots directly in my groin. That was it for day one, although I went back two more times for Hot Corn Treatment and more shots in my groin. That was the full extent of my rehab. Amazingly, I was good to go the next week, although I did smell like corn for a good part of the weekend (I'm serious, Haley was totally bummed out).
Not that I wasn't happy with the results, but the alternative therapy just creeps me out. I was driving to Stockholm the weekend after that treatment (FFK had the weekend off), and an hour into the trip my back and hamstrings were on fire! I thought the Hot Corn was radiating out of me! Haley soon pointed out that my seat warmer was turned up to 6, but I have sworn off witch doctor's for the rest of my life.
Man Mountain, thanks for being you.
Hot Corn,
Wade
