I broke my first bone when I was twnety-one years old. I was in Florida on Spring Break with my girlfriend, and as per the custom of Bike Week in Daytona Beach, we were pickling our livers on the sunny beaches. After several hours of drinking, and massive increases to my BAC, we were in an Irish Pub with many locals discussing the greatest month in sports, which is March Madness. The University of North Carolina basketball team is very dear to me, the tarheels are the greatest team ever, and I will defend them with my life. Well being sloshed out of my mind, a Florida native was quick to bring up winnings consecutive national championships by Florida, and proceeded to speak quite poorly of UNC. The blasphemous remarks were quick to make me fly off the handle, punches were thrown, and subsequently, bodies were thrown out of the bar.
I woke up the next morning with my hand the size of a large grapefruit, I had broken the fifth digit in my right hand, which they call a boxer’s fracture. Quite unpleasant.