I said basketball, and the technician just laughed. He looked up from selecting the appropriate cast to wrap around my right ankle.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Shooting a layup.”
Here’s what happened: a jump shot had gone up strong side; I had been standing at the free throw line. The shot bricked, ricocheted high, and the rebound was batted in the air like a balloon, once, twice, then tapped to the corner. I turned to race after it. One player made a last leap for the ball, missed it, and landed directly on the back of my ankle. His weight anchored me, and his weight and force ruptured my Achilles.
The technician shook his head. “That’s crazy. I’ve never heard one like that.”
The paper underneath me crinkled as I shifted on the examination table. It occurred to me that if the guy was an inch or two to the other side of my leg, we probably just tangle up, crash, and my Achilles remains intact.