Wilfred Bouma of Aston Villa had a bad weekend. Oh, sure, you might have had a lackluster weekend: a few rounds of laundry, maybe reluctantly helping a friend move, some desultory purchasing of consumer goods followed up by a mediocre movie night. (Neat trick, X-Files movie: you made Russian re-capitation experiments boring.)↵
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↵Okay, maybe I was the one who had a lackluster weekend highlighted by three-hour naps. But it certainly couldn’t qualify as bad, since it still beat nearly twisting my ankle off the end of my leg. (Warning: This is slightly graphic. If you’ve just eaten breakfast, you may wanna wait 20 minutes.)
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You Can’t Spell ‘Monday’ Without ‘Horrific, Nausea-Inducing Injury’
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↵Bouma, shockingly, did not break his leg here: doctors pronounced his apparently maimed leg as being a mere dislocated ankle, meaning Bouma could actually play football again this year. But enough about him: I didn’t even get drunk this weekend. Not once. I’ll just let you decide who the real victim of fate was here.↵
This post originally appeared on the Sporting Blog. For more, see The Sporting Blog Archives.
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