Bad break

The Glory and the Pain of Pitching

By BOB OJEDA, NYT

I’d lived with pain in my left arm since I was 12, when my dad would have me ice it after a Little League outing. My dad, who had pitched in the Army, was something of a pioneer in caring for young arms. Besides, he told me, Sandy Koufax iced his arm

“Right, Dad,” I said. “Let’s ice it.”

But this time, the pain was brutal, and, well, I wasn’t in Little League anymore. It was 1986, and I was set to start Game 6 of the National League Championship Series against the Astros in Houston. I’d won 18 games in my first season with the Mets. I’d pitched a complete game in a 5-1 victory over the Astros in Game 2.

But damn. I mean, it hurt. Like a screwdriver was stuck in it. So, after years of ice, pain medicine, massage and sleeping in long-sleeved shirts to keep my left arm warm and safe, the team doctor said I had only one option left — to stick something in it. Like a needle. With something powerful in the vial.

Bad break, though: the team doctor was in Washington. I was in New York. The game was in Houston. So the team trainer called and told me to meet him at Shea Stadium. I went into the trainer’s room, and he gave me two needles and two vials: one with a numbing agent and the other with cortisone. I stuffed them in my leather jacket, grabbed a cab over to La Guardia Airport and hopped the shuttle down to Washington.

(More here.)