“It’s my knee, Doctor...”
“Ya, I can see it.” This German doctor was looking over the
MRI’s, the X-rays, the CT scans... used to be on paper but now it’s a laptop,
now he has to navigate with arrows and the mousepad-
“Can somebody get me a Red Bull?”
The Doctor, shaking his head, scratching his beard, calling
for his secretary Mina. Mina, dark hair and lipstick, pausing to look at the
superstar in the leather chair, an extra blink. A-Rod’s eyes were on his
iPhone.
“Can you get a Red Bull soda for our patient please?”
Mina nodded, and turned to get her coat with an extra bit of
swivel just in case, and then out into the hallway and the cold of Magdeburg
Street, a slow snow starting to fall on a Friday morning.
Dr. Zummayer waited until the door closed, and only a German
accent can stop a man from texting.
“So you want to undergo the therapy?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“It’s much more than the plasma, you understand-”
“Hm-I’m beginning to see that.”
The Doctor stood up.
“This is mental. This is spiritual. This is total. This is
not about committing yourself for your job, for your game, or your image. This
is now about your soul... you must find it... together we will heal it. You
live in a cannibalistic culture... a very dangerous time... if you are not
prepared to surrender yourself to the treatment, to the specifications... you
need not waste my time. Or yours.”
The laptop digitally chirped an incoming message for the
Doctor.
“If you fight me... you will win. But you will never play
like a champion again. You must learn how to lose. You must learn how to let
go... ”
Alex stood up then, his cell phone falling to the carpet. “I'll do it," and then, "I'll do it."
He looked down at his cell. "Will I get my swing back?”
He looked down at his cell. "Will I get my swing back?”
The Doctor took a breath before smiling. “I promise nothing.”
