There's a common piece of advice that simply suggests, "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade." I've always thought that was an uplifting message, until yesterday when life bypassed the lemon distribution and instead handed me a massive knee injury during a basketball game. See photo. I'm not even sure what kind of refreshing beverage you can make out of elephantitis or gigantism, but it's surely not lemonade.

Here's how it happened...I was dunking the ball in my usual double-clutch tomahawk fashion, when I noticed a kitten trapped in a nest of water moccasins and landed awkwardly on top of a terrorist cell sleeping on the court.

Okay, that was obviously bullshit, but there was a hot blonde behind me in Starbucks as I was typing, and I thought she may be reading this. The fact that she's no longer here leads me to believe either she was never interested in me, or she really hates kittens.

Anyway, there's a small group of comics here in Astoria (Queens) that gets together and plays basketball every Wednesday. Yesterday, as I leaped for a rebound, my knee and its surrounding tendons decided to go on strike. I don't blame them. They've been working hard for 34 ½ years without any benefits. Besides, after so many miles in the Saturn, I think my body has tapped into the mentality of the United Auto Workers. I just wish they had better timing to stop working...like maybe at a moment when I was bathing in a tub of morphine.

It was without a doubt the worst pain I have ever experienced, and keep in mind that I sat through all of Eddie Murphy's movie Norbit. The knee is by far worse, believe it or not. I chose, however, not to go to the ER immediately. My knee may have felt like it was being jabbed with hot pokers, but I still didn't like the thought of another bill to pay. I do have insurance, but after reading up on the company's literature, this is how I think it works: I pay a decent-sized premium every month, and when I actually need to use the insurance, it must only be in instances of acute jaundice or voodoo doll lacerations. Everything else is out of pocket. Awesome. I'm glad my premium payments are going towards that one extended visit to Haiti coming up.

Rather, I decided to ice it and see how things played out, while calling around to different clinics to get their two cents. I called a sports medicine center here in Astoria.

"Hey there. I just hurt my knee pretty badly. Can I possibly come in for an X-ray?"
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Um...no. See, maybe you didn't hear me. I just hurt myself. I didn't plan it in advance in a way that would make an appointment necessary. I don't know how many people call your clinic and say, 'I'm thinking of ripping up a few ligaments next month. Do you have anything open for September 26?'. But that can't be often."

I learned a valuable lesson...Sarcasm is not only discouraged in medical offices, but it's one of the many things not covered under my health insurance plan.

Let's take a look at the knee again. Just to give you a better perspective and scale, I have placed this photo next to one of a basketball. See, people...not only is it as big as a basketball, it's bigger than LeBron James' head. Pretty impressive, eh? That bulbous growth under my kneecap is like a headband, but it's pretty nasty looking. That's either a busted tendon, or something from the movie Tremors. I'm betting on the former, but hoping for the latter simply so I can move one degree closer to Kevin Bacon.

I admit, it's gross. When I realized the severity of the problem, I took action. This afternoon, I went to get an MRI. I don't know if you've ever had an MRI, but it takes place in a very small, confined place, and it's impossible to escape the loud, obnoxious clicking and buzzing sounds. Basically, it's like a dance club in West Hollywood, only clinicians don't care about collar popping.

This sense of humor, or attempt anyway, is my way of making lemonade, people. I'm in serious pain. I don't know what the MRI says, but I'm seeing a doctor in the morning and will know more. My friends here have been unbelievably helpful. I'm incredibly grateful to know them, even if I think their generosity is only an attempt to get some soon-to-be-prescribed pain killers.

Needless to say, I think my basketball playing days are over. I hate to think that, but it makes sense. Athletic people go through life participating in a series of activities that require less and less effort as they get older. For example, they start off playing things like basketball and football. Then as they age, they turn to slow-pitch softball, then church-league slow-pitch softball, then co-ed slow-pitch softball, then shuffleboard, then gin, then dominoes, and then it's just bitching at the news. I never understood why men traveled that sports path, but now I'm starting to grasp it.

Wish me luck on the doctor's visit, everybody. I'm pretty damn concerned. If you're a religious person, please say a prayer that my insurance covers this. But just to be sure, stick a pin in the knee joint part of a voodoo doll.