I have played sports for most of my life and have had my share of injuries. In fact, if you combine the broken fingers from volleyball, busted ankles from basketball, cracked ribs from BMX racing and concussions from skateboarding, I look worse than the guy on the "Operation" game board. I've had more injuries than most professional athletes, which my wife attributes to their talent and my lack thereof.

Actually, I am cursed. I am coordinated enough to pick up sports quickly, but not so coordinated that I can accomplish all that I can dream up. It doesn't take long for my confidence to surpass my competence, thus the amateur ranking and the inordinate number of injuries.

Now solidly in my mid-40s, with my waistline a little less than 10 inches below my age, it was time to put the hazardous sports aside. So late last year, I decided to give back to the community and pass on my knowledge. Together with two good friends, I volunteered to coach soccer for a pack of wolves — I mean, 12-year-old girls.

So far, so good. I am not sure the girls have learned anything from me, but I have learned a bunch from them. As for injuries, most have been of the garden variety; a couple charlie horses, a few scraped knees and a slew of side pains. 

Actually, there was one serious injury; I remember it like it was yesterday. Toes jam into the ground then point straight back, shin shoots forward straining the connective tissue of the ankle, then a sudden pop, like a gun going off. Torn ligaments, avulsion fracture and ruptured tendon: the trifecta. Of course, this didn't happen to one of the girls, it happened to the coach — it happened to me. Curled up in the fetal position and grabbing my ankle, I looked to the sky through cloudy eyes and saw my daughter standing over me. "You OK, Dad?"

No, I was not OK. Somehow I had managed to destroy my ankle while goofing off, trying to help my kid improve her soccer skills. I guess the old adage is true: "No good deed will go unpunished."

Many of my friends blame age, but that's an insult. I have a 52-year-old coworker who paddled the Kaiwi Channel. Take that, you ageists! Some, like my wife, attribute the injury to a lack of talent, which could explain the other 20 or so injuries. Then there are those who blame my shape and conditioning. To them I say, "Round is a shape!"

The truth is, this was an accident, that's all. But I learned something very important: Life is a contact sport and no sport is safe.

The soccer season is coming to a close and I suspect that I will coach again, but I don't want to just stalk the sidelines, I want to get in the game. Being in a cast for the past six weeks has made me hungry to play. I want to get out there and tear it up! Besides, I have proven that the sidelines aren't the safe haven I had hoped for. It's time to dust off the sneakers and break out the basketball. I wonder where my wife hid my skateboard?