#tommy john

[i-mostly-reblog-things]

Do you think that Tommy John surgery is more prevalent in the world of Pokémon due to the increased societal use of the throwing motion?

[gummyartstradingcards]

[charaznablescanontoyota]

20 for Tommy John?

20. alone, finally

"i can’t watch this,” tommy says, worrying his fingernails against a loose thread on the couch. the ilb announcer on the tv screen is lingering over each name on the list they’re reading out, taking the time to note the team and position of each player, and it doesn’t feel anything but cruel. a prolonging of the inevitable.

“fine,” bentley says. they’re sitting cross-legged on the floor with little deb in a hastily-made sling against their chest, letting her squeeze one of their fingers in her claw. “if you’re up, will you get me a beer? there’s natty boh in the fridge.”

tommy clenches his jaw. he thinks of arguing, then thinks better of it, and steps around the side of the couch, towards the kitchen.

“if deb doesn’t come with, you gotta take care of her,” bentley says, raising their voice to be heard.

“i know,” tommy says. he opens the fridge and crouches to look inside, wincing at a twinge in his back.

“you, tom.”

“i know.”

“i mean, sable can help. lonnie can help. but we’re the ones who stole her, so -”

“she’s coming with you,” tommy says, rooting around the fridge shelves for the promised natty boh.

“you don’t know that,” bentley says.

“gut feeling,” tommy says back. “she made it all the way over here, right? so she’ll cross over with you. deb’s special.”

bentley laughs. “hear that, deb? you’re -”

there’s a noise like an old radio being switched off, a warping static sound preceding a sudden silence. tommy feels like he’s stepped out of an airlock - the apartment is hollow, noiseless. even the announcer on the tv is replaced with white noise.

tommy’s phone buzzes in his pocket. his fingers finally close around the can of beer in the back of the fridge, and he straightens up with it, setting it down on the island to check his messages.

lonnie: did it work?

he frowns, and types back.

tom: yeah. they both went

lonnie types visibly for a moment.

lonnie: you’re alone?

tommy leans against the kitchen island. he reaches over, and flicks the tab of the beer can to open it, letting the carbonation hiss echo around the empty kitchen.

tom: i’m alone.

[briefmusicprincess]

Briefs!

[humbleabodepermaculture]

Every morning I get out and stretch in the morning sun with my loaded water (ginger, turmeric, apple cider vinegar, honey, lemon & salt) and loaded coffee (organic Zanzibar from Catskill Mountain Coffee Roasters w a dollop of organic coconut oil and dissolved mushroom powders including lions mane, chaga, turkey tail, reishi and maitaki). It is fucking glorious. My routine is a mash up of wisdom acquired over the years from the likes of: my high school history teacher, Lou Mroz (who the kids would make fun of for his thick Bronx accent and the fact that he divulged his predilection for stretching "in thuh noode." Mr. Mroz also changed my life by playing us 'Working Class Hero' in class. Rest in Power, Lou. You are loved); Marc Rabinowitz (my chiropractor friend who inspired me to "instead of going to one 90 minute yoga class a month, do three sun salutations every day. Boom!), Tommy John (Mr. Sun Your Balls / You Heal You himself-and who's father's name is mentioned on the regular on every MLB baseball broadcast in the nation #nocoincidences); Damien Echols (who introduced me to High Magick and beginning and ending each day by breathing in the sun and moon with four-fold breathing) and Mooji (who exquisitely explains the "what is" or "Isness" and has a gift for connecting pupils with the unified field). Mindfulness, sunlight, movement, stretching, fluids, nature, immunity, magick. Yes, please.

[baseball-babe]

Sevy had his Tommy John surgery. Hoping for a speedy recovery!

[cecilcooperstown]

Tommy John

[gregorygalloway]

Tommy John (born 22 May 1943)