A couple of weeks back, University of Clemson Point Guard, Brevin Galloway, woke up from a nap and noticed his nuts (a synonym for testicles) had swelled up to the size of basketballs.
According to Galloway, he worked out, returned home, took a snooze, and awoke to find that his balls (slang for gonads) exploded. Within three hours later, Galloway was on the operating table, with surgeons racing to untangle his cullions (Italian slang for testes).
Here's Brevin in his own words:
[M]y balls and my nut sack were exploded!
Thankfully for Brevin, he seems to be alright, but his story reminded me of one my father often told me from his youth.
Flashback to a locker room in Southern California in the late 1960s.
Two virile, freshly showered and coincidentally nude young men (Author’s Note: Ya know, Dad this story sounds a lot more Greco-Roman that I remember it as a kid. . .we should talk about that) partaking in that oldest of locker room pastimes - Towel Snapping.
Now, hitting your friends in the nuts is funny. . . . to everyone but your friend. Nut shots are nothing new and the boys of this California high school had engaged in beanbag barbarity for long enough to receive repeated warnings from their football coach to knock it off.
Yet, as young men are want to do, they ignored those directions. The twirl of a towel, the flick of a wrist and the snap of the cloth eliciting the perfect little ray of red sunshine, the laughter - the temptation was too great.
And all at once…in a flash of misaligned pelvises…the towel, like line on a fly rod was cast, and as though by an expert angler, the line whipped back… The “snap” was not a snap, nor a pop, but a tear.
In an instant, a white towel flashing red as two freshly detached testicles soared across the locker room in a spray of blood, to the horror of an entire team of teenage football players.
Screams of terror.
Vomiting from a place of deep, animalistic dismay. Tears of regret. One harmless game turned an entire family line into a dead end, and nearly took the final generation with it.
Once the newly eunucized lad was stabilized, the coach returned to the locker room. Most of the team had dried off and dressed in abject horror…but the coach had them all return to their natural state and form a single line, circled around him so each could see the cajónes (Mexican slang for man marbles), mangled beyond recognition.
You see, even in California, the public schools of the 1960s didn’t have the problems with violence that we have today. Why? Because parents could trust the adults that committed their lives to preparing the children for the real world. And how did that trust manifest?
The paddle and someone that cared enough to use it.
As he stepped back into the locker room, the coach held in both hands…the paddle (ok, this is all sounding very gay). Something in the shape of a ping pong paddle, closer to the size of a tennis racquet, with several quarter inch holes drilled out for speed and efficiency.
Each young man received of the coach’s wisdom, swiftly applied to the seat of learning, ten times. All escaped injury, none escaped the lesson - do not play fast and loose with your rocky mountain oysters (a dish made of bull testicles) - or anyone else's, for that matter.
A punishment to deter future rule-breaking. A lesson nobody in that room would forget. Adults interested in raising the future of our nation.
How novel.
For Brevin Galloway, his story ends on a positive note. A little over a week after suffering his testicular tragedy, Shinesty, a men's underwear brand, announced that they signed Brevin Galloway to an NIL sponsorship deal.
Now Galloway will be a paid spokesman for underwear that have a built-in pouch for the family jewels (a Victorian era euphemism for testicles). A happy ending.
Fellas, , , your balls are important (pee is stored there, or so I'm told). Keep your nutsack safe and unexploded. If someone threatens them. . . teach them a lesson.
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