AT RANDOM: Body injuries

If I was a professional athlete, I would be diagnosed the same as Vancouver Canucks goalie Cory Schneider.

If I was a professional athlete, I would be diagnosed the same as Vancouver Canucks goalie Cory Schneider.

I have a body injury.

In my case, I have no problems about being open and honest with my ailments.

My shoulders hurt. My hamstrings hurt. My back hurts. My left hip hurts. The fourth toe on my right foot always feels like it’s asleep. Sometimes even what hair I have left on the top of my head hurts.

But what’s ailing Schneider is, of course, a mystery.

It was announced Wednesday by head coach Alain Vigneault that Schneider, the Canucks No. 1 goalie, suffered an injury in a win Monday over arch-nemesis Chicago, and would not start Thursday at home against Anaheim.

All Vigneault would say is that Schneider had a body injury and is listed as “day-to-day.”

Canucks beat reporters, sharp people that they are, pressed Vigneault.

“Is it upper body or lower body?”

Vigneault bit his upper lip before finally cracking into laughter. “Body,” he said. “That’s all you’re going to get.”

Vigneault was not going to diagnose what was actually wrong with Schneider (nor would his teammates divulge what happened Monday) because this is the so-called unwritten code in hockey.

God forbid you should tell a reporter or the fans that pay the exorbitant ticket prices the exact extent of an injury. Such news, if leaked, could apparently give the next opponent an incredible advantage.

If memory serves, this upper- and lower-body nonsense started with an injury to some key player during the Stanley Cup playoffs. It has since carried over into training camp and regular season injury woes.

In my previous life as a sports broadcaster and sports writer, nothing bothered me more than covering hockey teams and failing to get significant answers to injury questions.

A guy would be helped off the ice after suffering an apparent injury to, say, his leg. The player needs two teammates to help him off the ice and everybody in the building can see the player can’t put pressure on the leg.

“So, coach, about Smith’s leg injury. What can you tell me?” I would ask.

“It’s a lower body injury,” the coach would reply.

“Could you be more specific?”


“Is it broken? Is it the knee? Ligament damage? Severe sprain?”

“It’s a lower-body injury, I’m not a doctor,” the coach would reply.

Naturally, I’d get phone calls at work from fans asking if I knew the inside skinny on Smith’s leg injury.

“All the coach would say is it’s a lower-body injury.”

Hockey is the only sport that this happens.

Washington Redskins quarterback Robert Griffin III left an NFL playoff game against Seattle because of a knee injury, not a lower body problem.

Wednesday night, Houston Rockets point guard Jeremy Lim ran into a Oklahoma City Thunder forward and had to leave his NBA playoff game with a bruised chest muscle, not an upper-body injury.

Baseball pitchers, for goodness sake, are taken out of games because of blisters on their fingers, and that’s what reporters get told.

It would, I suppose, be cool if we could use the upper-lower-body issue in our everyday lives.

“Uh, sorry, Glenn, I can’t come in today and finish the column. I have an upper-body injury.”

“Upper-body? What is it?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”

Roger Knox is an oft-injured bowler, golfer and former softball player, and a reporter for The Morning Star