Monday at Bo Pelini’s weekly presser he was asked a lot of questions about the health of Taylor Martinez, the one-time starting quarterback of the Nebraska Cornhuskers. He deflected. He dipped, dodged, ducked, dove, and dodged. When asked for specifics on Martinez’s toe-situation, he gave generalities and when asked to comment further on the most controversial little piggies in Nebraska history he said something to the effect of “I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”
Thankfully non-Dr. Pelini cleared that up. Everyone just stop asking him about Taylor’s toes. He doesn’t have the answers. I mean, honestly guys. Why would the head coach take an interest and/or have — maybe — casually mentioned his 4-year Starter’s, All-Time-Offense-Leader’s potentially season-imploding injury? He’s not Doogie Howser, damn it!
Well, anti-Patch Adams, as it turns out you’re in luck. Because I just so happen to be an amateur podiatrist. And I think I may just have a few ideas on what is going on with those toes.
Theory #1: This Happened
Amateur Medical Prognosis: After watching Bloodsport on loop mode for 26 straight hours, T-Magic decided that not only was Jean Claude Van Damme the single greatest actor of the 20th century, but that any pent-up aggression and angst that he was feeling could be worked out by repeatedly spin kicking cinder blocks into dust. This resulted in him shattering his toes and turning them into human bone-shrapnel. In medical terms: he’s boned. Get it? You see what I did there?
Theory #2: This Happened
Amateur Medical Prognosis: After a hard practice in early September Taylor went to blow off some steam. He grabbed his favorite floatie and rode his ten speed to the lake immediately after practice to catch a few waves at Oak Lake. Little did he know, that far beneath the placid, idyllic, crystal waters of Oak Lake something was lurking. Something ancient. And something vile and wicked and with rows and rows of serrated teeth. Something that was hungry. For toes. After suffering a debilitating Piranha injury, Martinez has been sufficiently hobbled that we may not see him back on the field until we inevitably end up playing in the Capital One Bowl again.
Theory #3: This Happened
Followed up almost immediately by this:
Amateur Medical Prognosis: That’s right. It’s my amateur medical opinion that what probably fully did Martinez in this weekend was that he was visiting a former girlfriend at a giant, multi-national corporation. He had taken his shoes off, on a tip from a fellow traveler, to help avoid the typical jet-lag malaise that effects so many of us, and quickly found himself embroiled in a life or death battle against terroristic criminals led by none other than Minnesota coach, Jerry Kill. Moments before making his move and sprinting to the team bus, Kill and his evil henchmen had Martinez barefoot and stranded behind a giant wall of glass windows. Kill and his boys then busted multiple caps into the windows, shattering them, and Martinez had no other choice: he either had to sprint across the floor of glass shards or stay there and be murdered. He took the first option and that’s what rendered him so ineffective at running the option. That’s a long way of saying: he could be out for a while. Thanks a lot, Jerry.
Theory #4: This Happened
Amateur Medical Prognosis: Bo Pelini is an under-achieving head football coach who demands he be called “The Rude.” After a series of insane events, in which his life becomes inexorably intertwined with a local millionaire who has a very similar name, The Rude and his offensive coordinator, Tim Beck, are tasked with paying a $3 million dollar ransom in order to get back their star quarterback, who is being held hostage by a group of nihilists from the University of Iowa. (*Author’s note: because if you’re an Iowa fan, life really is meaningless.) After an angry debate over the price of the ransom, The Rude refuses to pay and hangs up on the Iowan nihilists after shouting, “3 Million dollars?!?! Who do you think I am, Kirk Ferentz?!?!?” To show The Rude that they mean business they chop off the toe of his former starting quarterback and mail it to UNL Chancellor, Harvey Perlman’s office. Once Perlman finds the toe, he immediately digs into the university’s Scrooge McDuck sized pile of money and pays the ransom. However, the damage is done. Martinez is down to 9 toes, one shoulder, and 3/4 of a hip.
Medically speaking? Martinez’s only hope is if Pelini and his sidekick, the Hunchbacked Igor Papuchis grave-rob some human parts and re-attach them to Martinez, then shock him with lightning-harnessed electricity and attach bolts to his neck.