Sidelined.

Every golfer, no matter the skill level, has had those strange moments of foresight, when you're standing over a chip or a tricky 30-footer and the only thing you can think of is, "Man, I'm going to drain this." And then you do it. And you don't know what to do. And you sit there scratching your head, trying to figure out the best way to tell your cart-mate that you knew that was going in before you hit without sounding like a complete a-hole.

For some reasons, it happens to me mostly on tough pitch shots. Once every few months I'll have one, think to myself, "Well, this is going in," and then hit it and watch it do what I said. Boom. Thanks for coming.

Last Friday, I was heading to play basketball at the gym I frequent and as I was pulling into the parking garage a thought crossed my mind - "I haven't rolled my ankle in a really long time." That was it. I went about my ritual. An hour or so later I was laying on the ground of this L.A. Fitness crutching my ankle after a scream that might have won me an Oscar, with all the terrible things that occur when you do this passing through my mind. "What if it's broken?" "How long will I be out?" "When can I GOLF again?!?"

Things didn't get much better. I spent the next few hours playing the icing game, trying to tell myself that it is just a sprain and life will be fine, but I knew it was more serious. My foot hurt. So after the fun trip to the ER I was told that a bone was broken and here was a cast and some crutches and that they would be the only steel-shafted items I'd be using for the next few weeks. Talk about a blow to my short game.

So now life is spent on couches and the main piece of advice you get from friends is "elevate your foot" and "don't overextend yourself." You find out who your real friends are when stuff like this happens, because it really isn't fun to come hang out with someone that can't really move. No pool parties, no jogs around the neighborhood and especially no Friday afternoon range sessions when it's just you and the birds.

But it does make you appreciate this funny game of golf. Right now, as I type this, I have my TaylorMade driver next to me and my golf bag across the room, collecting dust but looking magnificent. Golf can become monotonous at times, but when you are forced NOT to play, it makes you appreciate it that much more. Not many things are as good as a weekend rounds with friends, when birdies and bips are tossed around, and you're just trying not get stuck with the bill at the end of the day. Sweating on the golf course is the good kind of sweat ... the stuff you appreciate, because it means you're working hard at something you love. A few weeks away from the game isn't that bad, because it just means when this cast is gone and this foot is working again, I'll be out there trying to figure out exactly what I was trying to figure out before I went down.

Tempo. Swing plane. Alignment. Perfection.

Drug addicts don't have anything on us golf nuts.