The first (and last) time I was ejected from any sort of organized game was when I was 8 years old playing second base for my Jewish little league’s version of the Chicago White Sox. I turned an incredible double-play on a Reds player, whom had been in my second grade class, and was thrilled when my throw beat his slide into third for the out.
Invariably, three times a year, my fingers will bleed. My close friends can attest, my horrible habit of picking at my loose cuticles is only made worse by the lack of sleep and stress and anxiety brought on by finals week. Accompanying symptoms include either losing or gaining five pounds, persistent dehydration and either listlessness or fatigue (in accordance with however much caffeine is in my system at any one time).