Sometimes the scariest part of a match isn’t the scoreline.
It started like any normal league match. Crisp autumn air, my last combo league match of the season — a 7.5 USTA doubles match with a good friend named Mike. We’d never played together before, and I was actually looking forward to it. The kind of match where the tennis matters, but not too much, since we had no chance to make playoff’s — a perfect way to end the season.
What I didn’t plan for was the early Halloween horror show about to erupt from the second toe on my left foot.
Early in Set 1: Enter the Toe Demon
Early in the first set, I tossed up a serve and came forward to cover the return. That’s when it happened. A sharp, sudden pain shot through my left foot. My second toe seized up like it had seen a ghost.
I tried to shake it off — thought it was just a cramp. I’d had plenty of those. But this one didn’t go away.
I hobbled back to the bench, took off my shoe, peeled off my sock… and there it was. My toe was pointing in a direction it had no business pointing. Not broken. Not swollen. Just… wrong. I had dislocated my toe. Mid-match.
What Would Rafa Do?
It hurt. But what was I supposed to do — retire? Crawl off the court? Let my partner fly solo?
No. I grabbed the toe, took a breath, and did the only thing I could think of: pulled it out and up until I heard the pop.
It snapped back into place like some haunted puzzle piece. Pain gone. Sock and shoe back on. Limp back to the baseline. Business as usual.
Except… not really.
Finishing the Match: Return of the Toe
The toe wasn’t done with me. It popped out again. And again. And again.
Three more times before the match was over. Each time, we paused play. I limped to the bench, peeled off my sock and shoe like I was peeling off a cursed tennis costume, and popped that little demon toe back into place.
By the fourth time, I was a seasoned toe-relocator. Not the pro I dreamed of being, but a pro nonetheless.
We lost the match. 3 and 3.
But weirdly, I walked away with something more valuable than a win: respect. From Mike. From our opponents. Maybe even from the ghosts of tennis greats watching above.
Still… I would’ve preferred the win. Let’s not get crazy.
Losing Tastes Like Chicken (Sliders)
Was it worth it?
Yes. Because this was an away match at a very nice country club. Which meant one thing: chicken sliders after the match.
Hot. Crispy. Delicious. I limped into the lounge like a wounded gladiator and loaded my plate like a champion. My toe was hanging on by a thread, but my stomach was happy. That’s what we call recovery protocol in the senior tennis world.
The Morning After: Enter the Budin
The next day, I just so happened to have a podiatrist appointment already scheduled — for a completely different issue. I was following up on some minor surgery I’d had the week before on the pinky toe of my other foot. Coincidence? Or were the tennis ghosts of players past having a little fun at my expense? Either way, I figured I’d kill two toe problems with one appointment.
My toe that had surgery healed perfectly. She took one look at my zombie toe, handed me a Budin splint, told me to wear it for four weeks, and basically kicked me out of the office. No Halloween candy. No questions about what led to the injury. No testing. No curiosity. Just a splint and a casual “you can get more on Amazon if you need them.”
Okay then.
As I walked out, it hit me: I had a tournament coming up. In 16 days.
Would I still be able to play?
I called the office, slightly panicked. The doctor was too busy to speak to me. Her assistant told me, “You should be able to play. Just wear the splint if you can, if not, put it on right after you finish, before you flip the scorecard”
Not exactly inspiring — but I took it as a green light.
My brain went into tournament planning mode:
- Take a full week off.
- Let things calm down.
- Then do some solid prep the week before the tournament.
The plan lasted exactly one day.
Toe-rrific Coaching Disaster
The very next morning, I was scheduled to coach two group sessions.
I figured I’d take it easy. Just stand and feed. No movement, no strain, no drama.
Wrong.
Midway through the first session, I instinctively stepped to hit a ball back — not technically “feeding,” but hey, we’re tennis players, not robots.
And BAM. It happened again.
The second toe on my left foot dislocated mid-stride. I let out a quick scream. Six horrified ladies stared at me like I’d just turned into a werewolf. I hobbled to the bench, peeled off my shoe and sock, told them to look away (honestly, even uninjured my feet are nightmare fuel), and popped it back in.
They were good sports. I was less amused. This was not the direction I wanted my recovery to take.
I somehow made it through the second session without incident. Went home. Foot up. Ice on. Patience wearing thin.
Toe-tally Fed Up
The next day: two more lessons.
You guessed it. It happened again. Twice.
Once during each lesson.
And here’s the kicker: I wasn’t even lunging. I was just walking.
That’s when I knew this wasn’t just a fluke. This toe was haunted.
So, I did what any rational adult would do: I spent five hours deep-diving YouTube.
I watched every podiatrist explain plantar plate tears. Every toe taping method. Every metatarsal pad review. I became the unofficial internet-certified expert on toe dislocations.
And here’s what I realized — my first doctor dropped the ball (on my foot!).
No questions about history. No differential diagnosis. No MRI. Just “here’s a splint, good luck, happy Halloween.”
Not wasting anymore time, I made an appointment with a new podiatrist. Armed with questions, screenshots, splints, and righteous indignation.
Final Thought: The Toe Saga Continues…
As of this writing, I’m still waiting to be seen by the new doctor.
But at least now I know what I’m dealing with — and what I should’ve been told from day one.
I’m hoping I’ll be able to play in my tournament. I’m hoping the new doctor has answers. And I’m really hoping I don’t have to snap my toe back in during a third-set tiebreak.
This isn’t the comeback story I wanted. But it’s the one I’ve got.
And if nothing else, I now know how to win respect — one gruesome toe reset at a time.
Moral of the Story?
- Check your feet. They might be plotting against you.
- Always play with a friend named Mike. You need a witness.
- Chicken sliders heal most wounds.
- Don’t settle for vague advice from a disinterested doctor.
- And if your toe dislocates? Pull it together — literally.
Got your own tennis horror story?
Come share it in the Senior Tennis Unpacked Nation Facebook group — we’ve got space for your blood, bruises, and brave match finishes. Bonus points if your recovery also involved poultry.
