BloodThumb?

Yesterday I had a catch with my dear friend John McGoey. It was on this odd little terrace thing on 60th street and Columbus Ave. While a beautiful spot, there were many opportunities for two guys masculinely throwing a baseball as hard as they could at each other to lose the ball, break a window or inadvertently brain each other. To wit!

At one point, Mr. McGoey threw me a groundball, because I like pretending I'm Derek Jeter. I ran as hard as I could, ranging far to my left and lunged, the ball just out of my reach. What was NOT out of my reach was a giant cement base for a flagpole. At the angle I was approaching this block, all I could see was the very corner, pointing directly at my eye or, less dramatically, my head in general. In order to avoid dying, I threw myself backward, slipping on the grass, losing my balance and smashing my hand into the corner of the block instead.

Now, it doesn't sound like I drew as much blood as Jeff. I KNOW I didn't draw as much blood as Stefan. And I understand that if I hadn't blocked my progress, I could've gained the elusive title of BloodBrain. But do I get to be known as BloodThumb? I await your approval, BloodBodypartBoard of NYS.