It seems that I have broken my right hand.
More specifically, it seems that I have broken the fifth metacarpal in my right hand, a/k/a the bone connected to my little finger.
It says something about me that the next question is answered by: "Rabbit punches."
Why, yes, I am a dirty fighter.
Over the years my fighting style has (semi)unconsciously moved from a really vicious and dirty straight-out-of-the-gutter striking discipline to a judo/sambo-based grappling style. While the transition is mostly due to my being inside the jail where knuckle-dragging back-up is always within eye-sight, the officers are the only ones with boots, and everything is under the unblinking eye of cameras (To a camera, a dropping hip-throw looks ever so much kinder than a shovel hook to the liver. The recipient may beg to differ -- landing on a concrete floor with 170-pounds of me using his rib-cage as a cushion seems to engender a sudden belief in the mercy and benevolence of Insert Major Organised Religious Figure Here -- but the recipient's opinion on the matter doesn't count)
[note from Phlegmmy- he's been typing this with his brace off. I told him if he was meant to remove the brace for typing, the folks at the hospital would have told him, "Keep this brace on except when you want to type something." What do YOU think? *exasperation* I say if half the planet can type one-handed, then he can muster, too. I'm told it's quite common on the Intarw3bs.]
I would be remiss, however, if I didn't admit that getting older has no small influence on the shift. Punching and kicking, and the slipping of same, is really a young man's game. A two-hour work-out on the focus-mitts, the heavy bag, and sparring leaves me downing Tylenol like candy and requiring assistance to get out of bed the next morning.
Two hours of judo practice, on the other paw, leaves me with the slight "good" ache that usually goes away before supper.
Unfortunately, in cases of sudden, unplanned dynamic social interaction I tend to default to the gutter and the Glasgow kisses, ear slaps, fish-hooks, gouges, rabbit-punches, knee shots to the groin, elbows into the eye-brow, kidney shots, liver shots, floating rib shots and all the other goodness that is the result of a childhood in the overseas oilfield staffed by multi-national veterans of wars ranging from World in scope down to the nasty little bush wars of the 60's and 70's.
Ah, well. I see the orthopaedist tomorrow. In the mean-time, it's a deuced inconvenience.