Maybe I need to reflect on the very real possibility that I'm just a bit salty about this whole thing because, when I was playing sports in school, our wound care consisted of an old toolbox full of glorified duct tape, an ice machine that might have a few cubes but only if the Pepsi wasn't selling well that night, and no shortage of dads who would loiter around the bench laughing at your grotesquely swollen ankle telling you to "walk it off".