Feltner’s Ulnar Nerve: Another Rockies Nightmare!

Rockies pitcher Feltner (ulnar nerve) goes on IL

Oh, for crying out loud. Just when you thought maybe, *just maybe*, the universe might give the Colorado Rockies a moment’s peace, the hammer drops. Ryan Feltner, bless his cotton socks, is headed to the injured list with an ulnar nerve issue. An ulnar nerve issue! Do you hear that? It’s the sound of a thousand tiny alarm bells ringing inside my head, each one screaming “TOMMY JOHN!” louder than the last. It’s an orchestra of impending doom, folks, and I can practically taste the despair.

I saw the headline pop up on my feed, and I swear, my heart seized. “Feltner… ulnar nerve… IL.” It’s like a code, a secret language baseball gods use to torture us, the long-suffering fans of the purple-clad purveyors of pain. An ulnar nerve! That’s not a stubbed toe, is it? That’s not a hangnail. That’s a *nerve*. In the elbow. The one that basically dictates whether you can throw a baseball or if you’re just going to stand there, sadly flapping your arm like a wounded pigeon.

The Inevitable Spiral of Worry

My mind immediately goes to the darkest places. Is it minor? They always say it’s minor at first, don’t they? A “precautionary measure,” a “slight discomfort.” And then, poof, six months later, there’s a press conference about a significant tear, and the next thing you know, Feltner’s got a brand new elbow ligament harvested from… where do they even get those things? Is it from cadavers? Are we sacrificing the dead for the living, all so the Rockies can continue their valiant struggle against gravity and basic athletic longevity?

It’s not just Feltner, you see. It’s the *pattern*. It’s always something. The Rockies and injuries are like two magnets, inexplicably drawn together in a cosmic ballet of destruction. Every time a young pitcher shows a definate glimmer of hope, every time a new face offers a whisper of potential, BAM! The IL comes calling. It’s like there’s a malevolent entity lurking in the dugouts, specifically targeting anyone who dares to dream of a winning record above .400. Perhaps it’s the altitude. Perhaps it’s the cursed ground. Or perhaps, and this is my prevailing theory, the baseball itself is sentient and actively trying to break us.

So, here we are. Feltner on the IL. Another piece of the already fragile puzzle removed. Another reason to watch games through splayed fingers, anticipating the next catastrophe. Because that’s what being a Rockies fan is, isn’t it? An exercise in perpetual, anxious anticipation of the next shoe to drop. The next nerve to fray. The next promising career to be put on hold indefinitely. Don’t tell me it’s fine. I know it’s not fine. Nothing is ever fine. Not for us.