Guided by Gibby

In 1967 Cardinals' Hall of Famer pitcher Bob Gibson suffered a broken leg when he was struck by a ball off the bat of Roberto Clemente. Gibby was never known to be the most patient man. One legendary story about Gibson's on-field disposition finds catcher Tim McCarver being dispatched by manager Red Schoendienst to go to the mound and talk to Gibson during an opponent's rally. As McCarver tells it, he got a couple of steps toward the mound only to hear Gibson bellow, "What the hell are you doing?" McCarver told his pitcher of the manager's instructions. "Get back behind the plate," came the answer. "The only thing you know about pitching is that you can't hit it."
As you might guess, Gibson quickly tired in the summer of 1967 of being questioned repeatedly by reporters about his injury. Finally, he made a small sign that he taped to his shirt. On the sign:
"1. Yes, it is off." (meaning his cast)
"2. No, it doesn't hurt."
"3. I don't know how much longer." (before he could pitch again)

I have developed a better understanding of Gibson's frustration in the last month than I ever had before. The questions have been frequent and awfully repetitive. I don't have a sign (yet), but if I did, here are the answers:
1. No, I don't know who I ticked off.
2. Yes, it hurts a great deal.
3. No, I'm not sure how we'll manage.
4. No, thank you, I haven't been accused of anything.
5. No, I don't think you can be embarrassed unless you worry about the opinions of people whose opinions don't matter.

I am grateful for the well-wishes of a few kind people; less so of those who also stop on the interstate to gawk at the crash victims. I wish I had better answers. I wish even more that I didn't need them.