Put off by the cloying repetition of the Richard Deitsch-spurred Twitter craze of people sharing their triumphant moments, we asked readers for the opposite: a photo or video of the single Worst Moment of Your Life. You have led some miserable lives, and we're proud to share them with the world.
Please send your worst moments to email@example.com. On with your photos.
Above, reader Holly's shot of her brother's failed stoppie. "The 'Oh, Shit!' look on his face is my favorite part," she says.
From Christopher, with this cryptic notation:
The Worst Moment of Your Life- Robby “HJ” D. circa 2008 at Indiana University- “I need my daddy!”
Tim sends along this one, asking you to "note the date on which the photo was taken."
Zach Martin has already shared his story of nearly getting killed by a beanball, but I think it qualifies for our purposes.
As the next pitch came, I jabbed my left foot out and squared my bat head toward the third-base line. I remember the ball looking strange to me — like it wasn't going where it was supposed to. I realized then that it was in line with my face, but I was committed to the bunt and already moving across the plate. I tried to bring my hands in toward me to adjust the bat vertically. Too late.
I don't actually remember what happened next: the ball hitting my face, the seizure, or the ambulance ride. The medics gave me smelling salts, and I came to with my jersey cut open and plastic heart-monitor attachments pulling at my chest hair. I remember the taste of blood and my face and left shoulder throbbing with pain. I asked my dad if we had won. He said yes.
Tom also has a baseball injury to share. His worst moment? "Tearing my ACL while sliding into home plate at Citizens Bank Park, then having two pictures of it put in the newspapers."
Here I am at my finest at a family/friends BBQ 2 years ago. That is a cheeseburger? I think there was pulled pork on it.
When I was 13 I got poison oak on my face so bad both of my eyes swelled shut. My dad insisted I didn't need a hospital. I think I got prescribed steroids but that's it. It was like this for a week.
High school vodka blackout, my 17 year old, douchebag self, reacting to another douchebag puking all over himself.
Freshman year of college, first intramural volleyball match of the season (very casual league, not many of us have too much experience with the game). Technically you weren't allowed to spike the ball in our division, but it was self-enforced and most teams wanted to allow it because, fuck, spiking a volleyball is fun.
On my first time rotating through the front row, the ball is bumped up by the opposing team, and its coming down right on top of the net in front of me. The guy on the other side of the net is maybe two inches taller than me, but I try to break out my inner Nate Robinson and beat this tall goon up to the ball and spike it right back at him.
He got there first. He had the same spiking ambitions as I, and my right hand was right in the path of his spike. I'm gonna let the X-ray speak for itself, but he got me in the right ring finger pretttyyyy good.
The day that I got a massage in China...... This hurt like hell and stayed that way for a month.
College roommate's 21st birthday. Here we are carrying him back home from the bar. Notice my other roommate's head tucked ever so gently under the small of Mike's back, and our rugby buddy worshipping with both hands what is most likely Mike's wiener.
Thanks, folks. Please keep emailing us your worst moments at firstname.lastname@example.org.