Give a lad a hand
Donation protected
Hi,
my name’s Philipp Schulze. Yes, you’ve guessed it, I’m German. Growing up in such a savage, wild country you see some pretty horrific things; parents eating their own children during the long hard months of winter, me forcing the family dog, Fritz, to sell its tiny canine body for money during the recession. But nothing, nothing, could prepare me for what I witnessed last Thursday night at Goals in Coventry. It started off, as it always does, a lovely sociable and enjoyable kick about amongst the best of friends. For me, and I know I’m not the only one to feel this way in our friendship group, its the highlight of my week. Oftentimes the only time I interact with other humans. It’s a chance to play the beautiful game and banter with the people that mean the most to me. We really are a close-knit bunch. But things turned oh so irrevocably sour last week and I would not be the true friend I am if I stood by and did nothing. My best friend, confidant and soon to be brother-in-law Samuel volunteered for the usually innocuous duty of returning the ball from a shot so wayward that it escaped beyond even the dizzy heights of the fences. At the pinnacle, the summit if you will, of the fence, the worst thing I have ever endured came to pass. The most valuable part of his body, the finger that represents his undying bond to his wife, became lodged in the mesh of the fence. His wedding ring of all things trapped his wise and noble finger in the mesh. What I then saw can only be described as a death struggle. Man Vs. mesh. Finger Vs. fence. We thought he’d triumphed. He dropped to the ground next to me - we exchanged a warm smile. Seconds passed as we look triumphantly at each other. But then, like a tear from God’s all seeing eyes, something much smaller and more delicate struck the floor. The moment our live’s became irreparably damaged, and Sams left-hand, his dart throwing hand, was bereft of one its life partners. His finger had ripped off. Muscle, sinew, skin and bone had been rent asunder and with it, the fabric of our lives. The horror and trauma that we all endured that night can never be undone.
With that said, I appeal to the angels of your better nature, if you have a heart (and all ten fingers - lucky git!) please give what you can so that your small monetary offerings might provide the glue that gradually mends and knits the fractured parts of our lives, souls and minds back together. Oh could the same be true of Sam’s beautiful, beautiful hand. The doctors were not able to save the finger and at 2.03 am the finger was pronounced dead on the scene. All we ask for is the opportunity to go somwehere, without fences, and reflect and become better men together. To bask in each other’s friendship and by the grace of each others humanity, heal Sam.
(definitely not a frape by Martin Lloyd Woodward-Young)
my name’s Philipp Schulze. Yes, you’ve guessed it, I’m German. Growing up in such a savage, wild country you see some pretty horrific things; parents eating their own children during the long hard months of winter, me forcing the family dog, Fritz, to sell its tiny canine body for money during the recession. But nothing, nothing, could prepare me for what I witnessed last Thursday night at Goals in Coventry. It started off, as it always does, a lovely sociable and enjoyable kick about amongst the best of friends. For me, and I know I’m not the only one to feel this way in our friendship group, its the highlight of my week. Oftentimes the only time I interact with other humans. It’s a chance to play the beautiful game and banter with the people that mean the most to me. We really are a close-knit bunch. But things turned oh so irrevocably sour last week and I would not be the true friend I am if I stood by and did nothing. My best friend, confidant and soon to be brother-in-law Samuel volunteered for the usually innocuous duty of returning the ball from a shot so wayward that it escaped beyond even the dizzy heights of the fences. At the pinnacle, the summit if you will, of the fence, the worst thing I have ever endured came to pass. The most valuable part of his body, the finger that represents his undying bond to his wife, became lodged in the mesh of the fence. His wedding ring of all things trapped his wise and noble finger in the mesh. What I then saw can only be described as a death struggle. Man Vs. mesh. Finger Vs. fence. We thought he’d triumphed. He dropped to the ground next to me - we exchanged a warm smile. Seconds passed as we look triumphantly at each other. But then, like a tear from God’s all seeing eyes, something much smaller and more delicate struck the floor. The moment our live’s became irreparably damaged, and Sams left-hand, his dart throwing hand, was bereft of one its life partners. His finger had ripped off. Muscle, sinew, skin and bone had been rent asunder and with it, the fabric of our lives. The horror and trauma that we all endured that night can never be undone.
With that said, I appeal to the angels of your better nature, if you have a heart (and all ten fingers - lucky git!) please give what you can so that your small monetary offerings might provide the glue that gradually mends and knits the fractured parts of our lives, souls and minds back together. Oh could the same be true of Sam’s beautiful, beautiful hand. The doctors were not able to save the finger and at 2.03 am the finger was pronounced dead on the scene. All we ask for is the opportunity to go somwehere, without fences, and reflect and become better men together. To bask in each other’s friendship and by the grace of each others humanity, heal Sam.
(definitely not a frape by Martin Lloyd Woodward-Young)
Organizer
Philipp Schulze
Organizer