It’s hard to believe, but ten years ago I was a junior in college. If you would have watched me pitch in college (or when I was in the minor leagues) you would have noticed a routine after each outing. The end of that routine was always the same: I would wrap my arm, from shoulder to forearm, with bags of ice, secured by the clear plastic wrap that athletic trainers seem to have in abundance. Looking back, I have to admit something: My name is Brian Oates, and I had an ice problem.
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