All’s fair in football
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The 2012 football season is here, and I’ve got mixed emotions.
I played football for nearly 10 years. The memories I have of that stupid game are vibrant, wonderful, heart-wrenching and poetic. However, to attain those memories, I had to go through a lot of pain.
If you’re lucky enough to play, I’m sure you understand exactly what I mean. With every “up” comes a “down,” and if you truly give yourself to the game, you’re heartbroken once your playing days are over.
One of my biggest downs came when I nearly died during one of our two-a-day practices in high school.
The temperature was well above 100 degrees with 100-percent humidity. It was the last day of camp, and our sophomore coaches wanted to see how tough we were.
In full gear, under the sun, without water, we ran for miles. Miles and miles and miles. I remember our starting middle linebacker vomiting fluorescent orange bile after the first hour. A few guys stopped, put their hands on their knees to catch their breath, and passed out as soon as they tried to stand up. The sudden rush of blood to their brains combined with extreme dehydration just turned them off like a light switch, click.
Our team had about 50 guys. Only half made it to the end of practice. I remember taking a knee and concentrating on a blade of grass to stay conscious. I was trying to bring it into focus, but couldn’t. I bit my tongue, hard, until it bled. The pain kept me awake. I have no idea what the coaches said during the post-practice talk.
Once they’d dismissed us, I walked to my friend’s car and told him to open the door (I was too weak). Falling across the passenger seat and center console with my legs on the cement, I lay in the air conditioning and prayed I’d feel better soon. It felt like five minutes. My friend said I was motionless for the better part of an hour.
I’ve never felt closer to death, but it was a blessing in a weird, sick kind of way. I’d found the line you can’t cross. I knew how far I could push it, how far and how hard I could go until the lights started to dim and I felt reality slipping away. It was also a curse because I pushed myself so much harder every day, and I’ve got the injuries to prove it.
I’ve blown out my right knee twice. My right ankle has no ligaments left; I roll it about once a month. I contracted a staph-infection, but I was lucky and it turned out to be treatable. Some people have lost limbs or worse.
I have mild to moderate scoliosis of my spine and several distended or bulging disks. I’m in pain daily with nerve damage and scar tissue in the small of my back. Morbidly humorous side note: I tried to get a stress-relieving massage once. If the masseuse pressed anywhere on my back below the ribcage, my limbs would jerk around involuntarily. She had to stop when I nearly kicked her in the face. Nerve damage is not a joking matter.
The doctor who looked at my spine X-rays said, “You’re 19 years old and you have the back of a 65-year-old construction worker. Whatever you’re doing, stop.”
I’ve broken and dislocated more fingers than I can count. My hands ache with arthritis when it rains, and I’m only 22 years old.
And yet, for reasons too complex to explain in a short weekly column, I still love the game.
A coworker recently learned of all my injuries and asked if I thought it was worth it, knowing the consequences. I answered immediately, honestly, and from the heart.
“Yes.”
She asked me why. Again, the list of reasons is too long for this weekly column, but I have enough room left to give you one of them.
“Because the world isn’t fair. Because no aspect of ‘the real world’ is equal, and it’s not a level playing field. Who gets what and why depends on who they know, who their family is, how much money they have, and sometimes, just plain dumb luck. Football is fair, equal, and just. There are rules and officials in place for that exact reason: to make sure everyone is treated equally. Because the system around the sport is fair and equal, the sport itself is fair and equal. By that, I mean you get out of it exactly what you put into it. Rain or shine, dusk or dawn, hell or high water, that field will always tell you exactly what you’re worth. You get to take out just as much as you put in. That’s why I love the game.”
So, to all the high school players in the valley, take the advice of a washed-up offensive lineman; enjoy every second of it, and make as many memories as you can.
Football isn’t golf; you can’t play forever.
Also, the Chicago Bears are winning the super bowl this year. Remember, you heard it here first.
