Note from author: Just trying something a little different here, while I was waiting for another story to get published. Hope you enjoy!
I guess it all really started during my Senior year of High School. I was one of those standout athletes. You know the ones that play multiple sports and excels in all of them. I was a slot receiver on the football team. being recruited by several top colleges for that position. I was also the starting Point Guard on the basketball team and had offers on the table from some of the best basketball schools in the country. As if that wasn't enough, I was also ranked as the #1 Shortstop in the state, looking at the possibility of forgoing college and going straight to the Pros. To say my life revolved around sports would be a gross understatement. Sports wasn't just life to me; it was everything. That all changed one cold November night, during my Sr. year of football.
It was a normal play that we had ran a thousand times. Truthfully, it was probably our "go to" third down play and rarely did it ever fail to produce a 1st down. It was a simple play, based on confusing the defense, and no matter how many times we ran it, they always seemed confused. Sometimes I actually wondered why we ran any other play at all.
It was, what our coach called, a triple option play. When we came to the line, our quarterback would survey the defense, then shout out a single word. The word was a code that let the rest of us know what he was seeing. Once that word was called, we would shift to new positions that corresponded with the word he called out. Honestly it was pretty complex from our stand point, because there were a dozen different words that he could call out, and each one had an entirely different, triple option meaning. But regardless of the word he called out, one thing was always clear; I was the primary target. The only real questions were how the defense reacted, and what was the best way to get the ball in my hands.
We were in the 2nd round of the state playoffs and, as things fell, we were already facing the team that was our only real threat at not repeating as State Champs.
Late in the 4th quarter, with the score tied, facing a 3rd and 6, from their 42, coach called "The Play." I knew this was a huge moment for me. The stands were not only packed with fans from both sides, but also with scouts from a plethora of top colleges. Most of them were already heavily recruiting me, but this was my chance to show them that I was the receiver they needed.
When the play was called, I lined up in an outside position. This allowed our quarterback to get an idea of how they planned to cover me. I noticed the same thing he did. Either they were in a zone defense, with underneath help on me, or I was being double covered. I just smiled, knowing exactly what word was about to be called out.
Just as I suspected, our quarterback shouted out, "Oklahoma!" Quickly we all shifted into our new positions; mine bringing me into the slot, just off the hip of our Tight End. When the defense shifted to match us, their strategy was confirmed. They knew I was the primary target, and I was indeed being double covered; not that it ever mattered. I wasn't being recruited by the top football schools for no reason.
The ball was snapped. I bolted from my position and made a quick break to the right, heading towards the sidelines. I was being covered by a corner who wasn't strong enough to tackle me, and a linebacker who wasn't quick enough to keep up with me. What they didn't realize was that the quick break to the sidelines was just a fake. Two steps after I broke to the sidelines, I planted my right foot, hard into the ground and cut back across the field. The linebacker stumbled, tripping over his own feet and the corner, who had lined up outside of me, was now out of position, leaving me wide open.
As soon as I broke, I looked back over my shoulder just in time to see our quarterback release the ball.
This guy was every bit the athlete I was, if not better, and, like always, the ball was laid out perfectly in front of me as I cut across the field. A first down was imminent, and with our kicker's leg, and the limited amount of time left on the clock, we were all but assured a victory and an easy road to our 2nd straight state title.
The ball landed perfectly in my hands. I took a step as I spun my head around, looking for that lane I needed to get a few extra yards.
That's when it hit me. Or I guess I should say, that's when they hit me.
The first hit was high, right in the chest, from a 220 lbs. Middle linebacker who shouldn't have been there. He should have been covering the running back, coming out of the backfield. But he missed his assignment and luck was on his side this night.
The second hit was low, right at my knees, and came from the cornerback who had been tailing me.
My body folded like a blanket as the two sandwiched me between them, doubling me backwards and twisting both of my legs into a completely unnatural position.
I don't remember the hits so much as I remember the sound, and the subsequent pain. The sound was loud, like huge rubber bands being snapped in half. The pain was the most intense I had ever felt in my 18 years of life.
Despite all of my efforts, I couldn't focus enough to hold onto the ball and it popped off my chest, as I hit the ground, right into the arms of a player from the other team. He managed to rumble his way for a few yards before being tackled, but that was completely irrelevant to me. All I knew, at that moment, was that my knees hurt in ways that I didn't know my body could hurt.
Once the play ended, with our opponents now having the ball, several of my teammates began shouting to our sidelines. A couple of them even threw-up as they looked at me laying there on the field, with legs bent at an angle legs were not meant to bend at.
The coaches rushed out onto the field, as did my Dad, who had been watching from the stands. My mom wasn't there, but then again, she never was. She was a nurse and weekend nights paid the highest salaries, so that's what she always worked.
It really wasn't that she didn't want to be there, she did. But my dad's drinking problems had always meant that mom had needed to work the higher paying shifts, to ensure we had enough money to pay the bills. Of course that was before they divorced. But after the divorce, Mom felt an even greater need to work those higher paying shifts.
