Unfortunately, the second the ball touches my gloves, a large body slams into mine, sending me straight into the turf.
It’s not until I start to get up that I realize my finger feels like it’s on fire.
“What the hell?” I mutter, walking my ass to the sideline.
“You okay, man?” Leo asks, slapping me on the shoulder.
Before I can answer him, Coach is yelling, “Henry, what the fuck did you do?”
I hold out my hand as a few athletic trainers surround me. It only takes them a second to meet with the team physician and lead me to the blue tent where they test for injuries.
It’s not the news I want to hear.
The physician examined my hand for swelling and bruising, poking and prodding to see where it hurt the most.
When he determined that something was most definitely wrong, we walked inside their terrible stadium for an X-ray, where I was told I have a phalanx fracture.
I’d be out of the game for six weeks.
Not quite half the season, but not exactly a short amount of time, either.
I handle the news well.
In other words, like any athlete, I put a towel over my head and cry about it.
Leo was so excited at the start of this season to make the Super Bowl again. We had last season to get right after he was injured the season before, and we all knew this would be our year.
And maybe it still will be.
It’s only six weeks.
But it feels like so much more than that.
Football is my pride and joy. I’ve sacrificed my blood, sweat, and tears for it. And my health.
Everyone loves to make jokes about football players getting CTE. Parents don’t let their high schoolers play because of it. It’s the first excuse people throw out when someone behaves badly. Yet when some players say they sacrifice their bodies for the love of the game, those same people tell us to shut up because weget paid so much to play.
You cannot play this game well without passion, and most of the time, we’re passionate enough to know that we’re not going to retirehealthy.We’re going to retire when our wholebodies give out. Our knees can’t take standing every day. Our brains can’t think straight.
We love this game enough to know that and still play it.
There are only so many groups of men that you know have the potential to win a Super Bowl, and this is that group of guys.
No matter how many times Leo and Owen slap my shoulder, telling me it’s going to be fine, or that six weeks is nothing, it feels like I’m blowing a whole year of these guys’ careers.
This team isn’t the same team as last year. Or the year before that.
It definitely won’t be the same next year, either.
But the team isn’t me. I’m not the backbone of it.
Although I’mgood,they can get by.
But it’s hard to tell yourself that everything is going to be finebecause you’re not good enoughto be an essential cornerstone of the team.
The thoughts swirling in my brain grip me like a vice.
I pretend to sleep on the plane home, and when I’m back at my place, I head into my room without a sound.
