I’m so close.
Not only will this start the game off in the right way, but a sack will be great for my stats and move me closer to my performance bonus. And while getting my finances in order is very important, I’m also highly motivated to impress one person and one person only.
Bella.
I’m running at the maximum speed that my mammoth body will allow when I reach him. I dive low to grab his legs and bring him down, much like a cowboy roping a steer.
I have tunnel vision.
On our way down to the ground, and before McCall’s knee touches the turf, the football pops out of his hands and my teammates scramble for the ball to attempt a game turnover.
“We got it!” I hear one of my teammates say.
“It’s ours!” somebody on the opposite team shouts.
I stand up to see who actually has control of the ball and am excited to find that Reynolds is under a pile of players but with full possession of the ball.
The referee calls it.
Nighthawks recovered the ball.
It’s in our possession now.
“Fuck, yeah!” I cheer.
And then I pause.
My jubilation is stilted by an odd look from one of the staff on the sidelines, and that’s when I notice an unusual hush from the crowd. This is not the usual reaction when a quarterback is sacked; not in this town. They are usually booing or cursing someone out at this point.
No, this is different.
This feels solemn.
A foreboding feeling envelops me. Something tells me to turn behind me. When I do, I see McCall is still on the ground and he’s eerily still. I was so wrapped up in wondering which one of us got the ball that I didn’t even notice how he hadn’t gotten up from my tackle.
Philadelphia coaches and medical staff are running from the sidelines as I also walk closer toward him. There’s an odd expression on his face when they slowly pull his helmet off to check his breathing. It isn’t one of pain, like when you break a leg or something. It’s ten times more frightening than that.
There’s a vacant look in his eyes.
And then they close.
“Hunt! Wake up, Hunt!” a coach pleads, but he’s either passed out or dead, and for a moment I feel as if my own heart has just stopped.
Oh, my god.
Did I just kill a man?
dak
I’ve beenin my apartment for a week and in bed for most of it. I’m avoiding the media, the public, and particularly my teammates.
I can’t stop seeing the horrible images in my head. McCall’s blank stare. Dozens of athletes and coaches either on their knees praying or crying.
He literally stopped breathing on the field that day, so it’s hard not to think about over and over, the fragility of life and my part in it.
Clinically, he was dead.
It was only through concerted CPR efforts on the field that they were able to revive him. People are asking how a man so young and in prime physical condition could end up like this. Did he have a preexisting condition no one knew about? Did he take steroids or recreational drugs?
