Sometimes,
while watching football on tv - a player gets seriously injured and is carted off the field
and I always remember my own day of pain and fear...
On s crisp October
day, we blur collar Thunderbolts played the elite Haddonfield Knights (they
were all in black uniforms much before the NFL decided to dress in somber
tones). On the kickoff, I was
surprised to be the first one down the field at own opponent – I wasn’t that
fast, but I was pumped and getting better each game. Matter of fact, I was even
starting to enjoy football.
Haddonfield’s
All-Star fullback took the ball and was coming full tilt right at me. I
imagined, he would easily plow me under, but instead, with a textbook
tackle I took him down and he fumbled. The crowd roared on both sides of the
field -this guy never fumbles, (especially with college scouts watching). The Knights recovered the ball on the own 40-yard
line.
On the first play from scrimmage I wasn’t touched by and found
myself in the backfield to meet the same player head-on and there was fear in
eyes. I hit even harder hitting and
he fumbled again! I was on top of him
and I saw the ball right along side of me…I reached for it…just as a bunch of players
dove after it too…I was flipped over on my back…but my arm wasn’t, it was pinned to the ground by a couple of
players scrambling for the ball. The whistle blew and I discovered that
my right arm didn’t work anymore, and I was afraid to move it. The team doc
rushed out and immediately signal the sideline and I was carried off the field
on the dreaded golf cart. As we crossed the field I heard both sides giving me
a cheer as I entered the dressing rooms under the stands.
Well in just a few minutes, in great pain as they lifted me into the waiting ambulance
- my mom and dad joined me. At a nearby city hospital I laid in the
emergency room for what seemed like hours.
Finally, I was wheeled into an operating room where a surgeon on call looked down at me and said,
“Son, we are going to put you to sleep for just a few minutes…you have a total
dislocated should…if you are awake for what[COI1] I must do …well… you probably never forgive or want to
play a sport again!” And then everything went black.
In
the blackness I saw flashes of light and then I was awake, it seemed like only
seconds had passed. Now in a room I awoke to my mom running her fingers
through my hair. She always did this to calm me… looked like she had been
crying, but she gave me one of her usual “everything will be OK” smiles.
My
dad, as usual, just watched.
I thought he must be thinking of his own
dislocation from a game 20 years before. He had told me many times over
the years how his “trick” shoulder plagued him… how it would just fall out of
place and he had to wrestle it back. (This was now to be my experience for the
next ten years to come until an NFL team doctor connect pinned my shoulder
together with a titanium screw. And for years later whenever it rained, I
would feel my extra hardware.)
Mom
was worried that I was hungry and then she fed me a yellow liquid that was
supposed to be soup …it tasted more like dishwater. After several hours, I was able to go and learned
that Coach Barb had our car driven and arranged for my first ambulance
ride home too.
After
a few painful hours, we left the Cooper Hospital in Camden for the hour trip to
the Holly City.
When we arrived at
the Millville city limits the driver said, “Cal I'm letting the town know your
home as he turned on the siren. It wailed all the way down our main street
– even though it was late in the evening – I had returned a triumphal return to my avid football
town.
The
rest of my weekend I laid on the couch, munching snacks with some heavy-duty
pain pills.
Monday morning came quickly; I was supposed to
stay home for a few days. Not me. I had to continue my attendance record.
I hadn’t missed a day of school since 9th grade and I was determined to make
every day for my last year. So, with my
right arm in a sling I trudged to the bus stop and went to school. That
day I learned how much I depend ed on two arms and how awful it must be to lose
one.
Getting
my books out of my locker for class became a big chore. Luckily, I am left-handed
since my right hand, even before this injury, had been practically useless and
rarely called to duty. Lunchtime however became a life changing event even
greater than having one’s arm almost torn off.
I
found that getting my meal and then carrying the tray to my usual spot with my
gang was going to be the day’s greatest challenge until…a petite blond girl
behind me in line asked, “Cal want me to carry your tray?” I replied most
intelligently, “Huh…Ya…OK!” (I rarely conversed with the opposite sex except
when I needed help with my homework.) I then tried to think of how Cary Grant would handle this odd situation as I followed
her to a table. (By the way, our cafeteria doubled as a gym which
made for an aromatic dining experience – a blend of cooking fumes mixed with
the faint scent of recently worn gym socks seeping from the locker rooms.) This
was not very romantic...
But
this was how a fumble and fate conspired for me to “go steady” as they
said then, with my first high school sweetheart. And so, began a romance
which would rival any in a Sandra Dee movie on a Saturday night - Or at least I
thought so...
(TO BE CONTINUED)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for commenting - I love to here your Millville Memories.