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“Trying to learn, man.” I held my shoulders squarely. “Mario is a lion himself.”
Forrest smirked. “I’mma make any QB look good.” He pointed to himself. “But you know, someone may make me work a little harder.” He didn’t reference Mario, or me.
“You saying he is going to make you work harder?” I watched his head wag side to side. “For real?”
“Watch this.” He pointed to the field. “We can flip a coin to decide if he’ll complete the pass. There’s no telling.”
I twisted my lips to the side. “But he’s gotten win over win for the team.”
Forrest shrugged his shoulder. “When you have a good team surrounding you, looks like you are putting in work.”
I watched the next play. Mario’s arm raised in the air as he searched the field for a receiver. Then I listened as Forrest and half the players on the sideline sucked in all the air from the room. I turned toward the field as a defensive end jumped over the offensive line and made it to Mario. Before he could slow himself, he was plummeting into him. Not something you’d see in training camp, or practice.
“Shit,” Forrest yelled as some of our team members rushed the field.
Mario laid flat on the ground, and I gripped the sides of my head. I could hardly move waiting to see if he would recover from the hit. Holding my breath as the seconds ticked on. The medics were on the field, and I grit my teeth watching them examine Mario’s body. I stood still as a statue. I couldn’t run onto the field, I couldn’t kneel down. I couldn’t even pace. I stood in a wide stance watching Mario as he laid on the field. His body completely still.
“Damn, man.” Forrest’s voice wasn’t as loud and animated as it usually was. “I didn’t mean he needed to get devoured.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and had a look of worry in his eyes. “You don’t think I jinxed him, do you?”
I shook my head. “I hope not.” As Mario’s backup, I didn’t want to take his place like that. I didn’t want an injury to be the reason I’d get my chance. I wanted to prove I deserved the spot. I didn’t want it by default.
They wheeled Mario off the field on the back of a cart. Coach Wagner stood in front of us and said, “Take a break, grab something to eat.” His eyes scanned the sideline. “If you pray, pray.”
He left the field, but before passing me, he said, “When we come back, I’m pulling you in.”
The day I got picked for varsity was one of the most exciting and nerve wracking days of my life. It was something I always wanted, but everything I feared. The defensive lineman on varsity were bigger, faster, and more brutal. Walking from the field, I felt the same level of excitement, and fear. A week earlier, playing on the field didn’t feel like pressure. Didn’t feel like the weight of the season could be on my shoulders. I looked up to the raptors and said, “God, help Mario. Don’t let this be a season-ending injury. Amen.”
Jacobi stood behind me in the line to grab lunch. He stopped his comments on the food selection to ask, “You ready, rook?”
With a panicked look on my face, I turned and told him, “Yeah.” But I could feel the bile rising through my throat.
He laughed and asked, “You sure about that? Looks like you about to shit a brick.”
“He’s ready,” Forrest assured him. “Watch this man work.” Forrest had more confidence in me than I had in myself.
I worked my whole life for that moment. But in a moment, like Mario’s hit, it could all be over. I wasn’t ready for that.
There was someone I needed to call, someone I needed to talk to. After camp, he was the first person I dialed from the car. “Son,” his voice hitched, “everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I started, trying to figure out the way to tell him what happened to Mario. “Why?”
“Well, aren’t you still in camp? Isn’t that the only thing on your mind right now?”
I laughed. “Dang, old man, I can’t call my folks?”
He grumbled, “I mean, if it takes your mind off the game, then you already know what I’m about to say.”
Growing up, my dad was like the male version of Kris Jenner. He had a strong interest in my success, and ensured I had everything necessary to be successful. He even coached my teams until I hit high school. Then he stood on the sidelines and reiterated everything the coach told me to do. Making it into the NFL fulfilled my dream, and his for me. He was hardcore though.
“Mario got hurt in practice today.”
Dad sucked his teeth. “What’s it looking like?”
“Hurt his ankle and may need to sit out for a while. Should know how long tomorrow.”
“The casualty of the game.” He reminded me, “Don’t take a single snap on that field for granted.” My dad knew the impact of an injury more than I did. His second year of college, he was taken down delivering a tackle, and it was the last he ever did. He never stepped on the field again as a player after that. His own dreams of entering the draft ended that day. “And son, don’t forget to pray before each practice, before each game.”
“Yessir, I do,” I assured him. “And I won’t take a minute on that field for granted.”
