Counting the Days While My Mind Slips Away

by Ben Utecht

  Once I made a public decision to return for my final year of eligibility, the hype machine started back up. I wasn’t the only one talking about what I might do now that I was completely healthy. Publications again talked about me as a possible Mackey Award winner and a potential high draft choice. However, unlike the year before, I worked very hard to keep everything in perspective. I made a conscious decision to surrender the hype and the upcoming season to God. Sometimes people think only bad things can trip us up, and that we must surrender those to God so that He can make everything better. That’s just not true. When He asks us to surrender all to Him, He means everything, good, bad, and in between. I’ve found that’s the only way life really makes sense and works.

  Unfortunately, I never got to find out how good I could be if I played completely healthy. From the start of my senior season we became much more of a rushing team than a passing team. We had a group of really good running backs, led by Marion Barber III and Laurence Maroney, both of whom went on to play in the NFL. Barber was a 2005 fourth-round draft pick by the Dallas Cowboys, while Maroney went in the first round to the New England Patriots a year later. Instead of running pass routes, I spent most of my time blocking and opening holes for these guys to run through. Most games our quarterbacks hardly ever threw the ball. In our Big 10 opener, against Penn State, we ran the ball fifty times and passed it only seven. I still had a great game receiving that day. Of the seven passes thrown, I caught three for thirty-four yards. I had a really good game the next week as well, against Northwestern. We only passed the ball twelve times, but I caught four for sixty-four yards and my first touchdown of the season.

  However, those games were the high point of my senior season. A dull ache in my lower abdominal area hit me after the second game. The dull ache grew into real pain with every game and eventually affected my play in a negative way. The team doctor diagnosed it as something called osteitis pubis, that is, an inflammation of the joint of the two major pelvic bones at the front of the pelvis. The condition is pretty rare, but that’s what they told me I had. If I had known what was really going on, I would have shut down my season and called it a college career. Instead I kept pushing through the pain and hoping I would get better. The doctors treated the pain by inserting a four-inch-long needle into my lower abdomen just above places where no guy wants a needle to go and injecting me multiple times with cortisone. The shot hurt nearly as much as the injury.

  The pain in my abdomen only grew worse in spite of the shots. Then, in our eleventh game of the year, the injury became debilitating. We were playing Wisconsin at home in the old Metrodome on Senior Day. Before kickoff I was recognized and honored as a four-year starter. My mom and dad and sister were up in the stands, cheering for me. So was Karyn. This was the kind of moment I dreamed about when I signed to play for Glen Mason and Minnesota.

  Then the game started. Just like every game that season, we ran the ball nearly three times as much as we passed it. On one of only twelve pass plays called in the game, I took off on a corner route. This is the same route I ran when I broke my hip in high school and the same route on which I broke my foot against Purdue in my redshirt junior season. Just like those two games, I released from the line, ran about ten yards down the field, planted my left foot, and cut hard toward the sideline. As I turned I felt a pop-pop-pop-pop across my abdomen, like someone unsnapping a jacket. My legs started wobbling and my feet gave out from under me. My body tumbled to the ground. However, before I fell, I grabbed the football out of the air for a twenty-four-yard gain.

  The stadium went nuts when I made the catch, then it fell silent when I didn’t get up. The training staff ran out onto the field. I’m sure my mother wanted to as well, but she didn’t. Thankfully. The trainers picked me up and helped me off the field to the bench, then proceeded to cart me off to the locker room. With that my senior season and college career was over. I did not suit up for our Big 10 finale at Iowa, nor did I play in the Sun Bowl against Oregon. I finished the year with only eighteen catches for 289 yards and two touchdowns. By comparison, the year before I had seventeen catches for 229 yards and five touchdowns . . . after four games! You could say I was more than a little disappointed with how the year turned out.

  After the Wisconsin game I underwent an MRI but nothing showed up on the scans. No one could tell me what was actually wrong with me. And since no one knew exactly what was wrong with me, no one knew what to do to help me get better. Not only could I not play football—I could barely walk. That’s not good, especially for a guy who needs to showcase his abilities for NFL teams.

  With all the uncertainty swirling around me, I easily could have panicked. If I got angry with God the year before over a broken foot, I could have really gone off on Him over this unknown, debilitating injury. But I didn’t. Instead I went back to the lesson the Lord taught me after my encounter with Melissa. I prayed, “God, I don’t know what this is or how it is going to turn out, but I surrender it to You. I give it to You.” I didn’t know why God might let these things happen, but I kept going back to the fact that He always has a plan. Like my mother told me the first time I found myself lying on a football field unable to get up, I had to trust Jesus and the fact that He knew what He was doing even if I could not yet tell what it might be. Thankfully, His plan started coming into focus in a way that was better than anything I could have imagined, even if I couldn’t quite make it out for a while.

  CHAPTER 8

  OUT OF THE ASHES

  ALMOST FOUR MONTHS AFTER I felt the pop-pop-pop-pop in my abdomen during the Wisconsin game, I flew down to Indianapolis for the 2004 NFL Scouting Combine. The combine is basically a four-day job interview for every college player who hopes to play professional football. All the top executives and coaches from all thirty-two teams, along with their player personnel departments and medical teams, are there. Just receiving one of the three hundred invitations to the combine is a big deal. However, being invited to the combine does not guarantee being taken in the April draft. That’s where performances at the combine come into play. All the scouts and coaches have watched hours upon hours of game film on everyone in whom they have an interest. The combine gives them a chance to see every prospect up close. They time us in the forty-yard dash along with having us run pass routes, lift weights, do broad jumps and vertical leaps, and perform any other physical test they can think of. On top of the physical workouts, every prospect also has to take the Wonderlic test, which is supposed to measure our football IQs. We also undergo extensive medical and psychological evaluations.

  Like I said, the combine is an intense four-day job interview. The better you do in the combine, the higher you might go in the draft. The difference between being taken in the first round, or even the second or third, as opposed to the sixth or seventh, is measured in millions of dollars. That made these four days potentially the biggest four days of my life career-wise.

  Unfortunately, I still could not run or lift weights or do any physical activity more strenuous than walking across the room. When I received my invitation to the combine I almost declined going. However, I had hired an agent right after the Sun Bowl, a local Minnesota guy named Chris Murray. Chris recommended I go down to the combine and explain to teams why I could not work out. He put together a marketing packet promoting me as a player, including a highlight reel of my top plays in college. The whole thing reminded me of the VHS tapes my parents sent out to colleges in the hope that one of them might offer me a scholarship.

  I soon discovered that highlight tapes did not impress scouts who wanted to see me work out in person. A couple of teams brought me in for interviews, but I could tell pretty quickly they wanted to see more than tape. The scouts needed to see me on the field. When I could not do that, the feeling I picked up on was “Well, why are you even here?” I asked myself that question a few times, but I always came back to my agent’s advice. It was better for me to be at the combine and explain my situation in person rather than sit back in Minn
esota and leave everyone to draw their own conclusions.

  After I returned home, my agent and I arranged to hold a personal workout session at U of M for teams to come and get a close look at me. When I set the date I assumed I was going to get better. The pain in my abdomen and the weakness that spread down to my legs had to go away eventually, I thought. After all, twenty-two-year-old guys like me heal pretty fast. But, as the day of my personal workout drew near, I called Chris and asked him to contact the teams who had agreed to come and tell them I had to cancel. I still could not run. My mystery injury refused to go away. I started getting really frustrated.

  •  •  •

  About two months before the 2004 draft, Athletes in Action invited me to speak at one of their events on the University of Minnesota campus. Another U of M alum, Tony Dungy, was scheduled to speak right after me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to actually meet Tony for the first time. Not only was he coach of the Indianapolis Colts, but he had established himself as one of the greatest coaches in football. More than that, Tony was just as well known for how he lives out a very strong faith. He was the kind of man I strived to be. And he was also coach of Peyton Manning, one of the greatest quarterbacks, if not the greatest QB, to ever play the game. Any football player who catches passes for a living would absolutely die to play on the same team as Peyton Manning.

  When it came time for me to speak, the first words out of my mouth were directed right at Coach Dungy. I said, “Hey, Coach, as a Golden Gopher alum, if you really care about the university, if you really care about the football program, I expect you to take me in the upcoming draft. Let’s be honest, us Gophers stick together!” The seven hundred people in attendance at the McNamara Alumni Center all roared with laughter. Coach Dungy broke out in a huge smile and just shook his head. After the laughter and applause calmed down I had a chance to talk about the positive effect that Athletes in Action had on my faith journey in college. Athletes in Action is a discipleship program that focuses on one-on-one coaching and accountability. My Athletes in Action mentor was Tom Lamphere, ironically the same person who mentored Tony Dungy. It was an honor to share a stage and my testimony with such a man and coach of integrity.

  I received a great reaction from the audience for my remarks. When Coach Dungy stood to speak, the first thing he said was, “You know, Ben, I know how talented you are. However, we drafted a tight end in the first round last year in Dallas Clark. Tight ends are not going to be high on our draft board this year, so we don’t expect you to be available when we might get around to taking one.”

  Then he paused for a moment as if he were actually giving the question some thought. Then he added, “But, if for some reason you slip through the cracks and you are not drafted, which I can’t see happening, I promise I will be the first person to call you.”

  The audience broke out in applause. I smiled and gave a nod of thanks. Honestly, I didn’t think much of what he said. I knew the chances of me not being taken were very, very small. Chris, my agent, still felt I had a good chance of going on the first day, that is, in the first three rounds. If not, then I was a lock to go early on day two of the draft.

  •  •  •

  My family threw a party for me on draft day. For the NFL draft the only players that go out to New York are those who are most likely to go in the first round. Back in 2004 the draft took place over two days, a Saturday and a Sunday, which meant all of my family could come celebrate my dream coming true with me. My aunt Heidi (my mom’s sister) and uncle Greg hosted the party. We chose their house because they lived in a central location, which allowed even more of my friends and family to attend. Of course my mom and dad were there, along with Karyn and her parents. The room was electric. Everyone was so excited to see where I was going to start my NFL career. A camera crew from one of the local television stations was there as well. After all, it’s not every day that a local kid goes in the NFL draft, let alone on the first day.

  Chris and I had a pretty good idea which teams were most likely to take me. Some teams, like the Colts, already had established or emerging stars at tight end. Like Coach Dungy told me at the Athletes in Action event, the odds of them taking another high-profile tight end were pretty slim. However, we knew the Cleveland Browns, Miami Dolphins, Washington Redskins, and Philadelphia Eagles all needed a quality tight end. Chris seemed to think one of these teams would select me.

  When the draft broadcast came on ESPN, everyone gathered around the television, anxious and excited. To no one’s surprise, Eli Manning, Peyton’s younger brother, went number one overall. The first tight end came off the board five picks later. The Cleveland Browns, one of the teams Chris thought might be interested in me, took Kellen Winslow. While I would have loved to have been the first tight end taken, Kellen was the highest rated of the draft class. He played at a more passing-oriented college program at Miami, as opposed to the Golden Gophers, where running the ball was our first priority.

  I sat anxiously during the entire first round. Karyn snuggled close to me. After every pick came and went without my name being called, my dad gave me a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. It’s still early,” he said multiple times. When the New England Patriots made the final selection of the first round, they selected the second tight end to go in the first round. Unfortunately, it wasn’t me. They selected Benjamin Watson from the University of Georgia. I was a little surprised. Watson and I had very comparable stats.

  When the first round ended and my name had not been called, I said, “That’s all right. After my injury and playing hurt, my going in the first round was a long shot.”

  My dad added, “That’s right. Don’t worry. You probably won’t have to wait long before your name is called.”

  Two tight ends were selected in the second round, neither of whom was named Ben Utecht. Two more went in the third round, including the Colts selecting Ben Hartsock from Ohio State early in the round. Ben and I had played against one another all through college. I didn’t yet know him well, but I knew he was a good guy. I was happy for him going to a team like the Colts, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little to see them take a tight end and it not be me. I tried to fight off thoughts like this, but sitting in my aunt and uncle’s living room, packed with people, a fidgety news camera crew waiting for something to happen, I couldn’t help but be disappointed.

  After the Cincinnati Bengals took a linebacker from Purdue with the ninety-sixth overall pick of the day, the third round came to an end, as did the first day of the NFL draft. Everyone was very nice to me. “Don’t worry, Ben,” they said, “your time will come. You’ll see.” I smiled and thanked them and tried to be gracious, but I was very disappointed. Honestly, I was more embarrassed than anything.

  We canceled the party on the second day of the draft. After what had happened the day before, I didn’t really want a lot of people around. I watched the fourth and fifth rounds with my parents; my sister, Ashley; and Karyn. By the time the sixth round started I made an excuse about not feeling well and went upstairs to my room. I just needed to be alone for a while. In all, sixteen tight ends were selected in the draft, but my name was never called. For two years I had agents calling me, telling me I was a lock to go high in the draft. Two injuries later I found myself contemplating what I was going to do with my life now that professional football had been taken out of the picture. I couldn’t believe no one took a chance on me in the sixth or seventh round. Teams take flyers on players in those rounds. No one expects a sixth- or seventh-round pick to be a star; most don’t even make the team. Those that do become legends, which is why you hear so many stories of how Tom Brady was chosen in the sixth round and then set out to exact revenge against all the teams that passed on him. It looked like I wasn’t going to have one of those stories. My professional football career appeared to be dead on arrival. I couldn’t help but feel I had been in this place once before, as in exactly five years earlier when I got hurt in my senior yea
r of high school football.

  Once the seventh round came to a merciful end, my dad and I drove over to Chris’s office to discuss what we might do next. It was one of the longest drives of my life. I sat and stared out the window through the whole trip, holding back tears full of fear. My dad and I must have talked about something. I know he probably tried to cheer me up, but I wasn’t up for that. Not yet, at least.

  When we finally made it to Chris’s office my dad and I flopped down into chairs across from his desk. “So what happened?” I asked.

  “I think you were red-flagged,” Chris said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The only reason I can think of for why you weren’t taken is teams decided you were too much of an injury risk,” Chris explained. “There is no other explanation. Based on your stats, I should be negotiating your first contract right now.”

  “So what are my options?” I wanted to know.

  “Since you weren’t drafted, you can sign with any team as soon as the college free agent signing period begins today. This gives you more flexibility as to where you end up,” Chris said.

  A college free agent is any undrafted college player who has completed his eligibility or has decided to leave school no less than three years after graduating from high school. Teams sign a ton of college free agents every year. Most just fill out the rosters for training camp and never make the team. However, there have been a few over the years who have made their mark, including Dallas Cowboys star quarterback Tony Romo, Hall of Famer Warren Moon, and future Hall of Famer Kurt Warner. Chris talked like I now had this incredible freedom to take my talents wherever I wanted and become the next Kurt Warner. I didn’t share his confidence. In my mind, since no one drafted me, the odds of me getting picked up by anyone now were pretty remote.