“I think he’s ready, Bill. He’s young, but he’s hungry. I think I can make him a starter.”
“Good. I just got word that Philips is out the rest of the season, maybe for good. Get him ready for next week.”
“He’ll be ready, Bill.”
Though they lost, Mike finished the last forty seconds of the game confident that he had done his best. He completed eight passes with pinpoint accuracy. They ran out of time before finding the end zone, but he managed to impress his coaches.
The next day, Mike got a call from Coach Galliano. “I need to see you in my office tomorrow.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll be there, coach.”
Mike was positive he was going to hear about the interception.
Monday afternoon in Galliano’s office. “Well, Mike, Philips is hurt real bad, torn ACL. Doesn’t look like he’ll be coming back. I’m moving you to the number one spot. You looked good Saturday. I know this is a lot of pressure for a freshman. Can you handle it? If not, I’ll have to utilize Diaz.”
Diaz was their punter and third string quarterback.
“I’m your man, Coach.”
“That’s what I want to hear, son. Now get with Coach Brier, and do whatever he tells you to do. Got it? I need you ready for Saturday!”
“Yes, sir!”
Mike was happy to be back at the top again, although he was sad he had to get there at the expense of Scott. He didn’t think that Scott was a bad guy, but that was the way it went. This was going to be his time and he was going to take full advantage of it.
Mike called his dad that night. “Hey Dad, did you guys hear? I’m starting Saturday.”
“Yes, we heard. You think we might be able to come watch your games now?”
Mike responded, “Of course! I can’t wait to hear mom in the stands.”
“She’s been calling everyone to tell them. She has her banner and her air horn ready to go. We’ll be driving down on Friday, but won’t get in till late so we’ll see you Saturday. Then maybe we can go to dinner that night after the game?”
Mike eagerly responded, “That sounds great. You mind if Frank comes along?”
Big Mike chuckled, “I’m not sure if I can afford to feed that gorilla, but yes, of course. We’d love to see Frankie again.”
It was the last game of the season, and Mike played a good game. He threw only one interception, and thanks to Frank never saw the turf.
“Great game today, son,” said Big Mike that night at dinner.
Coach Peterson had come to the last game also, and had joined them for dinner. Mrs. Peterson was ill and could not be there. “Yeah, you looked good out there, boy. Don’t let the loss get you down. You looked good too, Frankie. The Dynamic Duo is back together.”
Mike always liked that slogan, “Dynamic Duo.” They had picked it up in high school, and after a local reporter wrote about them in the local paper, it stuck. With Frank as his front man, Mike didn’t think anyone could stop them from achieving greatness.
Sophomore year. Mike was doing well in school and decided that he eventually wanted to go to law school. He chose to major in Philosophy, like his father had. He had researched and discovered that Philosophy majors often get accepted to law school above prelaw majors.
Mike also had dreams of playing football professionally, though his father kept him grounded and focused on his education. “You’re great son, but remember to focus on your education. One injury and your football career can come to a screeching halt.” Mike always remembered his father’s advice.
Football and college continued, and Mike was now once again at the top of his game. He and Frank moved into the frat house, and Mike became Captain of the team. Mike always kept his promise to Coach Peterson and helped keep Frank up to date with his studies, as well.
Junior year. The Panthers were relishing their best season in ten years. With a record of eight wins and zero losses, they were looking at an invitation to their first bowl game in school history. Things were looking up, and Mike was feeling like the master of his own destiny.
Saturday, game nine. Mike looked in the mirror and repeated a mantra he had taught himself and would repeat before every game to psych himself out. “You are the man. You can do this. Nothing can stop you. No one can stop you. You are invincible and you are a football god.” He raised his arms in a victory sign and then met up with the team in the locker room.
After a potent and inspiring speech from Coach Galliano, Mike was feeling empowered and invincible. They took the field. He was having an incredible first quarter, and they were up ten points. Second quarter, it was third down and three to go. A quick lateral to the outside should bring an easy first down. Mike lined up behind Frank. The ball was snapped, perfect as usual. Frank stepped up in defense of his Captain. However, the opposing line was prepared and double-teamed Frank.
In a dirty move, one player took him high, and the other took him low. They miraculously managed to topple the giant. Mike got mauled by the defense. A rare sack. Mike couldn’t believe it. He got up ready to chew Frank’s ass as he always did on those ever-so-rare occasions, when he saw Frank lying motionless. By some means, Frank took a blow to the head, and lay there unconscious.
Mike’s heart sank. “Moose? MOOSE!”
Frank was out cold. The trainers came rushing out, and with a few minutes and a handful of ammonia pearls, the sleeping giant awoke. Frank stumbled off the field with Mike’s assistance. The crowd cheered and Mike sighed with relief.
“You scared the shit out of me, you big oaf.”
“I’m sorry I let you down, Mikey.”
Looking up at Frank as they walked, Mike smiled and said, “Whatever,pussy!” The two laughed.
On the sideline, the trainers continued to evaluate Frank. “Sorry, big guy. You’re out for the game.”
“No way! I’m good—I can play!”
Coach Galliano came over to Frank. “Easy big boy, I need you healthy for next week. We got a bowl game to prepare for. Just take a rest.”
Mike looked at Frank. “He’s right, Big’n.”
“But who’s gonna watch out for your puny ass?”
“Don’t worry, I can handle myself, Mother Moose.”
Frank grabbed Mike’s jersey and pulled him down to tell him, “Seriously Mikey, watch out. These motherfuckers are out for blood and they’re playing some dirty ball. I won’t be there to protect you.”
Mike could see the seriousness in his eyes and said, “I hear you, brother. I’ll watch myself.”
Mike rubbed Frank’s sweaty head, and Frank smiled.
Over the stadium loudspeakers, the announcer broadcasted, “And now coming in for the injured center number 50, Frank Peterson, is number 57 Miguel Menendez.”
The team huddled up and Mike called the play. On the line, Mike would give the count. The play was designed to go on three. “HUT ONE! HUT TWO! WHAT THE FUCK?”
The ball was snapped early. Menendez, with whom he had never played in a real game, was totally off rhythm. It was most likely nerves from being in his first game.
Mike fumbled around with the ball, but managed not to drop it. He scrambled to correct the mistake, but the entire line was out of sync. Mike was looking for a way out. Ground the ball? Go to the ground? No, I’ll keep it and run.
Before he could put his plan into motion, he felt the bus that hit him from behind. Mike thought he could hear in the distance a familiar bellowing voice calling out, “Mikey look ou-”
REALITY SUCKS
T uesday morning, three days after the game, Mike woke up confused. He was in a dark room. He heard beeps and saw an IV in his arm. He called out, “Where am I? Hello?”
A petite, pretty woman in pink scrubs and with an ID tag hanging around her neck came into the room. “Oh good, you’re awake!”
“What happened? Where am I?”
“You’re in St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in the ICU. You took quite a blow, young man. For now, you just need to rest up.”
&nb
sp; “How long have I been out?”
“This will be two and a half days.”
“What time is it?”
She replied, “Around 2:30 in the morning.”
“What happened?”
“All I can tell you is that you were in a coma. Your mother is in the waiting room. She refused to leave. Are you up to seeing her?”
“Yes, please, that would be nice.”
“Ok, let me go get her.”
A few minutes later, he heard a soft voice. “Mikey?” He looked up and saw Nancy.
Even now in her mid-forties, Mike thought she looked like she could be one of the cheerleaders at FTU. She approached him and touched his face with a soft, gentle stroke and her eyes were watery.
“Hi Mikey.”
“Hi Mom. Where’s Dad?”
“I made him go back to the hotel room. He’s been here almost the entire time and needed some rest. I can sleep anywhere, so I just pushed some chairs together and the nurses were nice enough to bring me a pillow and blanket. He’ll be here in the morning. He’ll be upset he missed you coming to.”
“What happened to me?”
“We can go over that with you in the morning. I want you to get some rest. I’ll be in the other room if you need anything. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
Nancy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
In the morning, Mike woke up and his mom and dad were standing there with the doctor.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Good morning, son. The doctor is going to go over everything with you.”
The doctor was an older gentleman with unkempt gray hair, bushy eyebrows that pushed over the top of his thick, black-rimmed glasses and a white lab coat. He reminded Mike of a mad scientist in a sci-fi movie. “Hey there Mike, I’m Doctor Gerard. I’m the neurologist assigned to your case. I’m glad to see you’re awake. Seeing that you’re an adult now, I would like to discuss your situation with you. Do you mind if I speak with your parents present?”
“No, of course not. I want them here!”
Mike’s mom and dad stood on either side of him. Nancy was holding his hand, and his dad kept a hand on his shoulder for reassurance.
“You suffered a significant subdural hematoma, essentially a brain bleed. There was a lot of pressure and we had to put a drain called a shunt in your head at the base of your skull to reduce the pressure. I must say, you are responding remarkably well.”
“How long am I going to be in here?”
“Well, now that you’re awake, I’m going to get you out of ICU later today and into another room. If you continue progressing like this, I can have you out of the hospital in a week, maybe less.”
“But I have a game Saturday.”
“This is what we call the proverbial reality check.”
The tone of the doctor’s voice changed, the kind that tells you that you’re not going to like what comes next.
“Mr. and Mrs. Carson, you might want to sit. I’m afraid, son, that your football days are over. If you were to get hit a few more times like that, it could kill you. You’re lucky that you survived this one. Repeated blows to the head could cause, at the very least, permanent brain damage. However, with the full recovery that I expect, you
should go on to live a full life without any restrictions.”
Devastated by this life-altering news, Mike cried, much like he did in his room that day in June of 1985, only this time no amount of self-determination was going to change or improve his situation. His parents wept with him, knowing how important this was to him.
“Son, don’t go thinking your life is over,” his dad said. “Football was a great sport, and I’m so very proud of you. But it was always just a game. You will still go on to law school, you know that, and you will follow your dreams of being a lawyer. You know we’ll make sure of that.”
Mike remembered what his dad had told him about how one injury could be the end of his football career. Mike also looked back to Coach Peterson and how he had always emphasized education over football. But all the encouraging memories from the past could not bring him any solace. His dream of being a professional was over.
Mike thought to himself, Reality sucks!
Nancy told Mike, “I have someone in the other room who is anxious to see you. Are you up for another visitor?”
Mike sighed, and in a disheartened tone responded, “I guess so.”
Nancy said, “We’ll go for now and send them in.”
Mike turned his head and stared dejectedly out the window. Frank tromped up to the doorway and saw his best friend lying pitifully in the dark room with IVs in his arm, patches on his chest and on the back of his head, where it had been shaved and a shunt had been placed.
Mike turned around when he heard the sound of large feet stomping up, and was surprised to see the colossal figure darkening the doorway. With a bold, audacious voice that Mike would recognize
anywhere, Frank shouted “WHAT’S UP, DOUCHE BAG?”
His boisterous announcement elicited an immediate angry response from the charge nurse, a small woman standing five feet nothing, scolding him in a thick, southern drawl. “Keep your voice down, young man! This is a hospital! You ain’t got the good sense God gave a goose! Another outburst like that and I’ll have you thrown out of here faster than a knife fight in a phone booth!”
Mike thought she looked like a child next to him, only coming up to the bottom of his chest.
After his scolding, Frank tiptoed into the room and whispered,
“I mean, what’s up, douche bag?”
Mike couldn’t help but laugh. It was the first time he had been happy all day.
In one of the most empathetic moves Mike had ever seen from the Moose, Frank came over and gave him a big hug. When he stood back up, Mike could see that he was crying. The biggest bully he had ever known, and the toughest man alive, was now weeping like a child who lost his favorite toy.
“I’m so sorry, Mikey. I let you down and this is all my fault! I should have been in there. I would have never let this happen to you!”
“Frank, you warned me, buddy. It just happened. Please don’t blame yourself, brother.”
Frank was inconsolable, and it took over a half hour to calm down the grief-stricken giant. Frank was finally comforted when Nancy came in and hugged him saying, “We love you, Frankie. We don’t blame you.
You always took care of Mikey. We know you always had his back.”
Frank immediately responded, “And I always will!”
Later that day, Mike was moved out of ICU to a private room. He could now receive visitors without restrictions, and there was always a steady stream of cheerleaders and other players coming in and out. His room was cluttered with flowers and get-well cards from people he had never even met.
The next night, Frank went to see Mike.
“So, you guys are flying out tomorrow?” “Yeah, we fly to Ohio. Big game,” Frank said.
Ohio . . . for a brief second, Mike thought of Sheila and wondered how she was doing. Mike hadn’t thought about her in a long time.
He was snapped back to the present when Frank said, “It’s not gonna be the same without you there.”
“I’ll be there in spirit, buddy. I’ll be watching you guys from the best seat in the house.” Mike pointed to his hospital bed with the nine-inch television hanging from the articulating arm on the wall in his room.
“You gotta win this one for me, pal.”
“The entire team is dedicating this game to you, Mikey. We’re gonna kill these assholes.”
Mike smiled a fake smile, pretending he was happy, but was still lamenting that he wouldn’t be there.
“Go get ‘em, buddy,” he said in a shaky voice.
The two friends hugged and Frank left.
True to Frank’s word, the Panthers won a decisive victory in Ohio. They finished the regular season nine and one, then went on to win their first bowl game ever.
Frank had already received some interest from the pros, and Mike had a full-time job keeping Moose in line and up to date with his studies.
That summer of 1992, Mike and Frank went home for a visit. Mike spent the weeks with his father, working an internship in his father’s law practice. He was still close to his parents and was developing a real passion for the law. He would watch his father in trials and help him prepare for cases. Mike and his father were inseparable, and other than Frank, Mike considered Big Mike his best friend.
Summer drew to an end and it was time for Mike and Frank to return to school. Mike went to all of the practices, and actually assisted the coaches. He had lost his full ride scholarship since he could no longer play, but thanks to Big Mike, he continued on to his senior year.
The year was going well and Mike’s grades were better than ever without the distraction of football.
Friday, November 20th, 1992. As Mike was packing for a flight home to spend Thanksgiving with his family, he heard Frank shout, “Hey Mikey, it’s Nancy on the phone. She sounds upset.”
Mike ran down the hall to the phone on the wall. Frank stood by his friend with a concerned look on his face.
“Mom? Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”
Frank watched Mike’s face suddenly go pale and expressionless, then tears filled his eyes.
Mike dropped the phone, and then collapsed to the ground. This confirmed to Frank that something terrible had happened. He picked up the receiver. “Nance, it’s Frank again. Tell me what’s going on.” Nancy told Frank the tragic news.
It would seem that a former client, Peter Loomis, was disgruntled with the way Big Mike had represented him. Peter was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole after killing his estranged wife. The day before, Peter had somehow escaped jail before being transferred to prison and went looking for the man he blamed. That evening, he found Big Mike outside his law firm while he was walking to his car. He stabbed him twenty-seven times in the chest. Big Mike died on the spot.
Epistle of the Damned Page 9