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| In this photo, I would have been the player on the 20-yard line. |
About halfway through the second quarter in my second, and last college football game, I was playing quarterback. Greg Gleason, who transferred to Tulane the next year and set several school records there, and I alternated at that position, but I was on the field during this particular series.
We ran what was supposed to be a rollout pass. It ended up being a quarterback keeper when no receiver was open.
The year was 1968.
Unlike today, in 1968, no players ran out of bounds intentionally. Every running back, wide receiver, even quarterbacks tried to smash their way to as much yardage as possible every time they touched the ball.
I remember being tackled by at least six players on that particular carry.
We didn’t get a first down.
We punted again. We were really good at punting.
I was on the punt team as what we called the "up back." My task was to stand in front of the punter and block the first or the most dangerous person that got close. The number one skill required for the position of up back was to not back up.
Think about it.
The up back is blocking while the punter is punting. If the up back backs up, there’s a chance for two rapidly moving objects to contact the up back's tush. Since I had no desire to receive either a shoe or football enema, I was perfect for this job.
Once the punter kicked the ball, my job was to go to the side of the field but the ball was kicked to. The punter went to the other side of the field in case the receiving team ran a reverse.
On this particular return, I could see that Cal Lutheran was trying to set up what is known as a picket line.
Imagine a row of players all approximately the same distance from the sideline. Each player is trying to keep any opposing players from passing through the line. If done correctly, the picket line makes an open lane for the part returner between his team's players and the sideline.
As soon as I saw the line forming, I got between two guys who weren’t paying attention to the up back. I waited for the ball carrier and prepared to make the tackle.
Without warning, I was smashed in the back by one of the picket line players who turned and saw me. His helmet hit me in the lower back. I went down in a heap. As a got to my feet, I looked around to see if the official had thrown a penalty flag.
He had. I felt better as I jogged off the field.
Since I also played linebacker about half the plays, three or four plays into Cal Lutheran’s possession the defensive coordinator called my name and told me to “get in there.” Nothing unusual yet.
I took a step with my right leg. No problem. But, when my brain told my left leg to take a step, nothing happened. I face-planted in front of the bench along the sidelines.
That was unusual.
The coach asked me if everything was okay.
I said no. He put somebody else in at linebacker.
The team trainer got me up on the bench. Just before halftime, I was assisted to the locker room. Once in the locker room, it was determined that there was no way I was going to play the rest of the game, So they gave me a shot of a muscle relaxer.
After the game, the trainer said that I shouldn’t ride home on the school bus. My mom and dad were at the game. They'd driven up in their car. They said they would take me to the hospital.
It was then that they were asked by the coaching staff if they would mind taking another player with them, too. They agreed to do that. At the time, the coaches were more concerned about the other player than about me. His abdomen was swollen and it was very painful, they thought he probably ruptured his spleen.
The drive from the Cal Lutheran to the UCSD hospital in La Jolla is 156 miles. I lay in the back seat of my mom and dad's Chevy Malibu. I’m too long to lay flat in the backseat of any car, let alone a mid-size 1968 Malibu. My head was on the armrest on the passenger side. My knees were bent and my feet were flat against the driver’s side rear window.
The other player sat in the front seat next to my mom. She was in the middle of the bench seat. My dad drove.
All the way home, the player in the front seat moaned every time the car made a sudden move or hit any size bump in the road. It was quite a ride.
The coaches had called the hospital from Cal Lutheran telling you we were headed that way. When we got to the hospital, my dad went to the Emergency Room to let them know we arrived.
The E.R. technicians took the other player first.
Then a young man in a lab coat came to check on me.
My mom looked at him and asked, “Shouldn’t we should wait for the doctor?”
The man introduced himself as the Chief of orthopedic surgery at the hospital.
My mom said it was okay to check me out. We found out later the doctor was also the San Diego Chargers' team orthopedic doctor.
After a brief check of my condition, I was admitted to the hospital.
Being 18 years old at the time, I was sent to pediatrics.
I found out what happened to the other player we brought home. He'd been hit so hard on one play, that he'd swallowed enough air to inflate his stomach. That was why he was in pain.
He spent most of the night burping. They released him the next morning.
If you read the title, you know what’s wrong with my back. Read next week’s post to find out when the doctor knew for sure.
Watch a version of this on YouTube:
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