“How about this? You let us film David getting checked and the discussion as to if and when he’ll play. I will guarantee that anything about his specific injuries never makes the air,” Jeff suggested.
“What do you think, Coach?” I asked Coach Mason.
“Do you trust him?”
I shrugged.
“Jeff has never given me a reason not to take him at his word, but I’m not as sure about his network.”
“Then I think any serious discussions will be held off-camera. Agreed?” Coach Hope interjected.
Everyone agreed to the compromise. Jeff’s documentary was important to Lincoln because it was a welcome addition to the process of making us a magnet for the better players who might want to transfer. And that wasn’t only for football.
The documentary also highlighted the coaches. I suspected everyone knew that Coach Rector would be on to bigger and better things next year. Coach Hope had said he planned to stay here because he didn’t want to coach college ball. Coach Mason was done after this season, so he didn’t care one way or the other, as far as his personal interest was concerned. He was one of my staunchest supporters, and I relied on him to give me advice.
I looked at Coach Mason, and he nodded.
Doc Grog had me strip down to my shorts. I was still bruised up and down my right side, and you could see some of the bruises had started to turn yellow as they healed. I should have earned an Academy Award when I didn’t flinch as Doc dug his fingers into my ribs and hip.
“If he can’t practice, he can’t play,” Coach Hope proclaimed.
“If you make sure he doesn’t get hit, I will clear him for non-contact practice, at least,” Doc Grog said.
“You have what you need?” Coach Mason asked Jeff.
“I’m good, thanks,” Jeff said and left.
“How is he really?” Coach Hope asked.
“He put on a good act, but he’s still hurting. I have some tricks up my sleeve that can get him on the field, but you can’t push him yet. He’s still healing. I would say you have him throw some today, and we see how he is tomorrow. Honestly, I doubt he’ll be ready for Friday, but in a pinch, he might be able to play a quarter,” Doc Grog declared.
I knew that I wouldn’t be able to talk my way onto the field. Coach Mason would put his foot down if he thought I might risk further injury. As much as I wanted to play, I had to admit it was comforting to know that you had someone in your corner. Coach Mason had shown he was someone who’d stand up for me that way, even if I tried to talk him out of it.
Once the coaches were satisfied, they left to get ready for today. The training staff closed all the doors and gathered around me.
“We’re going to try a couple of approaches to help you manage the pain. Do you think the pills you’re taking will allow you to throw today?” Doc asked.
“No. They do help me get through the day and sleep, but they don’t help if I move wrong or try to do anything too strenuous,” I admitted.
“I’m not interested in upping the dosage right now. What I’d like to do is give you a local anesthetic. At State, we use novocaine to great success. It will numb you up but not mentally impair you,” he told me and then turned to Mr. Hasting. “If this works, I’ll leave you with a supply for the week. Keep me apprised of how he does. If you need me to come back, let me know. I’ll make sure I’m here on Friday and check him before we decide whether he can play or not.”
He demonstrated how he wanted them to jab me with a needle. They had me wait for about ten minutes and then checked me. I wish they’d done this a couple of weeks ago. I felt great.
◊◊◊
At practice, we did a quick film session and then walked out in shorts and t-shirts. It looked like everyone wanted to see me throw a football. It was like I’d never been hurt. Coach Mason didn’t allow me to rip it or throw deep, but I could make all the passes.
Then we ran sprints for conditioning. It felt good just to run. I worked up a good sweat, and then they sent me to the showers.
◊◊◊
After practice, Dare finally got brave enough to tell me what he wanted.
“Can I tag along with you for a while? My mom has a department meeting tonight.”
“I’m going to be in my flight-school class. I’m not doing anything exciting,” I warned him.
He nodded that he would be okay. I had Cassidy take us to the little Mexican place that had burritos as big as your head. She and Dare decided they would split one. I bought an extra one for Roy Tyro, my flight instructor.
Brook had decided to do her own thing tonight. I’d figured she’d want to get in some flight time, but apparently, I was mistaken. We’d talked about Cassidy learning to fly and paid for her time in the simulators to see if she liked it.
“Do you want to take the class with me?” I asked her.
“I talked to my dad, and I can’t afford it.”
“That wasn’t my question. I didn’t ask if you could afford it, I asked if you wanted to take the class,” I said.
“You and Brook can’t just pay for everything,” she complained.
I barked out a laugh.
“As if! When was the last time you ever paid for anything when I was around?” I teased her.
