Chapter 14

Tom and I were waiting outside his office when he arrived. He told us we had five minutes to get there, but I think we made it in about two.

"Gentlemen," he said brusquely as he brushed past us. "Give me a minute and come in."

I glanced at Tom and he shrugged.

Coach Brown was seated behind his desk when we knocked and entered.

His face broke into a smile.

"Fantastic," he said. "I honestly figured it would take most of the morning to get half the team to less than 8 minutes. I wanted to give everybody a little time off today and you two gave me a perfect reason.

"That was a good plan you put in effect, R.J. You identified the ones who couldn't cut it and focused on them to make them better. I was hoping it would come from a veteran, but that doesn't mean I wasn't pleased it came from you.

"And, Tom, I knew, eventually, someone would put a stop to Hartley's laps. I didn't figure it would be so quickly. I am also exceedingly pleased it was you. I'm glad to see you're willing to take responsibility for the team — even for a teammate who wants nothing more than to take your job."

"R.J. and I get along great," he said. "I have no problem if he takes the job. I just want to make sure it isn't given to him."

Coach Brown told him that wasn't going to happen.

"Tom, we spent a good portion of the spring identifying what you need to work on," he said. "You are an outstanding fundamental quarterback. You do everything right. There are just some things you don't do very well.

"R.J. is exactly the opposite. The parts you lack, he has. The parts he lacks, you have. We have a couple of young quarterbacks here who lack what either of you have. I hope what you both have shown today will continue through the summer — that you work with each other and the other quarterbacks to make sure whoever is under center will give this team a chance to succeed.

"Now, go enjoy your afternoon."

Tom walked with me to the parking lot.

"Dude," he said. "Coach never says shit like that. And he damned sure never gives a break in the summer. Last year we had guys puking on the track."

I told Tom we should enjoy it while we can.

"I don't think it's going to be this way every day."

My good feeling lasted until about five minutes into our 4 p.m. practice. On a routine drop I felt like someone shot me in the butt when I planted my right foot. Before I knew it, the pain extended down my leg and my foot went numb.

I shook my leg a couple of times and returned to line. When I dropped back again, my leg buckled beneath me. I was numb from right butt check to my right big toe. But my lower back felt like it was on fire. I had never experienced anything like it in my life. The training staff sat me down for a few minutes and the feeling in my leg returned. I went back to practice, but the numbness and pain returned as soon as I'd plant my right foot to throw.

The coaches insisted I head to the trainer's room for treatment — and maybe to the hospital for an MRI. The head trainer told me to lie on my stomach and wait for the student trainer. I had dozed off when the trainer entered. I made a joke about being a pain in the butt not having a pain in the butt, but she didn't laugh. Or even smile.

She started probing around just above the elastic of my shorts and when she jabbed at a spot just to the right of my spine I almost jumped off the table. I had tears in my eyes and my entire leg felt like someone had dipped it in acid.

"You have quite a large knot," she said, but she didn't need to. I could feel her rolling the muscle and it hurt like a son of a bitch.

"You gotta stop that," I begged. "Please, don't do that again."

She asked me how I proposed to get the knot to go away without her doing this — and I admit I had no answer.

"Really, I don't care," I told her. "You have no idea how much that hurts."

I wasn't a wuss. I had dislocated fingers and broken my nose in games and didn't miss a play. But this was excruciating.

The trainer paid no attention and went back to punishing me for every transgression she'd ever been dealt in her life. She was a small woman, but her fingers felt like knives as she worked on the muscle. The longer she worked, the harder she squeezed and rolled the knot.

I just lay there and whimpered. Every time I would make a noise, she would make sure to spend extra time digging in that spot. I felt like it she had been manhandling me for hours, but the clock said it wasn't even 5 PM yet.

"OK," she said finally. "I want you to stand up and pretend you're throwing a pass."

I complied — anything to keep this witch from getting her pleasure from my pain.

I took a couple of steps and planted my foot — with no pain.

"It was a big muscle knot," she said. "You'll be sore for a couple of days, but you should be able to participate in light practices."

I started to head back to the field.

"Stay here," she said. "I have to get the head trainer to sign off. Really, all that drama for a cramp."

But she was right, the pain was gone and I was able to throw as well as I ever could. At least until the next morning when the exact same thing happened again. The very first time I dropped back to pass, the sensation returned. No way was I spending another 30 minutes with Madame de Sade in her torture chamber, so I pretended everything was normal. I made it through another rotation but when I returned to line, the trainer snuck up behind me and jabbed me in the back.

I almost dropped to my knees.

"Damn you," I hissed. "Will you get away from me?"

She just shook her head, took my arm and guided me back to the trainer's room for a repeat of the previous day's procedure.

"Once is an anomaly," she said when she'd finished. "Twice is a pattern. I want you here 30 minutes early this afternoon to see if the knots are forming here or away from here."

I told her I didn't feel any pain until I would rotate my hips when I loosened up — or tried to loosen up.

"I want to see if you have small knots in the morning," she said. "If they're small when you get here and you're aggravating them, we need to change something. If they're big when they get here and you don't notice them until you stretch, you'll need to change a lot of things."

I continued on light practice the rest of the morning, and then the trainer repeated what she called "therapeutic massage." It might have been therapeutic for her, but it hurt like hell for me.

By the time afternoon practice rolled around, I could barely walk. It wasn't from pain in my leg and butt. It was the pain the trainer had inflicted on my back the last two days.

She checked me for knots and — thank God — found none. I practiced normally for most of the evening before I started to feel the now familiar tingling. The trainer must have been watching for any inconsistency in my throwing motion because she was at my side before I could get back to the huddle.

As soon as she showed up, Coach sent in someone to replace me and I was headed back to the locker room.

Tom laughed at me after practice and called me an attention whore and told me I was only faking to get the trainer to rub my butt.

In the 25 minutes it took everyone to shower and change, I — literally — became the butt of everyone's jokes. It got worse when the trainer popped in and told me to be here 45 minutes early in the morning.

"Forty-five minutes," someone joked. "Doesn't she know you'd only need 45 seconds?"

Usually by the time Beth was finished riding me in the mornings I couldn't have risen to the occasion if Miss Universe propositioned. The trainer was cute, but I thought Miss Universe's crown was safe.

Beth was a little perturbed to lose 45 minutes of early morning exercise — especially since she was set to go back to Providence in less than 10 days. She decided we'd get up an hour earlier to make up for time we'd miss. Why not? After all, when I left she got to go back to sleep.

The trainer was waiting for me when I arrived — on time — the next morning. With no preliminaries, she tossed me a towel and told me to strip. I left my boxers on and she told me to get rid of them, too.

"It's why I tossed you a towel," she said with a glare.

When I was naked with my butt covered with a towel on her table, she started checking for knots at my shoulders and worked her way down.

When she got to my lower back, she lowered the towel a little.

"Are those bruises from me?" she asked incredulously.

When I told her she was the only person I knew who was interested in leaving bruises on me, she actually smiled.

"Sorry," she said. "Your back muscles are stubborn. Whenever I think I've got it whipped and I lighten up, it knots back up. I'll try to be easier, but I have to press as hard as I need to get it fixed.

"By the way, the knot is so big this morning I can actually see it."

I asked if she was sure the muscle wasn't just swollen from where she had traumatized it yesterday, but she said she had traced the muscle down my back.

"It's the exact same spot as yesterday," she said. "You're not going to like this. But given the proximity to your spine, you can't practice anymore until we figure out what's causing this. A knot this size in this location could be something very serious."

I told her it wasn't my spine.

"It's my rear end," I said.

The trainer put her fingertip on the edge of the knot.

"My fingers are touching," she said. "One is on the knotted muscle the other is on the base of your spine.

"R.J., this could be something really bad. I'm not talking football bad. I'm talking rest of your life bad.

"I'm going to check with the head trainer, but I'd plan on spending the rest of the day at the hospital getting this checked out."

I knew she was worried because it was the first time she'd called me anything but Hartley or Hotshot.

"Can I drive or do I need someone to take me?" I asked.

She told me she was pretty sure the head trainer would want to take me himself.

I spent the rest of the day and half of the evening at the hospital getting X-rayed, CAT-scanned, MRIed, poked, and prodded.

I managed to call the Fergusons to let them know I wouldn't be home. I tried to assure them it was nothing serious, just some precautions, but Ellie and Beth were at the hospital a few minutes later. It was bad enough the trainer was wasting my time with this, but now she was wasting their time, too.