Our team physician ran his hand up under my shoulder pads and instantly found his mark. “Thought so – it’s dislocated,” he said. And before I could mutter a single syllable, the 80-year old relic started pulling off his hushpuppy while I lay flat out. “Don’t fight me on this one son,” he said. “Just relax, I’m gonna try something here.”
“Something here” — that’s it? That’s the most medically advanced approach at his disposal?
He pushed his foot into my armpit and pulled firmly on my wrist until we both heard a loud thud. I looked at him and he back at me – neither of us reacted, but we both knew instantly that the arm was now “relocated.” And as I ambled back to the sidelines, the good doctor looked every bit as surprised by the outcome as me. “You know what?” he asked rhetorically. “Wow — I haven’t done one of those in over 40 years!”
It was opening day, senior year. The Pequannock Township Golden Panthers and I readied ourselves for a classic Skyline Conference match-up against the Highlanders of West Milford. With enough time remaining in a deadlocked game, we needed only to convert a short third down to maintain the well-orchestrated offensive series methodically moving us closer to six points. As was the case with many fullbacks at the time, my role was so rarely a ball carrier that when my number was called, I struggled to retrain my way of thinking. The next play would be no exception.
A quick hitter over the guard-center gap was predictably called. Suddenly, and with complete surprise, I passed two blitzing linebackers at the shoulder and moved unnoticed into the secondary. Many times before whenสมัครเว็บ ufabet the distraction of an open field presented itself, I employed unequalled self-control in order to redirect and head toward the end zone in light of my first instinct, which was to trample under foot any defender I might encounter. Unfortunately, this day I would lose the battle for self-control.
Heading up field and against the grain with great speed and agility (at least it felt that way to me), I fixed my sights squarely on a pylon located in the front left corner of the end zone. Suddenly, the unthinkable (or more accurately, the inevitable) happened – a defensive back appeared in the upper right hand corner of my vision. Without hesitation, I arrived at the only rational decision one could. My fullback logic was sound and unflappable – an entire season lie ahead no doubt filled with countless opportunities to score. I would opt to defer glory in exchange for instant and primal gratification.