Play to Win

My younger son played high school football, and it was a great experience for him. He loved it. I loved watching him. As a freshman and junior varsity player, he was a tight end. As a varsity player, he was the fullback. I heard the announcer say, "Touchdown!" and then my son's name on many occasions.

Football is a violent sport, even with pads and helmets, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I sometimes cringed as I sat there in the bleachers. He had some injuries. A broken thumb, a torn labrum in his shoulder, a concussion.

It seemed there was a lull in the game and the ideal time for me to go to the restroom. Walking back to the bleachers, a mom from our team looked at me with terror on her face and said, "Oh my god! Is he okay?" I had no idea what she was talking about. I had missed the whole thing. In retrospect, that was probably good. His dad told me that he had gotten hit pretty hard, and the trainer said he had a mild concussion. I wanted to run down to check on him, but that would not have been okay with him, and in fact his dad had already done that while I was in the restroom. It was okay for dads to do that, not okay for moms. So I stayed away. The quarterback's dad saw that I was about to cry, and he patted my hand and said, "He's okay. He just got his bell rung."

He had the mildest concussion possible. He never lost consciousness. He didn't vomit. I was so upset that I almost did. He had a mild headache. My head throbbed.  His dad and I took turns checking on him throughout the night. I was afraid he would go to sleep and never wake up. Visions of him paralyzed for life flashed through my head. On the outside, I was calm and reassuring and very much together. In private, I cried. I was torn between wanting him to have fun and do what he loved to do, and my mother's fear that something terrible would happen to this most precious person. I spent a lot of time online educating myself on head injuries, and with more knowledge, I calmed down. He sat out practice that week and didn't play the next game, which he hated. Doctor's and trainer's orders. Then things were back to normal, he was playing again, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Former professional football player Junior Seau took his own life this past week. His family has asked that his brain be studied, because it could be that repeated head injuries played a role in his state of mind. It has been going on with other players. We Americans love our football, and it is big business. High school football is as American as apple pie. But I don't think our brains were designed to be slammed into over and over with no bad results.

Seau was only 43. This week we also lost musician Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys at age 47. He had cancer. Such young men. Or young to me, because I guess young is a relative term. I'm rambling now, aren't I? So I'll stop and just leave you with this song.

Susan

"Don't Play No Game That I Can't Win" written by Adam Yauch, Michael Diamond, Santi White and Adam Horovitz