Mr. Dorman came at that moment and rescued me.

He asked the receptionist, Mrs. Green, “Did Doctor Abrahms leave a note explaining the unusual circumstances of this event?

She replied, “I haven’t seen Doctor Abrahms since I came on at five o’clock.”

He continued, “I called Clyde Ingham, the principal of Platt R.

Spencer School, to tell him of the accident. He had already

been notified and had arranged with your billing department to release Mr. Brockway when he was able to leave.”

Mrs. Green looked at a couple of papers and said, “Oh, yes, here it is. It must be the message the clerk brought to me about ten minutes ago. You may leave now young man.”

On the way back to the ball field, Mr. Dorman asked how I was doing.

I said, “Not bad. A little shaken by that Mrs. Green.”

He said, “When I left the hospital the first time, I stopped to use the phone at the new Sinclair gas station. I found your folks’ number in the county phone book, but the line was busy

He then told me about a couple of good runs that Bob Wilcox made and some nice plays that Ralph Junior had. He warned me that the team was upset and quiet.

He said, “The score was tied in the fourth quarter and Harbor got close enough to kick a field goal. After their kickoff, with three minutes left, we started moving the ball down the field, but as we moved closer to their goal line their defense held. It was fourth down and six at their thirty-yard line. Coach Wasulko called a time out. With only forty seconds left on the clock he decided to try a field goal to tie the score. The kick was long enough, but it hit the goal post and went on the wrong side of the upright. Harbor only needed one play, and it was over, 24-21.”

When we got to the field, the bus was almost loaded. The rear emergency door was still open with a few last-minute items yet to go in. The last two cheerleaders were getting on at the front of the bus.

I hope Amie has found an empty seat for us.

She had.

Amie and I had been going together since school started this year. She wanted, of course, to hear all about my trip to the hospital.

First, she said, “I didn’t know what part of you was hurt.”

I told her, “I didn’t realize I was hurt until I leaned on my knees preparing for the next play and fell to the ground. When I looked at my knees, the right one was covered with blood. But I had no pain until I saw blood running out of my right hand. Then there was pain. Lots of it! It was sliced open between my thumb and first finger. When the previous tackle was made, I must have had my hand under someone’s foot.

I told her, “The EMTs did a great job of getting the flow of blood stopped and then easing the pain.”

Amie was full of questions. “How is the pain now? How was the doctor? Was he nice? Did he tell you how long to keep the bandage on? How serious is the damage?”

By that time, we were at school. The cheerleaders went to the home economics room to wait for their rides home. The players unloaded their gear and went to the locker room to give their uniforms to the managers for laundry, and their helmets and pads to be put in the equipment room. Then most of them showered. Unless they drove, they left with a friend or with their parents waiting outside.

While taking care of the laundry and equipment, one of the players overheard our managers talking about the player number mix up. During the game one of our managers went to the radio announcer’s booth and overheard a big argument about the names and numbers of the Spencer team. That’s all he heard because some of the Harber kids were beginning to look like they wanted to fight. So, he got away from there in a hurry. On the way home the three managers figured out there was probably only three misplaced numbers and names, Ron’s, Robert’s and Georges.

I needed a little help getting my jersey off because of the size of the bandage. Nor could I shower with the bandage. I talked to some of the guys about the game. Each had his own thoughts on how we could have won and what we should have done to win. I said good night to those who weren’t still in the shower.

I had driven to school before the game and now needed to go home and explain why I hadn’t called from the hospital. I went to find Amie so I could drop her off at her house. The other cheerleaders all wanted to know how much my hand hurt and how I would be able to write and take tests with that huge bandage.

Amie and I said good night to them and left.

On the way to the car she said, “I looked for your parents, but I couldn’t find them.”

I told her, “Dad was probably still at work.”

As we got into the car she asked, “Won’t you have trouble driving?”

Jokingly I said, “Maybe, from Mom.” Then I added, “Not really. I can steer with my left hand and shift with my right if I don’t push on the bandage too hard. Or you can shift for me. I’ll tell you when the clutch is in.”

She laughed a little and said, “OKaaay.”

I turned the key pushed the clutch in and said, “Shift to Reverse.”

It worked.

I pulled into her yard. We had a goodnight kiss, and I

headed home.

Dad had just arrived from work and was sitting in his dark red leather chair reading the newspaper and sharing the first course of his ten- thirty dinner with Queeny, our dachshund. Mom was at the stove preparing the rest of Dad’s dinner.

She heard me come in and said, “Hello.” But she didn’t see me, and added, “Tough game. Too bad that last field goal attempt didn’t make it.”

Dad said, “Hello,” without looking up from the newspaper.

I thought it odd that Mom didn’t rush to me and say, “Oh my dear. Why didn’t you call? I was worried sick.”

When she finally saw me, she said, “What in the world happened to you?”

I asked, “Didn’t they say on the radio that they had taken a player to the hospital?”

She answered, “Yes, but that wasn’t you. You played the whole game.”

I stabbed a chicken leg from the skillet, with a fork in my left hand, sat down with my plate and proceeded to tell them my story.

The guys in the locker room said they heard that the announcer had mixed up some of the players numbers. Mine ended up with Robert a regular substitute. Our managers said there were only three, as far as they could tell, that were wrong.

Mom asked, “How serious is your hand?”

I replied, “I’ll be fine. It’s a cut between my thumb and first finger. I must keep it clean and dry and can’t use it for a week or two.”

Dad said, “Are you going to be able to work at the store?”

“I won’t know until this Thursday when I see Doctor Abrahms.”

Mom asked, “Then how are you going to drive? How did you drive home?”

I told her, “It’s very easy. I steer with my left hand and shift with my bandaged hand. If I don’t push hard on the bandage, it will be fine. No speed shifting for a while. Amie will shift for me when she’s with me.”

The next day in school, everybody I saw in the hallways asked how my hand was doing.

I said, “It’s Okay, but I can’t use it. I’ve tried writing left-handed, but that doesn’t work.”

Later in the day, I asked Mr. Wasulko if I could play in a couple of weeks.

He said, “First of all, you must get the doctor’s release. Then, we’ll see how you’re doing.”

Thursday, I went to see Doctor Abrahms at his office in Ashtabula.

While he was removing my bandage, I asked, “Do you think my hand will be healed enough to start playing again in a couple of weeks?”

He stopped unwrapping the bandage. “Absolutely not! You don’t realize what you’re dealing with here. With the wrong movement or a bump in the wrong place you could lose the use of your hand permanently.” He continued unwrapping, “I want you back here in my office every week for the next two months. I’ll call your superintendent’s office today and explain your injury to him. Then he’ll speak to the faculty so they can work out a plan for your schoolwork. I’ll also call your parents and tell them exactly what you’re going through, the importance of weekly cleansing of the wound and inspection to prevent infection.”

Looking at the drainage on my hand while he was cleaning it and feeling how much it hurt from his light professional touch, I realized how ridiculous and out of the question it was to ask about playing.

Thank goodness Doctor Abrahms will explain my situation to Mr. Ingham and Mom and Dad. What will the teachers work out for me?

I stopped at the receptionist’s desk and made weekly appointments for two months and began being a lot more cautious in my activities.

The next morning during home room, I asked Mrs. Scribben, our home room and English teacher, “Was my hand discussed yesterday at the faculty meeting?” She said “Yes. All your teachers will speak to you privately. Amie told me yesterday that she is willing to write for you if necessary.”

I asked, “Would that be all right?”

Mrs. Scribben just smiled.

Mr. Wasulko told me I would dress for each of the games, but there would be no playing.

Finally, just five days before my scheduled release from Doctor Abrahms, it was the last game of the season. I had been miserable sitting on the bench for seven weeks, knowing I could do much better at right guard than any of my substitutes. Also, the punting had been terrible. We were lucky to get twenty yards from any of the guys that coach Wasulko let kick.

We were at Edinboro and leading by two points. With only two- and- a- half minutes left, they had stopped us on our twenty-yard line. We had to punt.

The coach turned to me, smiled a bit, and said, “Brockway, go kick a long one.”

A year ago, I was the punter. But I hadn’t punted other than a few practice punts early this year, and I still had a bandage on my hand. Was this a gift to me, or a desperate attempt to block Edinboro’s try for a field goal? Or both? As I jogged out onto the playing field to take my position, I thought…

What an opportunity to be admired by the whole school. But what if I don’t catch the snap from center? Or drop the ball before I can kick it? What if I shank the kick and it goes out of bounds at our thirty-yard line? I’d be blamed for our loss. It’s too late to think… Here comes the ball…

I was in position. I managed to catch the snap from Evans and kicked a beauty, forty yards from the line of scrimmage with another twenty-five-yard roll, and no return!

Players, managers, coaches, cheerleaders, all who were sitting on the players bench, jumped up, ran to the edge of the playing field and cheered wildly. Never in my life have I been the center of that much attention.

The rest of the game went completely our way. Edinboro had two incomplete passes, a five-yard run and a four yard run.We got the ball with twenty-nine seconds remaining, Dorman took the hike from Evans and fell on the ball to run the clock out.

What a way to end the year of football.

My last trip to Doctor Abrahms’s office was a happy event. He took the bandage off, studied one side of my hand, turned it over and looked very closely at the other side. He then held my fingers and gently moved my thumb back and forth, then in circles

He smiled at me and said, “You’re on your own. But don’t over work that hand right away. Bring it back to life slowly. I’m going to give you some stretching exercises that will help.”

He showed me three of what I thought were simple finger movements, but when I tried them, I understood why and how they would help make my hand a useful part of me again.

I did as Doctor Abrahms suggested.

I hope by next year I will be ready for my green and gold number 55.

My first step was re-learning to hold a pencil and to write legibly. It surprised me how hard that was and how long it took. By spring, I felt my hand was nearly recovered and ready to meet any challenge.

We won four games in our senior year! We lost five, but three were by less than a touchdown. The other two were by two touchdowns each. An amazing feat from a team that three years before hadn’t made a single touchdown!

Football Fever - Part Two

Football Fever - Part One