After we had run a couple, two guys came running into our area of the field, one running a pass route and the other defending him. I turned to the guys and said, “Hey, can you guys go the other way so nobody runs into each other here—you have about a hundred yards over there.” His response: “You’ll have to talk to the quarterback.” To this, I turned to the other safety and said, “What, is he stupid? He can’t tell the quarterback that they want to run the other way? How hard is that?”That is, unfortunately, the last thing I remember from that night until at least two hours later (and everything after that from that night is really cloudy).
From what I have been told, the next play, those two guys came running into our area again — right at the time I was tracking a deep pass to my side of the field. I took one of them head-on, with both of us running at a pretty good clip. I was told by a friend who had been playing on the other field that she had heard the collision (“a loud CRACK”) from around 50 yards away. Apparently, I jumped right back up and trotted over to the sideline, where I sat down, saying, “That didn’t feel good.” When asked, I just shrugged and said, “I’m okay, I’m okay.” Shortly thereafter, I diagnosed myself with a grade-two concussion (realizing I had no short-term memory) and pulled myself from playing in the all-star game.
I then proceeded to go through a few hours of which I have essentially no recollection. I asked a few different people what had happened to me and who I had hit at least twenty different times, only to ask again a short time later. Apparently, I can still catch a football with one hand despite a concussion—and remind the people I’m playing catch with of this fact (in my usual charming and cocky manner). I also apparently went even more out of my way to harass people outside of their comfort zones than usual, asking numerous male and female friends, “So, do you want to make out?” and following that by sometimes making them think I was serious — drawing close to their faces, etc. (I’m sorry to those I really freaked out with that—I don’t remember it, but I’m sorry. This is precisely one reason why I don’t drink alcohol.) Due to the fact that I had no short-term memory at that time, I would do these things repeatedly, apparently not realizing I had done them already and often to the same person.
What happened to the other fellow (you know, the one I had warned)? He bit through his tongue, spent 15-20 minutes on the ground moaning and writhing in pain, and was taken to the hospital. I’m not sure how he’s doing now. Either way, had he not been an idiot and kept running into our area, neither of us would have collided.
The pictures attached to this message were taken the following day, when I had pretty much a wicked hangover from the concussion. I still can’t figure out why people drink themselves to feeling that way.
