John Michael Stewart

Professor Agosta
1102 002
24 September 2014
Game Gone Wrong
Friday night. Its game night. My headphones are in, but the blasting music
does nothing to drown out the bass of my heartbeat in my ears. Ive just walked out
of the trainers room, my equipment checked, cleats on, and its game time. As the
captains line up to lead the team into the stadium, I find myself next to LeGrand,
my defensive end. We lead the team through the crowd and down to the field,
splitting into our warmup lines. The national anthem plays, discordant to Coachs
barking orders, in tempo with my footsteps as the three other captains and I walk
out for the coin toss.
Gentleman. The referee said to us as we approached the middle of the
field. My captains and I arranged ourselves in a line across from our opposing team.
My heartbeat quickened as my gaze zeroed in on the other captains and I looked
them up and down rapidly, sizing them up for any potential weaknesses. Wed faced
off before, and Broughton was a tough team to beat. I was distracted from my
inspection by a flash of silver as the referee flipped the coin.
Heads. I barked out.
The coin comes down, a hand covers it and then reveals- George Washingtons
shiny profile. The referee looked at me expectantly.
We defer. I said. The referee nodded and turned his head to the other team.

That side. One of the captains said. The referee nodded and started jogging
back to the sideline. I nodded to the opposing captain, and led my captains back to
where our coach was standing.
A sharp whistle pierced through the air, signaling the summons of our kickoff team
and Broughtons kickoff return team to the field.
Two minutes, three downs, and a punt later, I lead our offense out. My center calls
the huddle, although everyone already knew the first play. First down, Deep Threat.
A nod at Twitty, our star receiver, cements the plan.
Down. Set. Hike! Away he sprints, flying past the line and the defender. I dropped
back and waited until Twitty got 20 yards out before I sent the ball flying, almost as
fast as Twitty ran. Midstride it found a home in his hands, before a defender found
his target in Twitty.
First quarter seemed to zip by in a defensive struggle- we were tied seven to seven.
We pulled ahead in the second quarter, the scoreboard read 21-7 by halftime. When
halftime was called my team trudged back to the locker room together, our faces
flushed with sweat and giddy with success.
My name is John Michael Stewart, and I am a quarterback. Three years have
come and gone without me so much as running a play, but this is still a huge part of
my identity. I will forever and always be the starting quarterback of my high school
football team.
There was no way to predict that game would be my last. Third quarter was
dragging, but our victory was in sight- so clear and tangible I felt like I could reach
out and grasp it. The clock was ticking down to the last minute of the third quarter. I
stood behind my offensive line, waiting for the play to start.

Down. Set. Hike! Already I could feel things going wrong. It all happened so
fast but in the moment it felt like an eternity. I can still clearly see the ball as it flew
over my head, I can feel the turf under my cleats at I turned to run after it. I can see
it hit the ground and I bend over to pick it up. I couldnt see the linebacker break
through my offensive line, but I certainly felt him hit my head as I turned around,
ball in hand. I feel my head snap back as he tackled me, and I can still hear the
resounding thunk as stars exploded in my eyes.

It all went blurry.

I could barely focus enough to see my trainer clearly, the buzzing in my ears an
unwelcome distraction. I knew what questions he was asking me though.
Whats your name? Do you know where you are?
It was my answer to those questions- that one stuttered out half of a word- that
neatly cemented the end of my football career. My trainer shook his head, and the
next thing I know Im being unwillingly escorted off of the field. Im unwillingly
whisked away to the hospital, doing my best to ignore the whispers swirling around
me. I cant help but realize what they mean.
This wasnt just the end of my season. Thanks to the failure of my concussion proof
helmet, this was the end of my career, one that had started when I was five years
old. Everything happened so fast, but it all spiraled out of control from that point.
My memories grew dim, and the rest of my stories go untold.
Youre lucky, they said. It couldve been worse.

I certainly felt lucky. I felt the constant desire to be out there on the field, leading
and working with my teammates, but I was all but chained to the sidelines by my
trainer.
A year came and went, but the fears I had never wavered. My memory had become
so flimsy, that I could barely recall the last half of senior year. Days blurred into
weeks that blurred into months, all controlled by the biggest fear I had: One more
hit would end who I was. Once someone else had caught wind of my fears, tests
upon tests came, doing nothing to soothe my anxious heart. After a year of
searching (and finding) answers, when I look back I realize that I wouldnt trade the
experiences Ive had for anything. Although football almost ruined my life, it is still
one of the biggest components of my identity.
Football will never be my future. Its taken a lot for me to come to grips with that
fact, but Ive finally come to terms with the reality that it is my past. Who I am, and
whom I choose to be, all starts with where Ive been- and that begins and ends on
the football field. My entire family has lived by football as a tradition. My father, my
grandfather, and all my uncles played football, I was only another one of the
Stewart clan to join in.
Football is viewed as the All-American Sport, played by All-American Boys who
are bonded by blood, sweat, and tears. It shows hard work, dedication, and a pride
that can only be derived from years spent playing. Those characteristics describe
who I am perfectly. Everything that football is about is represented in who I am.
This is something that will never leave me. I even see it in the previous generations
in my family who have also played football. The person that football turns you into
never goes. I can still hear my dad and his friends talk about their time on the field,
comparing it to the way todays game is played. This makes me wonder, when I am

their age, will this identity still be as strong as it is today? Each of them have grown
into their new identities- some are husbands, some are fathers, employees, or
coaches. However, although each of those identities is different form the last one,
they all accept the identity of a football player as if they had never stopped playing.
It is this observation that makes me certain that football is embedded in my psyche
to the point that when asked who I am, I will always reply I am an athlete. I am a
football player.