Sounds Like Fun — Duke Carlisle

I remember the first time I heard the term “bone crushing,” to describe what happens when a proper tackle or block is executed in football. I couldn’t help but be concerned because I assumed if there were bones being crushed in the sport I was participating in there was always the possibility they could be mine.

As a very young kid playing football in the backyard I never worried about injuries. Everyone expected bruises and bloody noses, and I was even okay having the breath knocked out of me occasionally after I realized that not being able to breathe didn’t mean I was dead or dying.

My nonchalant attitude toward injuries began to change when I attended summer camp as a ten year old. Most of the counselors were college football players and most of those had false front teeth. Because our Pee Wee team helmets didn’t include face masks and since I had hoped to have all of my own teeth past the age of twenty, I began using the hand I wasn’t carrying the ball with to protect my mouth. At the conclusion of my third practice our coach, who was an easy going man, asked me why I was holding my hand over my mouth most of the time. When I told him he said, “That’s somewhat understandable, however, it’s going to be very difficult for you to be an effective player without using both of your arms.”

I took my hand down and it was to be many nerve-wracking years before I was provided a helmet with a face mask.

Of course the face is not the only part of the body that needs protection, but it’s impossible to place padding over every square inch. This was brought home to me when as a ninth grader I received what would be the scariest injury of my career. Late in a game I was hit so hard in the back I couldn’t continue to play. On the way home my parents asked me if I was okay and I told them my back was sore but would probably be fine.

When we arrived at our house the first thing I did was go to the bathroom, but as I began to urinate I saw a solid red stream of blood leaving my body. Just before fainting I let out a loud scream which brought Mother and Daddy rushing to the bathroom. Seeing me lying motionless with blood all over the floor, they at first thought I had fallen and been knocked unconscious, but on further inspection realized what had happened and likely gagged and felt faint themselves. They helped me to the car and on the way to the hospital I remember thinking that at worst I was about to die or at best would never play football again; however, the doctor said I had sustained a minor kidney injury and would be able to play again in three weeks.

The only lingering effect of the injury was that for the rest of the year whenever I was about to be tackled I instinctively turned toward the opponent to protect my back. Because of the teeth thing that was not my normal reaction and in fact was the opposite of what I had been doing. Thankfully, the next year I was provided with kidney pads and finally a face mask so that I could act more like a normal player.

My other high school injury was not serious but did cause me more mental pain than physical. I broke a small bone in my hand in an out-of-town preseason scrimmage so not many people witnessed it, but everyone was curious as to how it happened. Surely, with a cast on my right hand there must be an interesting story to go along with it, they assumed.

“Did it involve a terrible collision or a massive pile up?” They wanted to know.

At first I was evasive, but finally when a group of classmates continued to press for an explanation, one of my teammates blurted out, “He just fell on it.”

Confused, they asked, “You mean no one else was involved?”

“Well, I was being chased and then I must have tripped on something,” I tried to explain.

But they wouldn’t let it go, “So you actually stumbled and broke your own hand. Wow, man, how embarrassing. That’ll be a tough one to live down.”

In college, I had two memorable injuries: a bad ankle sprain which kept me sidelined for several weeks and an eye problem which lasted only a short time but caused extreme stress. While playing defensive safety I was involved in a gang tackle which resulted in my getting a finger poked sharply into one eye, but causing loss of sight in both eyes. At that point, although Coach Royal had a strict rule that only he could call a timeout, it did cross my mind that temporary blindness might warrant an exception. Instead, I told the other defensive backs about my condition and that it shouldn’t last long but in the meantime if the other team ran a pass play they should scream “pass”. Of course on the next play I heard “pass, pass” but the only thing I could think to do was yell back, “Where, where?” No one heard me but fortunately the pass was incomplete. Then, right before the next play my vision returned but not in time to tell the guys who yelled again. After the play I told them I had regained my eyesight so they could stop screaming. The biggest and meanest of the two glared at me and said, “This is ridiculous. If you’ve just been clowning around, I’m gonna kick your butt.”

Finally, there is one injury that is rarely discussed yet is experienced by virtually every athlete in all sports at every level. It is not long lasting but is very painful and also embarrassing. It involves a blow to either or both of the oval glands located in the scrotum and can occur even if the player is wearing the protective strap named after racehorse riders. It is very difficult for the injured player to avoid grabbing the affected area even in the presence of 75,000 people. When his teammates realize what has happened one will rush over and begin pushing his legs back and forth into his body. It is then that everyone except the very young girls and the very old maids understands what has happened and in unison let out a somewhat half-groan, half-titter.