Free Paralyzed by Jeff Rud Page B

said.
    We both knew he was joking. But who cared? A week ago, neither one of us had been in any mood to joke about anything.
    I didn’t want to ask the question. Luckily, Nate sensed what was on my mind.
    â€œThey say I probably will be able to play again,” he said. “If my mom lets me, that is. She’s not exactly the world’s biggest football fan right now.”
    I laughed nervously. “She’s not exactly my biggest fan, either.”
    Nate looked directly into my eyes. “I’msorry about that, Reggie,” he said. “I’m her only kid. This has been a nightmare for her. But I’m really sorry she took it out on you.”
    Nate stretched out his hand and I shook it. It was so good to see him up and moving around that I almost felt like running back to Lincoln instead of taking the bus.
    That afternoon at practice, Coach Molloy worked the defense hard. After we had surrendered the game-tying field goal against Franklin, everybody knew the pressure was on us this week in a road game against Filmore. We couldn’t afford a loss to the Friars or our playoff hopes would take a nosedive.
    â€œOkay, gentlemen, it’s offense against defense,” Coach Clark said. “Let’s run it full speed today. Hit hard out there, guys. We’ve got a big game Friday.”
    I lined up at middle linebacker, waiting for our offense to run its first play. While they huddled around Lance Turner,I began the routine that Dr. MacIntyre had suggested. I took a deep breath and held it for five seconds. Then I exhaled slowly, thinking of nothing else. I did it again and again.
    I was so focused on my centering technique that I was a second slow to react as Turner took the snap and rushed the football directly up the middle. I dove for his legs, but it was too late. He breezed right by me for a big gain.
    â€œReggie,” yelled Coach Molloy. “You’re daydreaming out there. Get your head in the game!”
    I was embarrassed. So far, Dr. MacIntyre’s technique wasn’t exactly working wonders.
    Still, I tried it again on the next play. I inhaled and held it for five seconds. Then I exhaled, clearing my mind. The ball didn’t come my way for a few snaps, so it was difficult to tell if it was working. I was a little more relaxed than I had been during recent practices.
    I continued to use the technique before every snap. Half a dozen plays later I was ready when Turner took the snap and dropped back. I was trying to read his body language, figuring out whether this was a pass or a run. Our quarterback started to his right but then looked up the middle where Jeff Stevens was streaking into the flat.
    Lance cocked his right arm and fired the ball on a tight line toward Stevens. Jeff stretched out his arms to bring the ball into his body. But my own instincts had taken over. Three feet away from Jeff, I launched my body into a full tackle. The football and I arrived at the same time. It bounced off Jeff’s hands and fell to the ground, joining both of us in a heap on the turf.
    Jeff sprung up and glared at me. Then a big smile broke out underneath his face guard. “Yah!” he screamed. “That’s the old Stick-’em! Nice hit, dude!”
    I looked around at my teammates and coaches. Most of them were smiling. I was back, and it felt great.
    I used Dr. MacIntyre’s technique for the rest of the practice. It was working. I hadn’t hit this well since before the incident with Nate Brown. At the end of practice, Coach Molloy and Coach Clark called me over for a talk.
    â€œNow that’s more like it, Reggie,” Coach Molloy said, beaming.
    â€œOutstanding effort, son,” added Coach Clark.
    After a week from hell, it felt so good to be comfortable again on the football field and with my coaches. There was just one more hurdle to clear. The hearing with the Northeast Athletic District officials was tomorrow morning.

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