Robofootball: Doublespin
Chapter 6

“Okay boys, you see that bulge over there on #78’s knee?”

“Yeah coach, sure, yes, ….” A chorus of voices answered at a somewhat higher level than enthusiastically.

“Hit ’em low, you know what I mean?”

“Sure coach, yes, yeah, you got it.”

“Okay boys, go get ’em!”

On the opposite field, the opposing coach was telling Leonard “Lenny” Wilson, #78, to suck it up.

“I don’t know coach,” said Lenny. “It’s swollen up some and awfully sore.”

“Play through the pain son, your teammates need you, we need you, you’re the best we’ve got. You can run right?”

“I think so.”

“You got the shot?”

“Yeah, trainer gave me cortisone.”

“Good, then that’s all there is to it, get your ass out there, this is Penn State for god’s sake, and it’s your last game. Give it all you got and you’ll remember this the rest of your life.”

“Right coach!”

“If you do good, your kids and grand kids will be watching digital replays for generations, know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah coach, but still….”

“Still nothin’, you’re a soldier going into battle, you wouldn’t leave your fellow soldiers at the front would you when the goin’ got a little tough?”

“No sir, but…”

“But nothin’, there’ll be plenty of time to rest tomorrow, now get your ass out there, now!” The coach gave him an empathetic shove in the back and sent him on his way.

Lenny felt uneasy, tentative, and he could barely feel but sense a dull throb in his severely bruised knee. The shot seemed to dull it more and more but something was just not right. It did seem to work okay, and he could run, like Forest Gump without the knee braces. Like coach said, it was the last game of his college career, Penn State verses the Miami Hurricanes in the Gator Bowl, December 31st, 1999, the lst game of the century it seemed since it was beginning at 9:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, but would last into New Year’s Day. Both teams had finished the regular season 8-4, no New Years’ Day game, but still, two programs, and no other bowl games scheduled for the same time period.

There was much anxiousness Lenny recalled about the whole Y2K affair, how computers were going to crash taking everything from the power grid to the super secret military nuclear missile launch codes with it; thus, leading to instant Armageddon. The doomsayers were out there manipulating the words and the predictions of everyone from Nostradamus to the Mayans to every two bit fortune teller and palm reader who ever lived. The 4th quarter of the game blitzed around the clock like Bill Haley and the Comets, and miraculously, the lights stayed on. The game was paused for the stereotypical countdown as the big scoreboards showed the giant Waterford crystal ball dropping in Time Square in New York City and the people sang along as the speakers blared out Auld Lang Syne.

Lenny remembered it well since he spent a few minutes of the 2nd quarter, half time, and the entire 2nd half in the locker room watching the television monitors. So much for being an All Big 10 and 2nd Team All-American wide receiver. The linebackers and defensive backs had been ruthless in tackling low as their coach had so fondly pointed out. The knee had been numbed enough that he did not feel the extensive taping come loose and the knee pad slipping down; thus, exposing the knee to the elements. Then again, playing the game in Florida wasn’t exactly like in a snowstorm back in Happy Valley. Late in the 2nd half he made a spectacular leaping catch at Miami’s 5-yard line between two defenders. The safety behind him actually hit him high, held him up for a yard or two as Lenny struggled for the end zone. The corner in front of him came in with a spear shot directly on the exposed knee.

“Crunch!” As the helmet collided with the side of Lenny’s knee, it not only broke the bone but pushed the delicate patella nearly to the other side and out of the skin. Ligaments and tendons that were already swollen and tender stretched beyond their intended human limits and it seemed like to Lenny that even one or more of those snapped with the bones.

There was some great video all right to be shown for generations. The kids and grandkids wouldn’t be viewing a spectacular potential game-winning touchdown since he came up two yards shy of the goal line, but rather a golf cart and a gurney with dad or grandpa writhing in agony and clutching his knee. Cortisone could only do so much. At least the Nittany Lions would go on to win the game without Lenny. With a 9-4 final record, Penn State would barely squeeze into the AP Top 20 in the final poll. There was that to hold on to. Of course, the Miami teams of the 1990’s and early 2000’s were nowhere near as good as those feared in the 1980’s.

U.S. House Representative Leonard “Lenny” Wilson stared with mixed emotions at the 8’ x 10’ photo perched prominently on his office bookshelf, #78, the Nittany Lions dark blue jersey and the sparkling white freshly painted helmet. Throughout the season, the helmet would be filled with scratches and small dents, many of which were covered by those little reward stickers. He caught 19 touchdown passes in his senior year, and had received one of those little stickers for each and every one of them. His draft status however died with his injury.

In a way, the career-ending injury had been liberating. He was an academic All-American too, and the choice between football and graduate school had pretty much been made on the field. A Harvard Law degree and a successful practice defending the injured had gained him a measure of popularity that, in turn, led to the beginning of a successful political career. But, as Dano Verlucci would say, money makes a big difference, and Lenny’s family had some. His time playing football was an asset too in terms of name recognition and achievement, and that was one reason why he displayed the #78 conspicuously with his family along with his other one standing next to the president. If a visitor didn’t care for football, then he could tell all about his time with the president. Many a constituent and colleague had always followed a basic greeting with: “Weren’t you that guy….”

“Yup, sure was.” And then Lenny would have to talk about football for at least 10 or 12 minutes. It seemed like any type of popular sports figure was far more prestigious than say a military soldier or someone like a firefighter, teacher, police, or other public figures who certainly made more lasting and important contributions than someone who could shoot, catch, or hit a ball better than the majority of the hacks out there.

The political world was an entirely different ball game, and as a young representative, he had energy and ambition to burn despite his permanent limp; nevertheless, the newbie, like a freshman on the football team, was a grunt, barely a step up from water boy. He wasn’t going to land a prestigious spot on the armed services committee, or big energy, or budgeting/finance, or any of the other biggies for that matter; however, there were certainly opportunities in a variety of smaller, less important, or less influential areas, or at least some that were deemed that way in the beginning. When an opportunity arose with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), part of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Lenny volunteered to serve on the committee. Little did he know that a powerful senator from Arkansas, Margaret Leahy, had spearheaded the invitation.

He really didn’t know much about it, but it did sound interesting, and he had begun building a career in the human services field in private practice. On top of that, there weren’t that many opportunities for a new rep, barely 32 years of age, and one lowest on the totem pole in terms of seniority. His interest intensified when Dr. Isabella Mendoza presented a damaging report on injuries sustained in sports, and naturally, the American football industry bore the brunt of her wrath. His first confusing thought, was why in the world is the CDC interested in football of all things? What’s the connection? Dr. Mendoza would waste little time or effort in connecting the dots; after all, it had been the subject of her doctoral dissertation some years ago at Yale of all places, that other school. It had become an obsession of hers ever since, and alarmingly, public opinion, especially with mothers of boys who had suffered serious injuries, was gradually agreeing with her. Dr. Mendoza was also a very attractive woman of Hispanic origin, something that interested Lenny as well.

“Love is all we have, the only way that each can help the other.”

Virgil, Ecologues, X, 69

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