Cordon’s Story
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So, long story short...
Cordon made the mistake of
thinking my body was still in it's early twenties.
My Advice to You is
stretch, know you're not going to live forever, and possibly take up golf.
Here's the whole story
Age 21… I used to be able to roll out of a futon after a night of drunken lasciviousness and play organized sports with an abandon only as reckless as my behavior 6 hours prior. In college, I vividly remember the uber-crappy grass fields of Mercer University on which I’d play flag football every Sunday in the fall. At that age, I thought that 10am was way too f*ing early to be doing ANYTHING and arrived 5 minutes before game time wearing the previous night’s undershirt (which inevitably wreaked of sweat and smoke) as a jersey. I know I wasn’t alone in this philosophy because I can distinctly remember half of my teammates either: (a) swapping stories and high fives over the conquests and happenings of Saturday night or (b) squinting while they were lacing up their cleats because hangovers have this way of making the sun just way too damn bright.
Yet with all of the abuse we put our bodies through the night before, we could collectively kick *ss at a high level on that flag football field. Our team always had no trouble getting into the playoffs running on a negligible amount of sleep and dehydration induced by Southern Comfort. The funny thing was that I remember all of us doing these quasi-stretches right before the game…not really to prepare ourselves for the strenuous activity as much as it was an attempt to psych our opponents out and simultaneously make our girlfriends horny by looking ulta-athletic. (Stress on the word “attempt.”
Fast forward to my late twenties… Same bat time, same bat channel. After a few years away from Atlanta, I moved back, reconnected with my old football buddies, and found myself in the same situation. Mercer field (still uber-crappy). Hang over. 5 minutes til game time. Quasi-stretches.
It felt good to be on the field again as I lined up to rush the qb. At the snap, the qb, who resembled a 5’7’’ Byron Leftwhich, rushed right at me and juked my like he was playing the “easy” mode on Madden. I told myself, “I’m just sluggish because I haven’t played in a while” and I’ll be up to game speed in no time. Second snap. I didn’t even get close to the qb before he released it. Third snap, the snap of destiny. Once again, the qb rushed in my direction, and this time, I vowed not to let him press the “turbo” and “spin” button simultaneously on me. I planted my right foot to pivot as he juked, and that’s when I heard the pops. Shortly after, I felt a scary instability as if my leg was being detached from my body. I fell to the ground and grabbed my right knee, in more fear than pain. As my teammates carried me off, I gave a Mike Utley-esque thumbs up to the crowd, thinking I had nothing more than a bad sprain. Little did I know that my ACL was completely torn and I would be going through months of physical therapy following major knee surgery.
I should have taken it as a warning sign when I realized that my body was no longer doing what my mind was telling it to do or at the point when my ass started to jiggle for a week after I would eat Hooters wings. I should have learned to stretch for real. I should have learned to read damnit!
Shoulda. Coulda. Woulda. Understand that you’re not going to live forever, and if you forget, you’re body will remind you. Thumbs up to that.
It was a big wake up call.
Comments (4)
I feel your pain, better yet you probably feel mine. Tore my ACL 3 weeks ago playing basketball. Luckily mine was a freak accident so I don't feel fragile yet!
Gotta get surgery and the get back on the horse..
I'm surrounded by people in their 20's getting their first major sports related injury. I'm knocking on wood and praying to stay in one piece.
with a 13" vertical it's hard to get injured Edgar.
Well written.