Sidelines
ONE word to describe June Jones? Impatient. That's not necessarily a bad thing. Where do you think The Greatest Turnaround in NCAA History came from? The Hawaii football program was buried in such an ugly morass that it could have taken years, or even decades, to come back to life. But as you know, it didn't. Not even close. Jones goes on offense
in healing processThe instant rebirth wasn't a matter of miracles. It was that the man simply didn't have time for losing.
He's a push, push, push, go, go, go kind of guy. Back in the saddle. Back on the bike. He says the doctors told him he wouldn't do anything for 10 months, after his life-threatening car crash Feb. 22. So much for that. Jones took the forecasts and threw them out the window. He has his own rehab schedule. His own way. And it doesn't involve waiting around.
"I could coach right now," he says. "All I've got to do is stand on the sideline. It's not that hard."
June Jones talks like this. "It's not that hard."
No time for excuses. No time for injuries. You can't spend your time waiting around. Jones lives in a football world. You gotta play hurt.
"It goes in streaks," he says. "I'm sure I feel better than I did two weeks ago. But I'm disappointed it's not going faster."
Impatience is his virtue. Why do you think he loves the Run and Shoot so much? It's his personality played out on a football field. Push, push, push. Go, go, go. But it works for him.
Mere months after dodging death, Jones has pushed himself to the point of putting in normal workdays. He even gets in a round of pau hana golf. It's painful, he says. But it doesn't matter. It stretches him out. It's part of his rehabilitation plan. Another way to push himself.
Jones is back on his feet because he can't stand to sit still.
"I guess my first conscious thought was I wanted to get out of the hospital," he says.
He didn't have time to be in critical condition. He had things to do.
He couldn't raise his arms, not at first. He couldn't walk. The engine had come through the dashboard, after all. In his first public appearances, he was gaunt and shaky. But not now. Now he looks, well, he looks like June Jones again.
SOME PARTS of his body haven't healed as fast as others, and he concedes it might be because he is pushing himself too hard. But he is confident that in the long run he knows himself better than the doctors do. This is why Jones coaches offense. Others might wait to heal. He needs to attack.
At six in the morning, while sportswriters sleep, June Jones is surrounded by the sound of clanking weights. He is fighting through the pain. He is making progress. He's pushing himself.
If there is any major change since the accident, this is it. Every morning, like clockwork, he works. This kind of discipline changes you, he says. He is sharper, tougher. Refocused. Mentally, he feels refreshed.
"I feel right now like I did when I was a player," he says. "I feel like I felt when I was 22 years old."
A wonderful feeling. And yet, it makes him even more impatient.
"I wish it would hurry up and get here," he says, hungering for football season to begin. For his chance to go, go, go again.
June Jones looks out the office window, with his view of Cooke Field. And all he can do is wait.
Kalani Simpson's column runs Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays.
He can be reached at ksimpson@starbulletin.com