Sidelines
IT was a scene that grabbed you and shook. The sight stopped you cold. The man on TV collapsed at the microphone. He broke down and buried his head in the table. He trembled and wept. A grown man. But he cried, all the emotion gushing out of him in a flood of sobs. Miracles ran out
for StringerRandy Moss, tall, smooth, unstoppable Randy Moss, the man with the body of a giraffe but the grace of a gazelle, the man who seemed to glide through football at will, untouchable, had now been hit. And hit hard.
Korey Stringer was dead.
Stringer, a big man, with an even bigger heart, they say, was gone. His Minnesota Vikings teammates were devastated. Stringer died because his body overheated during NFL preseason camp. He died, basically, from football practice.
The news was shocking. But no surprise. No, no surprise. Only a matter of time. Only a matter of the odds catching up and the luck running out.
There isn't a man alive who played football, who went through two practices a day in brutal late summer conditions who hasn't felt, for just a moment, like he could not physically go on. Not one who hasn't felt, for just that split second, in just a fleeting daze of heat-addled hysteria, like he was going to die.
And they went on anyway.
To them, this is no surprise.
That is what summer camp is about.
And someone finally fell.
The heat is incredible, in pads and a helmet, over and over and over again. The sun is scorching, and pounds of water weight disappear every day. Players have to drink enough to stay hydrated, but not so much to get a side pain. They have to eat enough to keep going, but not enough to get sick in the middle of practice. Another lunch, another tightrope.
They give you water now, and you can take off your helmet now, and they have trainers now, and they take precautions now. But even the space shuttle breaks down sometimes. And in two practices a day in August, football players will come close to overheating.
For years, thousands of players across the country have run, brain dead, exhausted and overcooked, soaked and spent, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, to get ready for the season. They go from limp to sprint at the tweet of a whistle. Pushed, at times, past the point of endurance and into desperation. And yet they go on.
It's not smart. It's not normal. It's football.
This is what two-a-days are about, and no amount of water breaks is going to change that.
Coaches preach about breaking through the fear. Being forged in this fire and coming out of it a team. The lesson is that when you think you can't go on any longer, you can. Players find out they're tougher than they think. They survive. And bond. Out of these nightmares, come friends and fond memories.
There is no feeling like making it through a summer camp. It's like a miracle.
Sadly, the miracles ran out for Korey Stringer.
A shock. But not a surprise.
Kalani Simpson's column runs Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays.
He can be reached at ksimpson@starbulletin.com