Falling For Football
Jeff Foley
Friday May 26, 2000
"Let`s go," Coach Dailey yells. "Six-minute run. Stay outside the field."
In my normal, non-football life, I jog 20 minutes several times a week. Six minutes should be a warmup for me. And I`m thrilled that we don`t have to do a sprinting drill - so I decide to ignore my soreness and attack this, maybe even impress Coach Dailey. I can certainly finish ahead of some of the big guys. I start out near the end, trailing most of my teammates, but within half-a-minute, I pass a majority of them. I`m in sixth place. Not content, I motor up to the guy in front of me. He doesn`t just let me go by though. He picks up the pace, striding out a bit. I stay even, and he looks over.
"What`s up, Foley?" says Raymond Philyaw, his Louisiana accent coming on strong as he grins. "Let`s go. Stay with me."
I tell Raymond I will, but I`m already breathing hard. The quarterback tries to make small talk, saying something about how beautiful the weather is down South, but I wave him off. My throat is on fire, the helmet and shoulder pads (which we`re required to keep on during the run) are killing my upper back. It feels like somebody smacked me in the spine with a mallet. In general, I`ve given up any hopes of passing anybody else. I swing my head all the way around, trying to see out of my helmet, which completely cuts off my peripheral vision, and look for Kyle Moore-Brown. I can handle getting passed by smaller players, but there`s no way I want somebody twice my size beating me. Plus, if the 298-pound lineman catches up, it`s a sure bet he`ll have something wise to say. Fortunately, he`s pretty far back.
At the end of the first lap, which takes a little less than two minutes, there`s an obstacle. Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute`s men`s lacrosse team used the turf when we finished yesterday, and they left a lacrosse goal sitting at the edge of an end zone. Raymond runs wide around it, telling me to be careful. It`s good advice, but I`m too tired to run any additional distance. Instead, I go up and over the rear of the goal, which is about two-feet wide, jumping across the netting. I make it safely, and we begin lap No. 2. Nobody has passed us.
"How you feeling, Foley?" Raymond says near the end of the second lap. "You OK?"
"Yup, I`m fine."
I`ve slipped into a groove, just putting one foot in front of the other. My legs are exhausted, but mentally I feel good. Raymond and I have maintained our position. We`re more than halfway through the drill, and if I keep up this pace, I`ll finish well in front of most of my teammates. I glance at Coach Dailey as we approach the lacrosse goal again. He`s standing in the middle of the field, looking in our direction. Again, Raymond swings wide around the goal, leaving room for both of us. But I ignore the cushion and jump.
Just make sure you get your feet up high enough. It`ll be pretty embarrassing if you fall.
Not only does my foot catch the netting; my sneaker goes right through. It`s like being caught in a bear trap. I don`t fall - I explode to the ground. My facemask is the first thing to make contact, jarring my head and clanging loudly. Thank God for the helmet. Without it, I`d have a concussion. My knees hit next. I can feel the skin being scraped away. And as my right leg bounces off the ground, it shoots out to the side and kicks Raymond in the shin. He stumbles, stays upright and comes to a complete stop.
"Oh my God," he says, trying to catch his breath. He`s not winded from running; the 25-year-old is in hysterics. The knock to his leg apparently didn`t do any damage. Raymond grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. He pats my helmet as we move forward. "Man," he drawls, "you just made my day, Foley."
So much for a victory lap. Laughter drifts into my helmet earholes for the next two minutes.
Coach Dailey finally blows his whistle, ending the six-minute run. I walk toward the locker room with Philyaw, not sure if my knees or pride hurt more. Jon Krick limps my way. His hamstring, which he pulled during testing, is giving him problems, and Albany`s medical staff has barred him from practicing for an indefinite period of time. He`s still required to attend the sessions though, wearing a low-voltage electrical stimulation machine on his injured leg. But he seems to be making pretty good time as he hustles to catch up with me.
"Man, that was funny when you fell, Foley," he says, throwing an arm around me. "But at least you bounced right back up. That`s what we need around here. You know the ancient Chinese saying - if you fall seven times, get up eight."
Jeff Foley was a writer for ArenaFan Online from 2000 to 2001.
