Leigh Steinberg’s recollection of a conversation with a
concussed Troy Aikman.
“Leigh, where am
I?” And I said, “Well, you’re in the hospital.” And he said, “Well, why am I
here?” And I said, “Because you suffered a concussion today.” And he said,
“Well, who did we play?” And I said, “The 49ers.” And he said, “Did we win?”
“Yes, you won.” “Did I play well?” “Yes, you played well.” “Did— what does
that— and so what’s that mean?” “It means you’re going to the Super Bowl.”
Five minutes later Aikman asked the same questions again.
The VHS tape, NFL
Crunch Course still occupies a space on a shelf near our TV. We haven’t watched it in years. It used to be an unofficial tradition to bust
it out and watch it on Super Bowl Weekend to get us ready for the
spectacle.
Produced by NFL films, it’s a compilation of vicious
hits, frightening in their violence and intensity. Football fans know what I’m talking
about. It’s when the wide receiver,
almost foolhardy in his bravery, goes across the middle and doesn't see the
safety about to unload on him; or when the 285 pound linebacker blindsides a
quarterback at full speed, jolting the unsuspecting player, sending the ball
skyward, causing the player’s head to whiplash as if attached to his body with a
spring. My son, my nephew and I would
lean forward in anticipation of each de-cleating. They would watch, mouths agape, while I told
them, in old geezer fashion, that this was real football; the way I remember it
when I was their age. Not this namby
pamby, wussy stuff they call football these days.
