Searching For- Sidelined The Qb And Me In- -

"Because my dad was a quarterback," I said. "Small college. Nothing like this. He blew out his knee in his senior year. No one helped him rehab it right. He gained forty pounds, lost his scholarship, lost his mind. By the time I was ten, he could barely walk up the stairs."

"It's allergies."

"Yeah," he said. "Took me twelve nights, but I think I did." Three months later, Dallas Fielder threw a forty-yard spiral on a wet Tuesday in front of sixteen NFL scouts.

He stared at me like I’d just insulted his mother. "Who the hell are you?" Searching For- Sidelined The QB And Me In-

And some things find you.

He didn't move. But he didn't tell me to leave, either.

"Now stop being sappy and hand me the resistance band," he said. "I’m going to beat this stupid knee if it kills me." "Because my dad was a quarterback," I said

That’s how it started. Not with a grand gesture or a fireworks kiss. It started with a broken knee, a missing roll of tape, and two people who had no business being in the same room at midnight. For the next ten days, the secondary treatment room became our confessional.

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You’re not supposed to be here," I said. He blew out his knee in his senior year

He looked away, toward the cinderblock wall. "I remember everything you say. It’s annoying."

On the twelfth night, he asked the question I’d been dreading.

He didn’t look up. "Neither are you."