“Lion Blue, 7-51. Go!” Coach called from the sidelines.

It was a blitz on the rollout pass. The offensive line, myself included, ran our blue steps, and nobody made it through our lockdown line. However, two of my teammates were having trouble passing back the backside tackle. We are taught that if we can’t pass them back, we just shove them down into the line. So they did what they had been taught and shoved him down. That one act defined my entire junior year of football.

Apparently, this clumsy defensive tackle couldn’t regain his balance. Somehow he fell on my left foot, and we both rolled.

I saw my opponent lying on the grass beside me, hurt. I think he just had the wind knocked out of him – but I’d heard my foot crack, and a sharp pain shot up my leg.

Just play it out; there are 25 seconds until halftime, I thought.

Since I wasn’t sure if I was injured, I tried walking. As soon as I took a step, I knew something was very wrong. It felt as if there were no bones in the middle of my foot. So I hopped, which Coach did not like.

Coach always urges us to overcome adversity, whether it’s fatigue, a halftime deficit, or a bone-crushing hit.  “Toughen up, Wolfy! Don’t show it!” he yelled from the sideline. The left guard and some other teammates also encouraged me to brush it off.

Since just 25 seconds remained until halftime, I decided to stay in. We were up 21-7, but Coach wanted to score again, so he kept calling passes to get in the end zone. The pain at this point was excruciating, and it was getting worse with each step.

I had a false start on the next play, making Coach even more furious with me. At this point, I really didn’t care whether or not we scored. I just wanted the longest 25 seconds ever to be over.

Coach called another pass play, which was good for me; if there are only four people rushing the quarterback, I’m free. Thankfully, no linebackers blitzed, so I just snapped the ball and took two steps back and stood in the middle of the field. However, our quarterback decided to run the ball since he saw no one downfield to throw to. So I had to block for him. I’ve never given such a terrible effort. We ended up kicking a field goal. Finally, it was halftime.

Once we made it into the locker room, I immediately went to our trainer to get my foot checked. When I took my cleat off, I saw a gruesome sight. The bone was jutting out and my toes were all pointing to the left. Of course, when I saw that, it started hurting even more.

The trainer asked, “Do you want me to get a towel so you don’t have to look at it?” Then he went to find my mom so she could take me to the hospital.

Coach said, “I’m sorry I told you to shake it off, Wolfy. I was just trying to make you tougher.”

The trainer gave me a pair of rickety old crutches. I’d never used them before, which showed when I dropped one and nearly fell down the locker room stairs. Somehow I maneuvered to the car.

The doctors took some X-rays and asked how I did it. I don’t know what they were expecting me to say; I was still in my football pads, so I thought it was pretty obvious. After the X-rays, they had an ambulance take me to St. Vincent’s in Toledo for emergency surgery. I somehow forced myself to sleep on the way.

When I arrived, I couldn’t sleep any more because my foot hurt so much it was almost unbearable. It didn’t help that I had four doctors poking, prodding, and examining it.

Coach showed up at 1:30 a.m. to see how I was doing. At this point, I was so exhausted I felt about to pass out. “We won 44-12,” he told me. “Dakota did well in your place, but we’re still going to miss you in the middle of the o-line.”

I had already been told by the doctors that my season, along with my foot, was shattered. I couldn’t take it; I didn’t want to sit out the entire year, especially since I’d worked so hard to get this far. It’s not fair, I kept telling myself. After all my work, I had nothing to show for it except a broken foot and months on crutches.

After Coach left I thought maybe I could sleep a bit, but they had me hooked up to so many machines that I didn’t find peace all that night.

At 5:30 a.m. the doctors came in to poke at my foot some more, and this time I wasn’t so nice. “I’m going to kick you if you keep doing that,” I growled. They took me for more X-rays and prepped me for surgery. At that point I was looking forward to being knocked out just so I could rest.

The surgery went fine. They crossed two screws around my big toe since that was where the most damage was. I spent the rest of the weekend at the hospital. I didn’t enjoy my stay, but was happy that my foot was fixed and I was on my way to recovery.

That brings me to where I am today – in a cast and on crutches. Coach always says, “You never know when your last play is going to be.” My last play just happened to be on that cool Friday night.