Read Online League of Denial by Mark Fainaru-Wada - Free Book Online

“We’re in the huddle, and everyone’s like, ‘Gawd, does it stink!’ ”
    Hoge thought concussions were the least of his concerns. But he did notice that the effects were varied and sometimes bizarre. One Sunday at Denver’s Mile High Stadium, he ran into Steve Atwater, the Broncos free safety, and found that he couldn’t remember the plays or thesnap count. He went to the sideline to sort it out and suddenly, without warning, burst into tears. He felt humiliated. Only later did Hoge learn that this was another symptom of a concussion: If the area of the brain that controls emotions becomes damaged, people sometimes cry unexpectedly.
    Often, the most devastating hits occurred in practice. One day, the Steelers’ first-team offense was playing against the first-team defense, when a play was called that required Hoge to block the strong safety Donnie Shell. Shell weighed just 185 pounds, but his technique was so refined that it was like he turned himself into a tactical missile. When Hoge heard the call in the huddle, he began to pump himself up. He weighed 225 pounds and figured that his greater mass would win the day. “I’m gonna bust that little punk in half,” he thought. Hoge wheeled around end and headed straight for Shell. The two men collided in the open field at full speed.
    “When I hit him, it was like a lightning bolt ran right through my body, like I’d been paralyzed and electrocuted at the same time,” Hoge said. “My helmet got knocked off, and literally on the left side I was numb. I couldn’t move.”
    Hoge was still lying there when he heard Noll’s voice ring out: “
That’s
it! Now
that’s
how you got to hit him!”
    Through his haze Hoge heard: “Run it again!”
    In 1994, one year after he participated in Maroon and Lovell’s experiment (and promptly forgot about it), Hoge signed as a free agent with the Chicago Bears. It would not be a long and fruitful relationship.
    During an exhibition Monday-night game at Kansas City, Hoge caught a pass out of the backfield and headed toward the goal line. Several defenders closed in, including nine-time Pro Bowl linebacker Derrick Thomas. As Hoge braced himself for the collision, Thomas plowed his helmet into Hoge’s ear hole.
    Hoge lay on the turf, motionless. “I’ve never been in an earthquake, but the first thing I thought was, ‘Holy cow, man, the earth is shaking,’ ” he said. “It was shaking so bad I couldn’t get up. I had no equilibrium. I was like, ‘This damn earth won’t quit shaking.’ ” Tim Worley, a former Steelers running back who had come over with Hoge, was one ofthe first people to arrive on the scene. “Aw, damn,” Worley said, looking down at his obliterated friend.
    Worley was about to motion for the trainers, but then, amazingly, Hoge got up. His brain was on autopilot. It was as if Webster were inside his head screaming: “Get up!” Hoge made it through one more play and then stumbled to the sideline.
    “Where are you?” a trainer asked.
    “Tampa Bay,” he replied.
    Asked why he thought that, since he was standing on the field at Arrowhead Stadium, Hoge said: “Because I can hear the ocean.”
    The Bears sent him to the hospital for a computed tomography (CT) scan. At one point, Hoge wandered off and was found in a waiting room three floors up. He had no idea how he had gotten there.
    As he prepared to board the team plane that night back to Chicago, Hoge already was thinking about the next game.
    “Do you think I’ll be able to play?” he asked Bears physician John Munsell.
    “We’ll let you know tomorrow,” Munsell said.
    When Hoge arrived at the Bears’ training facility the next day, he looked in the mirror and was shocked. His face was white. His head was pounding “like I had been hit with a bat.” But still he wanted to play even though the next game was also an exhibition. When the head trainer, Fred Caito, informed him he’d have to sit out on Munsell’s orders, Hoge asked