“Everyone remembers it,” Darryl said. “Everyone in Detroit did, anyway. Couldn’t show my face around there after that. Never mind everything I’d done up to that point. Or that they’re probably going to retire my number in a couple years. One fumble’s what they remember me for, and they would kill me for it. But they don’t remember Lamar Jackson.” Darryl looked over at Cameron with a cocked eyebrow. Cameron shrugged his shoulders.
“Rookie wide receiver,” Darryl said. “He was hot stuff coming into the draft, and we got him in the third round of my last season. He looked great in practice, and we started him in week five after another receiver twisted his ankle. He played well, made a few good gains and caught a two-point conversion. Then in the third quarter, he got knocked down, but he didn’t get back up. They carted him off the field, and he never played again.” Darryl looked up from the bottle and looked Cameron in the eyes. “Twenty-two years old with a bright future ahead of him. Paraplegic after playing in the NFL for two hours.”
Cameron looked down, studying a warp in the wood of the table’s surface. He searched through his memory and hated himself for it, but Lamar Jackson didn’t ring any bells. Players got hurt and careers ended every season. It was sad, but no news outlet would talk about it for more than a few weeks, especially that early in the season.
Darryl continued, “I’d seen players get hurt before, but for some reason, the whole season, that image of him getting carted off stuck with me. I kept putting my all into every game, but afterwards, I couldn’t believe I’d put myself at that much risk.
“The night after we won the NFC championship, my wife called and told me she was pregnant with Marcus. Over the next two weeks, no matter how much I tried to hype myself up and tell myself that when I was on the field everything off had to come second, it wouldn’t sink in. If I’d run into that dog pile, I could have ended up with a broken neck. So I choked and tried to find a gap where there wasn’t one.” Darryl leaned back in his chair.
“I don’t understand,” Cameron said. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Darryl said. “To the fans the fumble was a fumble, and the loss was a loss. I got death threats on the regular for years after that. And there was no way I was going to let them think that my son was the cause of it.”
“Why come back to football then?”
“I joined the NFL when I was 22 and retired at 32. The only thing I ever wanted to do since I was old enough to throw the ball around in the back yard with my old man was play football. Behind God and my family, the most important thing in my life, and I only got to do it as a job for ten years. And I was one of the lucky ones. Even after all that, I can’t stay away from it.”
“Why tell me?”
Darryl scratched his chin. “I guess I feel like I owe people an explanation, even though I don’t want it out there. It was a part of my life that’s over now. I’m starting over with a clean slate.”
“What will you do if Marcus wants to play?”
Darryl laughed, a brief exhale through his nose. “He doesn’t like football. I mean, he pretends to when I’m watching, but I can tell he doesn’t get what’s going on and doesn’t care to. He’d rather play baseball.”
“Baseball’s good,” Cameron said. “Not too much chance of breaking anything.”
“That’s because it’s the most boring sport there is.”
“Yeah,” Cameron said, “that’s probably why.” He stood up and offered a hand, which Darryl took after he stood himself. “It’s been an honor, Mr. Carter. I’ve been a fan since I could hold a football.”
Darryl nodded and led him out of the kitchen, back down the hallway which this time Cameron noticed was free of any framed jerseys or trophy cases. Darryl opened the front door, and Cameron began to step out but stopped as he stepped onto the welcome mat.
“Mr. Carter,” He said. “I feel like… I don’t know. I owe you an apology or something.”
“Why’s that?”
“When you made that fumble ball ten years ago, I yelled at you harder than anyone in my family.”
Darryl laughed, this time from his stomach, soft and brief but with his heart in it. “I know. Don’t worry about it,” he said, and shut the door in Cameron’s face.
About John Hendren
