A Walter Mitty injury update

It was bright and sunny and I was day-dreaming…

Three seconds left in the game. USC had the ball at the Irish two-yard line; they were down by four, so this next play was the last one, for all the marbles.

I was the strong safety for the Irish defense.  When the Trojans broke the huddle, I found the Tight End and followed him to the wide side of the field. As their Quarterback barked his signals, I read the alignment: if it was a pass, I had the End in man-to-man coverage; if a run, I was to force the action back toward the middle. The Trojan backfield was a two back set. Just before the snap, their right fullback went in motion left, to my side of the field, and I knew instantly it was “student body left,” a play they were famous for, a play which made Heisman-winners out of scoundrels like Simpson and Garrett and White.

The Tight End was cracking back on our right defensive end, confirming a run. As I dashed into the backfield, the fullback veered to my left to block the outside linebacker. It was now just me and the ball carrier: tackle him and win the game, miss and lose. As I set my feet and started moving forward, he leaned to his right, toward the shortest route to the end zone. I hesitated, and he pivoted on his right leg and started to sprint to his left, to the open grass, to the corner and the flag. I accelerated toward him: all I had to do was keep my head up, wrap him up, take his momentum wide and ride him out of bounds for the win.

Just as I was closing in on him, I felt the unmistakable crunch of contact as someone hit me from behind, low, in the back of the legs. Must be the wide receiver cracking back on me! Dammit! “What Happened?” I exclaimed.

My wife’s distressed voice answered, “I fell.” Wait a minute. No gridiron, no Touchdown Jesus, no soft green grass. Just my wife sprawled in the middle of a cobblestone street, having tripped just as we began day three of this week’s hiking.

(The culprit, left, now safely secured; the hook, right)

As Judy turned the corner at the entrance to our development, the loop of her right hiking shoe caught the hook on her left, effectively tying her feet together. She fell like a tree in a derecho, rolling into the back of my legs as she did. Despite having no military training, she executed a perfect three point landing fall. Unfortunately, the points she chose to land on were her knee, her wrist, and her face.

(Have you stopped beating your wife yet, Señor?)

I helped her up and we double-timed back to our casa for some first aid. To her credit, she insisted our returning to the hike, and she completed the entire 13 mile hike with pack, despite an assortment of bandages and ointments. Based on her performance, I am thinking of adopting the French Foreign Legion saying as our Camino motto: “March or Die!”

We have some rest coming, and we’ll make sure those loose shoestrings are secured next time.

Back to my daydream. Before I snapped to, I am sure I saw the ref throw the flag for clipping. This wasn’t the Coliseum, after all.