Forget Football

      I'm crying so hard I cannot see. My pastor's wife, Lily, holds my right hand in both of hers. Her face reflects the kindness and concern that come naturally to Lily. My left hand holds a wad of tissues that have long since lost the battle with my tears. I have finally let loose the powerful storm of grief, fear and anger that's been brewing inside me ever since watching my son get horribly injured in a high school football game earlier this evening. The Eric Blake Pavilion of the Osceola Advent Health Hospital provides soft couches in their waiting areas outside their surgical suites. We're sharing one now, awaiting the outcome of my son's football injury operation.
      "Can you believe the coach didn't want to stop play, even though Robert was lying on the sidelines with his leg hanging at that crazy angle?" I ask. "That was a mistake, Joan" Lily soothes me. "Yes, it was a mistake bordering on criminal negligence I had to come raging onto the field, screaming, to get them to pay attention. If Dr. Adele Black hadn't been beside me, I don't know what would have happened. She took one look at Robert and dialed 911. Thank the Lord she knew what a hip injury looked like. With her identifying herself as a doctor and insisting that Robert needed an ambulance, they finally stopped playing and let the ambulance people onto the field."
       "We're blessed to have fine people like Dr. Black beside us" Lily soothed.
      "What kind of coach doesn't know when his players are badly injured?" I sniffled. I silently answered my own question: a coach who makes twice what any other coach makes and has eleven assistants. "My husband has poured millions into Prime Christian Academy to give them a great football team." I couldn't stop crying. As I saw it, Eric's football philanthropy had created a monster. That monster had just done its level best to kill our son.
      As a forgiving Christian, Lily would sometimes rationalize Eric's football obsession. "Everyone in Florida loves football" Lily reminded me.
There was a time when I loved football, too. Each team mother would bring a dozen cupcakes, and after the game we'd serve cupcakes, ice cream and lemonade to both teams. The atmosphere felt more like a festival than a confrontation. Kids from different teams formed friendships, and so did the mothers. I was aching for those simpler times. "Lily, do you remember when I had my birthday party at the Community Players group, and invited you and each and every cupcake league football mother to the Saturday afternoon performance? We all loved Jesus Christ Superstar, and I even offered a birthday cake and iced tea at intermission. Yes, I could afford it; but the most important thing was that all of us enjoyed being together."
      Lily nodded in agreement then suddenly sat up straighter as the surgeon came out of the operating room. "You're lucky he's a boy" the doctor joked as he removed his mask. "With that hip injury, he could never have children if he were a girl." I was furious. "How long did you have to study to learn the difference between boys and girls?" I asked sarcastically. Lily intervened. Holding my hands firmly in both of hers, she asked, "Will he be all right, doctor?" "He'll make a complete recovery, thanks to me and my skilled team of experts. But it will take time and he won't play football for another year. He'll need PT, of course, and we offer the best here."
      Of course, my husband Eric Blake wasn't there to hear this news. His absence made me furious, but I had to concede that his work over the years meant we didn't have to worry about providing the best possible care for Robert and his sisters.
Eric built a chain of warehouse cleaning businesses from the ground up. He worked 60 hours a week, often wielding a mop beside other crew members. I married him when my take-home pay just stretched to cover rent and food. He was strong, smart and hard-working, and we loved the few hours we had together. We saw less of him than we wanted, but he provided a loving and luxurious life for us. We lived in a 10,000-foot mansion in an affluent suburb. I ran the household just the way I wanted and was in charge of details like child-raising and consumption. We could afford excellent care when my pregnancy with the twins left me bedridden. I ignored the fact that Robert sent his chauffeur and secretary to take us home from the hospital I also ignored letters and photos I found in his briefcase, from other women.
       Robert, our first child, was short and slender like me. Still, he loved football as much as anyone else in Florida. Prime Academy boasted a 100% rate of college acceptance, and a variety of sports options. Potential entrants were quizzed on their knowledge of the scriptures. The 30K price-tag was a drop in the bucket for us. His twin sisters came along much later, enjoying music and ballet more than football. Robert enjoyed creative writing and guitar lessons, as well as cupcake football. His twin sisters sang along with his guitar in school assembly.
      Cupcake football was perfect for us. Most of the other kids were also academically oriented and simply enjoyed the play. Their mothers were friendly and polite, and we spent many happy hours listening while the coach and his sole assistant explained the finer points of the game. Nobody expected these guys to make it into the pros, or even to be offered college scholarships.
      All that changed when Eric decided he had neglected us. After spending 300 days a year on the road, he took "partial retirement" and now had time for his family. Eric decided the way to his son's heart was to turn Prime Academy into a football power.
      Division I spending had changed college sports, now it was seeping into high school athletics. High school competitions became proving grounds where parents bet everything on their children's potential. For some parents the bet paid off. Florida has 6% of the country's population, but 10% of the NFL draft comes out of its high schools. With Eric's money and encouragement, the same thing started at Prime Academy.
      Prime Academy hired an African American coach at twice the salary of any other employee and gave him eleven other assistants. In violation of the Florida High School Athletic Association rules, they recruited 30 promising high school football players. The conservative, all-white school saw its first African American students, 30 students unable to keep up with their rigorous academic standards. Those students plagiarized and still failed their courses. Eric poured millions into that conservative Christian academy.
      "Iron cuts iron" was Eric's favorite saying. "I don't like doing the minimum of anything." The team won every game that year. Robert's teammates believed he got playing time only because his father bankrolled the team. Whatever the reason, Robert was competing with guys who believed football would lift them out of poverty. Filthy curse words replaced the cupcake league's gentle encouragement. Cupcakes? These hulks wanted straight Jack Daniels, and the coach saw that they got it. The parents of the new team shunned me, looking straight through me.
      Lily and I remained good friends and talk frequently. "Lily" I said. "I wonder if Robert knows his father went on a golf outing instead of coming to the hospital." "Joan" Lily replied, "Did you call his office?" "Yes, I got his secretary and began to tell her the entire story. She graciously brought the telephone into the board meeting. Robert's father told me I was interrupting a board meeting, and he would be going straight from the meeting to a business golf weekend." "The secretary sounds like a very nice person" Lily said. "Yes, and completely loyal to her boss" I replied.
      Lily volunteered at the hospital two days a week. She's that type of person. I asked for her when we came into the emergency room, and she stayed by my side. We walked into Robert's room as he woke up. "The doctor says you'll make a complete recovery", I explained. "Mom, you look as bad as I feel", Robert tactfully replied. "He's not dead yet", Lily joked. Robert smiled.
      Lily drove me home. "Will you be all right?" she asked. "Do I look like somebody who's hurting for money?" I replied brusquely. "No, but you are hurting. Call me if you want to talk", was her wise reply.
      At home, I went upstairs to wash my face and kiss our two daughters good night. Their nanny had kept them from voice lessons as I requested and made sure they were fed and bathed. I reassured them we would be fine soon. I ate soup and a sandwich and left a message that Robert would not be in school until his injury healed. I arranged for flowers to be sent to Lily and Dr. Black with thank-you notes. I sipped a cup of tea. Next morning I called a detective agency and a divorce lawyer.
      The Florida High School Athletic Association examined Prime Academy's recruitment policies. They wound up forcing forfeiture of all wins that season. Robert told his father, "I love you, but I hate being your son when it comes to football." Robert transferred to an out-of-state school and now plays football in college. Eric stopped giving to Prime Academy when Robert transferred out. The twins attend public school, Osceola County High School for the Performing Arts. If you look at Prime Academy's website today, they stress 100% college acceptance and Christian Values. No mention of their former football glory.
      Eric and I divorced, of course. I learned most of those late-night meetings and business weekends were excuses to meet other women. I kept the house and a generous settlement. Lily comes by once or twice a week. We make love in the afternoons and never give a thought to football.