INSIDE THE NFL
The Inner Game
A Morning After
by Peter King
Posted: Wed September 24, 1997
It is Sept. 15, the day after the Bears' 32-7 loss to the Lions.
On this morning 16 Chicago players will enter the club's
state-of-the-art, 50-by-20-foot trainer's room for treatment,
including 14 who were injured the previous day. "Another 10 to
15 probably should be here but don't think they're hurt bad
enough to come in," says team orthopedist Michael Schafer.
"We are the NFL's MASH unit," says head trainer Tim Bream. "We
laugh at these guys in other sports: Randy Johnson misses three
weeks with tendinitis in a finger. Come on!" Here's what it's
like to spend a Monday morning with Bream, Schafer and assistant
trainers Eric Sugarman and Buckey Wilson.
9:07 a.m.: Four of the six training tables are already occupied
when running back Rashaan Salaam, who broke his right fibula in
the second quarter against the Lions and is out for the season,
enters glumly on crutches. Players rise to greet him. Nearby
lies Chris Villarrial, who broke his left fibula a week earlier
in a game against the Vikings and is not expected to return
until late October. "We lead the league in broken bones," says
Villarrial. At that moment Joe Cocker can be heard on a stereo,
singing, "Feelin' all right, not feelin' too good myself...."
The soft cast on Salaam's leg is replaced with an inflatable one
that stimulates blood flow and reduces swelling. Salaam lies on
a table, forearm over his eyes.
9:18 a.m.: Villarrial gets an X-ray of his leg so the medical
staff can see how his break is healing. He's followed into the
X-ray room by guard Evan Pilgrim, who has a sore hip.
9:23 a.m.: Bream and Schafer examine strong safety Marty Carter,
who has a sprained right elbow. Ice is applied, and the arm is
put in a sling. Carter, who would miss the upcoming game against
the Patriots, is the ninth player to be treated. "That's
nothing," Sugarman says. "Usually we've got the tables full and
guys waiting in line by now."
9:35 a.m.: Walking like Walter Brennan, cornerback Walt Harris
enters. What hurts? "Shoulder, calves, shin, knee," he says.
Bream examines Harris, then calls to Sugarman, who is standing
near a chest loaded with ice bags, "Ice on the shin, ice on the
calf, ice on the shoulder." Harris thinks nothing of it. "I'm so
used to being in here on Monday," he says, "I think of it as
part of the job. People get up and go to work on Monday; I get
up and come here."
9:44 a.m.: James (Big Cat) Williams, the 345-pound right tackle,
limps in, favoring a sprained right ankle. "Any better, Kitty?"
Bream asks. Williams says there's no change but adds that the
ankle doesn't feel any worse. Players feel pressure to practice,
and Williams has been drilling for two weeks on the bad wheel.
"Kitty, you're not working till Friday," Bream says. "We've got
to get some improvement in here." It's interesting to watch
Bream and Williams interact. Players generally listen to the
team's medical staff. "You have to build a trust with these guys
so they know you're not just using them," Bream says.
9:56 a.m.: Wideout Bobby Engram receives electrical stimulation
to treat a bruised left shoulder. A minute later linebacker
Michael Lowery walks in, surveys the nine players getting care
and says, "Damn, we're the walking wounded."
10:17 a.m.: Most of the injured are gone, giving Bream a chance
to catch his breath. "None of these guys are really going to get
better during the season," he says. "The questions you have to
ask yourself are, One, can we make them functional so they can
play? Two, by playing, is the player going to damage himself for
the rest of his life?" Players learn quickly, however, that you
don't get sidelined by sprains and bruises. "If they want to
make the money," Bream says, surveying the room, "this is what
they have to face on Monday morning."
10:32 a.m.: Salaam, one of two players left, appears bored. "You
should have brought a book," Schafer says. Salaam, who won't
leave for another 90 minutes, nods and says, "I'll remember that
next time." Everyone in the room knows there will be a lot of
next times.
10:52 a.m.: Salaam is alone. Less than 24 hours have passed
since he heard a sound he'll never forget, the sound of the
outside bone on his lower right leg snapping under pressure from
a pile of tacklers. "I'm sure people think this is a tough
sport," he says, "but they don't know how tough. It's brutal.
It's physical and spiritual war. When you get hurt, it's
unbearable, man. Not just the physical part. We've learned to
take the pain. It's mental. To work every day for months, and in
a second it's gone. Now I'm lying here on some bench, knowing my
season's over. It's a sick feeling." He pauses and takes a deep
breath. "People think we're out here for the money. Money's
good, but you'll never last more than a year or two if money's
all you care about. You better love it, or these Monday mornings
wouldn't be worth it."
Another pause. Awkward silence. "I just have to keep the faith,"
Salaam says. "I have to be positive somehow."
"What," Salaam is asked, "is there to be positive about?"
"That it's not a knee," he replies.
Issue date: September 29, 1997
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