- TOP PLAYERSOffensePABLO S. TORRE | August 20, 2012
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I thought about that for a minute. "What's that got to do with it?" I asked. "I'm only 33."
"That's going to make a difference in the huddle," he said. "These guys are sort of independent, especially the receivers, and we need somebody to tell 'em what to do."
I began to have a few doubts then, especially about the receivers, and I was still a little worried about that pile of people I'd seen down at the other end of the field, where the moan had come from. But it looked as though I was going to get a chance to play—some, anyway.
The receivers never did show up for that practice. After I'd thrown a few more to the Tree and had to stop because it felt like my arm was going to come off, everything broke up and I went home.
I came into the kitchen with a smile on my face and said, "I made it...the team. You're looking at a quarterback."
My wife looked at me and asked, "What's wrong with your arm?"
I looked at it, and it was sort of hanging down like something old and soft you'd hang up high so the kids couldn't touch it, because if they did it would come apart.
"Nothing," I said, and tried to move it to show her. It wouldn't move.
She shook her head a little sadly and went over to the stove. I went into the living room and got some paper and a pencil and started on a few pass patterns, left-handed.
I was going to be ready because we had another practice next Saturday, and the Sunday after that was our first exhibition game. Oh, yes, we had them, at least that's what Buffalo called them when he wrote them up for the paper.