It was a long bus ride from home to Bluffton, about an hour to be exact, on the cold, rainy, and very windy Friday night of September 7th, 2018.

Once we arrived at Bluffton, we all hustled off the bus and fought through the foul-scented locker room to change into our football pads and cleats. I sat there on the bench lacing up my crisp white and gold cleats, thinking to myself  how this game could make our record positive as we were already 1-1. I continuously replayed Coach Martinez’s voice in my head: “Denaenae is the key to their offense. If we shut him down, we ruin their whole offense!”

Locking our sweaty hands with the brother beside us, we lined up two by two, and marched out to the field as one. Time to get the mindset that it was game time, and losing was not an option.

During warm-ups seems to be the worst of the pre-game nerves. We headed to our specialty groups and began doing special teams work. Because I am the starting punter, I remained in one place for all three groups. The first group was harsh as I shanked a few balls into their student section bleachers. The second group improved as I was getting used to the weather with the coldness of my hands, the slickness of the ball, and the wind direction once the ball was booted. When the last group began, I bombed the ball like a rocket to the moon to our teammates, who were return specialists, standing close to the fifty yard line. Then as we were crammed into a small section of the field we resumed parents’ night, but this just added fuel to our fire.

Captains assembled in the field for the coin toss. Winning the coin toss, we elected to receive the ball. We then headed back to the locker room with the rest of the team before the game, which remained eerily silent until the coaches barged in and yelled, “It is go time!”

After reciting our prayers and heading out of the locker room to the damp field once again, we came to a standstill because of the playing of the National Anthem. We stood there patriotically, helmets in our left arm, and right hands over our hearts.

Like a well-oiled machine, our offense went out first and drove down the field to score. We scored and kicked the ball off, so the fun began. Defense. The fun. Forcing three bad plays, the ball punted back to us. We took the rest of the first quarter to score again. At the start of the second quarter, we kicked off. At this moment nothing had gone wrong for our team. This was the drive all this had led up to, and no one expected this to happen.

We managed to get “Denaenae” out of the game that drive. It was satisfying until the thirty-sixth play of the game when everything went downhill. The quarterback dropped back to pass, but his receivers were shadowed well. He rolled out of the pocket evading pressure, tucked the ball, and darted through the contain. I had already dropped back from my linebacker position to cover crossing routes.

In no time, my whole junior year of sports ran to a conclusion.

I rushed back up to make the tackle, but my foot became a sled on the slick, wet emerald grass field and slid out from under me while I was fitting up to tackle. A pop that sounded like a gunshot snapped in my knee.

Lying there on my back for a little while, Clay, the athletic trainer, trotted over to me on the field. My coaches followed him over to me. They tore off my helmet and pulled out my mouth guard. I could feel nothing in my left knee except excruciating pain.

In my knee I felt a tingly, burning sensation as I lay there looking up at the orchid sky, unable to move my leg much. Clay grasped my leg and forced it straight. I clenched my fists and my body started to tense up. “With some assistance,” I responded, when questioned if I could walk.

They led me off the field and helped me sit on a cold bench, and they began what felt like torture. Clay jarred my leg around to test internal ligaments, tendons, and muscles. I had one question during this process, “Am I good to go because I need to play?”

I needed to play. After receiving no response except a faint murmur from Clay sputtering, “One sec, I need to retrieve their doctor.” I continued to grow very nervous at this point because I wanted no part in any of this. I waited for what felt like a year. My stomach tightened and turned upside down. Arriving over from their sideline, the doctor began the same tests. He slowly pushed my leg towards my head, and I’ve never felt that large amount of pain in my entire life. I watched him simply shake his head at Clay.

Halftime was about ready to commence, so I met my team inside the locker room. I heard many sorrowful comments such as “I’m sorry, Oz.” “This game is for you, Oz.” “I love you, Oz.” “You have nothing to worry about, kid. They are rallying behind you.”

After the game, almost anyone who exited the field made sure to stop and communicate some encouraging words or check up on me. It had been a rough weekend getting around but then came September 11th, also my birthday.

While out on the practice field, Clay had received the phone call about my x-rays and MRI, which was not the best news. I had torn my ACL and obliterated my Meniscus. I thought to myself, ‘What am I going to do now? This is the worst possible outcome.’ Unable to answer my question, I started feeling very emotional. I felt sorry for my team because they would have to continue the season without me. I had let them down. I made my way out to the field and acknowledged how sorry I was to most of my coaches and teammates. Unable to stop the thoughts from traveling through my head, my eyes teared up. Everyone wanted to hug me, and I could not help but cry. Although I had other minor damage that was self healable, I still had to have surgery. This was scheduled for October 3rd.

I am now hoping to be cleared here soon, and I can not wait. I have never wanted something to happen so badly before. I want to play sports so badly. Since the start of my schooling, sports have been ruling my life. Granted, I may not have them anymore after high school, but that is even more reasoning for me to want them now.