Page 130 of Against the Clock

“Toradol,” the doctor’s assistant says, handing him a third syringe. “NSAID relief.”

He injects it perfunctorily, and I don’t even bat an eye.

“Might take a few hours to kick in. Don’t overdo it, sign here,” he says, handing me an iPad with a release form.

Do I understand the potential side effects of these drugs?

Do I agree to not hold the AFL responsible if I’m further injured?

Am I signing this form of my own free will?

Do I agree that I am fit to play?

I initial each box, reading each question, actually reading them, for the first time since my first season with the AFL.

The average career of a pro football player is three and a half seasons.

I’m looking at seventeen. Seventeen seasons of this.

“All good?” asks the doc, and when I glance back at him, his eyes are narrowed, and I wonder how many of us he’s seen fuck our bodies up beyond the limits of what we’re supposed to endure. I wonder how many of us signed that we were fit to play before we did that.

“All good,” I say, handing him back the iPad.

I’m one of the lucky ones.

I repeat it over and over, heading to my favorite trainer for tape. Inject it full of pain killers. Tape it up. Wrap it up.

Put on the fucking suit and give it your all.

I grit my teeth as the trainer stretches my bad arm out, the KT Tape irritating the already swollen joint as much as it is helping. When he’s done, though, I stretch experimentally.

It feels somewhat better, the pregame injection cocktail and tape at least taking the worst of the edge off.

“How you feeling, Harrison?” Darius sits on the next table over, one of the trainers taping up his back. His hip’s already taped up, and I make myself smile at him.

It doesn’t reach my eyes.

“Same as always,” I say, the words hollow. “Ready to go.”

“I know that’s right,” he says, and he furrows his brow at me.

He looks tired. He looks how I feel.

“All done,” the trainer tells me.

“Thanks,” I say automatically.

“Go give ‘em hell, today, Harrison.”

“Always do,” I tell him. “I always do.”

I walk back into the locker room, ready to put the pads on. Ready to warm up. Ready to play another game, ready to try my hardest and leave it all on the field.

What comes after football?

CHAPTER 51

KELSEY

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