Fueled By Tragedy: Chapter 2

NUMB

Story written by: Kerry Carter

It was Saturday, October 28th, 2000, at Stanford Stadium in Palo Alto, California. It poured rain for most of the day. The game was in the third quarter and we trailed the Washington Huskies 17 - 6. It was a tough first half for our offense as we could not move the ball much and could only manage two field goals. 

The Huskies were 7-1 overall for the season. They just came off a dramatic comeback the week before against our in-state rival, the California Golden Bears. We also had some late-game heroics and scored on the game's final play the week earlier, beating USC. Still, with a record of 3-5, this game was crucial to keeping our hopes alive of defending our Pac-10 championship.   

The ball was near midfield, and the QB called a run play to the right. I took the handoff and made it through the hole past the initial wave of defenders. As I emerged into the secondary, I stumbled slightly. I looked up just in time to notice a defender coming towards me on my left. I squeezed the ball tightly against my right ribcage, lowered my left shoulder, and braced for impact. I spun out of the tackle and tried to find my footing but fell to the ground and heard the whistle blow to end the play. 

It was a seemingly routine play, and my initial thoughts were that I didn't keep my feet enough to pick up some additional yards. The contact was jarring, and I could feel a deep ache in my shoulder as I handed the ball to the referee and started back towards our huddle. 

I took a couple more steps towards our sideline and, as I looked back, noticed that the defender had not gotten up. Just then, I saw members of the Washington training staff running onto the field and the other defenders were crowding around their teammate. My initial curiosity about what happened turned to genuine concern when I noticed that he wasn't moving. 

For what seemed like an eternity, the stadium was silent. Both teams huddled together on our respective sideline, knelt and held hands praying for the injured player we now knew to be Curtis Williams, the safety. 

I knew that the injury had something to do with his neck because I saw the caution by which they operated in these situations. Doctors and trainers from both teams now knelt beside Curtis. They brought the stretcher onto the field and began the process of immobilizing him to be transported safely. 

As I looked on, I just kept hoping for some sign of movement. I have seen similar situations watching other games. It was a relief when the injured player gave a thumbs up, even as the trainers carted them off the field. It was a nod to their teammates, fans, and even the opponent that they were ok.  

There was no nod from Curtis. No movement, no relieving thumbs up. 

He was unconscious and immobile when they took him off the field and rushed him to nearby Stanford hospital. It is always emotionally challenging for both teams whenever a severe injury occurs. You never know how to react in these situations, and the expectation on both sides is that you continue to play the game. 

Read Chapter 1 of Fueled By Tragedy

I am sure that it was difficult for his teammates to get back on the field and finish the game. I know that it was challenging for me. I remember kneeling with my roommate, saying a prayer for Curtis, and asking for strength and focus to continue playing. 

The game continued, and in the last 5 minutes, we were able to come back from an 18 point deficit, scoring with just 53 seconds left to go leading 28-24. Washington turned around and miraculously drove 80 yards in 3 plays to score the game-winning touchdown. It was an emotional roller coaster of a game. Even though they were visibly excited to win the game, there was no real celebration. 

Once I got back to the locker room, the questions about Curtis' injury status replaced any sting of the loss. Our medical staff told me that he suffered a severe neck injury and was taken to the hospital just off-campus. They said they would monitor the situation and keep the coaching staff informed. 

My first thought was to go directly to the hospital to see him. I wasn't thinking logically; it was emotional and felt like the right thing to do. It didn't matter that it was an opponent or that I was involved. To me, the severity of what happened transcended any hesitation that I felt at that moment.  

Still, as I had more discussions with our head coach, he decided that it wouldn't be a good idea as only the family would be allowed to see him. I disagreed, but I convinced myself that I didn't know if I would want to interact with the person on the other end of the collision if I were in his position.     

I sat at my locker for a long time after changing out of my gear. I just kept replaying it over again in my mind. Was there something different I could have done? Was I to blame for what happened? How severe was his injury? My thoughts then shifted to my mom. I knew that the media would report the news of his injury and that she would worry and want to hear from me. I called her as soon as I left the locker room, and we talked for about 30 minutes as I made my way back to my dorm. 

My mom was the one person that I was candid with about my feelings. I told her that I was conflicted and that I worried about how serious the injury was. I told her how guilty I felt, even though I knew I didn't intentionally try to harm him. I just let it all out but stopped short of crying because I knew my mom would fly across the country to comfort her firstborn. 

Instead, I took some deep breaths to compose myself, prayed with her, and ensured that I would have plenty of support from my teammates. In the end, I was trying to convince her not to worry, as if she could help it.   

The entire coaching staff was incredibly supportive. Our head coach made sure that I had a plan to come in and see him early the next day and my position coach called me that evening to check-in. 

I appreciated all the concern they showed, and I knew it was genuine. My teammates were just as supportive, and as we hung out that evening, a number of them tried to assure me that it wasn't my fault and that I shouldn't blame myself for what happened.  

My mind raced the entire night. Regardless of how everyone told me I should feel, I was the one involved and couldn't help but feel a mixture of sadness, confusion, and remorse. Still, I felt supported, and that helped me hold it together. Not knowing the severity of the injury, I didn’t sleep much that night and continued to hope that we’d get positive news about Curtis the next day. 

The morning after the game, I arrived early at the facility. I met with coach Willingham and my position coach, Buzz Preston. They told me that, although they were still running tests, indications were that the injury was severe, and Curtis may be paralyzed. 

I can't quite remember what I said in response, but I remember feeling frozen. I was lightheaded and couldn’t concentrate much on anything. It felt like I was on autopilot, watching myself go through my routines for the rest of the day. 

I am, in thought and practice, an eternal optimist. Rarely do I see a situation where a change in perspective cannot offer a more positive outlook. In this instance, I couldn't find any room for optimism, and that scared me. In my mind, I was responsible for what happened. I knew that logically, I didn't do anything differently on that play than any other similar situation. I just found it hard to rationalize that my actions, my body, led to such a tragic result.   

The coaches could sense that I was struggling. I made several mental mistakes in practice that week, which was uncharacteristic for me. It was frustrating feeling unable to control my emotions and maintain focus. Since I was typically upbeat and outgoing, it wasn't hard to notice when I was more disconnected than usual. 

However, I was never one to want pity or to have others worry about me. I prided myself on bouncing back from anything, and it was a learned skill that I admired in our head coach. He taught us the benefit of being stoic. It served me well in handling the emotional ups and downs that football presented in each game.  

I desperately wanted to assure everyone that I was ok. I tried packing my emotions away into a place where nobody would recognize them. Internally, I was struggling, but I used the facade of optimism as a crutch. Looking back on it now, I realized that this prevented me from speaking up more consistently about what I was starting to feel. My lessons in stoicism repressed what I was feeling and showed what I thought to be resilience. I didn't know it at the time. 

Still, by not dealing with my feelings directly, tiny fissures started to form. Emotional fractures that made me more susceptible to breaking.

Feelings of doubt became more prominent and began to overtake the hopefulness and confidence that typically framed my approach to each day. Thinking back on all of the hard work and dedication I had put in to get to this point didn't help drive those feelings away. I thought about my mom's sacrifices, leaving Trinidad to build a better life and afford me this opportunity. 

It scared me to think that this game that I loved, one that gave me so much could be taken away in an instant.