Most days I just lay in bed or did a little bit of physical therapy. I kept up with the team, and saw a bunch of teammates as they came to visit me.
The next three weeks went rough for the Patriots. Oliver Lee showed the same growing pains as most rookie quarterbacks when they get their first taste of the bright lights and roaring crowds, and while he showed a little bit of promise in his first three starts, the Patriots lost all three games, putting them at 3-3 for the season so far.
There were 10 games left, and with the pressure coming on from the Jets and Dolphins, we’d have to have at least 10, probably 11+ wins if we wanted to guarantee ourselves a playoff spot. We needed that playoff spot.
So either Oliver needed to turn things around or I needed to get back on the field and play up to my previous level. A tall order, even for a guy as tall as I was.
I watched the week 6 loss to the Bills on the TV in my recovery room, hitting my head back against the pillow each time Oliver Lee missed an open read or threw a dangerous pass into double or even triple coverage, just begging for an interception.
By the time the game was over there were tears in my eyes and I wanted to throw things, but luckily at that moment I didn’t have anything nearby and I didn’t want to hobble over and get something.
Charlotte came in as I howled in frustration and to her eternal credit, she said nothing. Of course she had seen the game too - inside the facility it was nearly impossible to not have a TV within view. We didn’t say a word to each other, Charlotte just pulled up a chair and sat down next to me and we stared at the opposite wall, watching the post-game breakdown on the news.
It felt terrible, seeing my brothers out there losing another game but being unable to help them. Even if we hadn’t won with me there, at least I’d get to share in their pain, help them through it while they helped me through mine. Now, though, we were going through separate trials, and our connection, though not severed, was getting weaker by the day.
After a couple hours of post game review I just turned off the TV and turned my head to the side, looking out the window at the fading Foxboro afternoon as the sun went down. Charlotte got up and left.
Neither of us had said a word in hours.
The next morning Coach Armstrong came to see me, freshly back from the game in Buffalo. I sat up a little in my bed, but Coach didn’t seem to notice, standing right next to me. “Good morning, Coach.”
“What’s good about it?” Normally when someone said that there was a chance they were joking. There was no chance Coach Armstrong was joking. Coach Armstrong probably didn’t know what joking meant.
“Well, the weather seems pretty nice today,” I said, pointing at the window where the sun came through.
Coach Armstrong grunted. “Saw the game last night?”
“Yes, sir,” I nodded toward the TV on the opposite wall. “Nearly had it there, Lee just kept trying to force it a bit too hard.”
Coach Armstrong grimaced. “That’s an understatement, alright.”
“What can I do for you, Coach?” As much as I loved and respected Coach Armstrong for the opportunity he had given me and the things I had learned about football from him, he wasn’t exactly the most fun person to talk to, and I couldn’t exactly walk away from this conversation whenever I wanted. My knee was getting better slowly, but it wasn’t at that level yet where I could run away from my head coach.
“I’m here to check on your progress.” Coach Armstrong didn’t really need to do that, the training and medical staff was for sure giving him updates every day or so on my recovery.
I tapped my knee lightly with my right hand. “It’s definitely feeling better, sir. I haven’t tried putting too much weight on it yet, but I’m optimistic.”
“Optimism is for people who aren’t prepared nearly well enough.” Coach Armstrong had dozens of sayings like that, but unlike others who could come up with profound-sounding statements, Coach Armstrong lived and coached by them.
I wiped the smile off my face. “I’ll be ready to go as soon as I can, Coach. I can’t wait to get back on the field.”
“Good. We’ll need you. But before then I have another thing I need from you.”
My ears pricked up. “Su-sure, Coach, anything, what can I do for you?”
“I’m going to send Oliver Lee around here to come and see you.”
I had expected Coach Armstrong to tell me to be nicer to Charlotte more than what he’d actually said. “Why’s that, Coach?” I asked when I’d grabbed hold of my senses again.
“Kid needs a little guidance. It’s not easy to be the starting qb just after you’ve been drafted.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Exactly. So give him a few pointers, make him feel like the world isn’t ending every time he throws a bad pass.”
“It does, mean, though, that our playoff window is closing.”
“You let me worry about that. Just make sure the kid’s head is screwed on straight.”