The Night My World Went Dark
I recently received the video of my 99-yard kickoff return against Boston College in the opening game of the 1984 season.
For most people, that video is a highlight.
For me, it is both a miracle and a wound.
I see myself flying down that field, young, strong, full of promise, with the crowd roaring and the future wide open. I see a young man doing exactly what he believed he was born to do. And then I remember what came next.
The very next series, my life changed forever.
I blew out my knee.
In one moment, the lights of my dream began to dim. Over the next seven years, I would suffer six knee injuries and surgeries. I have never shared this before, but the pain became so heavy that twice I thought about putting an end to it all. I was lost. I lived destructively, trying to find my way back to the man I used to be, trying to make sense of a life that no longer looked like the one I had imagined.
While I was with the Denver Broncos, I blew out my knee for the final time. I was told it was my meniscus. Later, when I was with the Miami Dolphins, Coach Don Shula called me into his office and told me the truth: I had a torn ACL, and I was being released.
Just like that, my career was over.
I was 25 years old, sitting in an apartment I had signed a lease on two days earlier, broke, cut from a team for the first time in my life, and facing a surgery that would end the only dream I had ever known. My contract was voided because of a pre-existing injury. Then, as if life wanted to make sure I felt every ounce of the fall, someone broke into my new car—the one I could no longer afford—and stole the expensive sound system I had just installed.
I sat there in the dark, not just around me, but inside me.
I could not see tomorrow.
Football had always told me who I was. Without it, I felt like a failure. I felt forgotten. I felt cheated. And even now, every time I watch that 99-yard return, it is hard not to think about what might have been.
But God did not let that be the end of my story.
Years later, when I was diagnosed with ALS, I already knew what darkness felt like. I knew the sound of silence after the crowd stops cheering. I knew what it meant to lose the life you thought you were supposed to have. But I also knew how to pray from the floor. I knew how to get out of bed when my heart wanted to stay buried.
So when you see me smiling, understand this:
That smile did not come easy.
It came through pain, tears, depression, broken dreams, and battles nobody saw. It came from surviving nights I thought would destroy me.
And every time I see that video, I still wonder what might have been.
But I also remember this:
I am still here. And that means God was not finished with me.