A high ankle sprain. It sounds as mild as it is common. Really, it’s an incredibly insidious and painful injury, one that sidelines dozens of NFL players each season.
Players usually don’t undergo surgery for the injury, which is a disruption of the ligaments that hold the tibia and fibula together and form a socket for the lower ankle and foot. If those ligaments are weakened or even torn, there’s a possibility the whole foot-ankle assembly can be shoved upward and, in the words of Dr. Pierce Scranton, former president of the NFL Physicians Society, “blow apart your lower leg.” The mere act of running creates a force on the ankle roughly 21 1/42 times the person’s body weight, which is about 750 pounds for an average NFL offensive lineman. If a player opts out of surgery for a high ankle sprain, he might be back on the field quicker but he runs the risk the joint will be weaker, or worse, it will harden and stiffen because of calcium deposits.
In the third installment from San Diego defensive end Marcellus Wiley, he talks about making those kinds of decisions and playing through the pain.
It’s amazing how fast things can go from great to horrible. That’s what happened to me this season.
The high for me was after we beat New England. We were 4-0 and had beaten the Super Bowl champs. It was our fourth game and I had three sacks already and an interception. I was feeling healthy. I was faster. I was quicker. I was smarter.
And I was headed for a fall.
First, let me say this: I’ve had some groin pain for a year or two off and on. It comes at different times. Groin and back injuries, you don’t want those. They have their own mind where they don’t like to relocate and go away easily. They pretty much shack up and stay.
My groin injury happened in the fifth week at Denver. During that week of practice it started to happen. It was just like an irritation. I was like, OK, I’ve been playing really hard and going after it. Maybe I’m a little tired. So I went into the Denver game a little hesitant, a little timid. Yeah, I was definitely timid, guarding my leg from my physical condition.
But it was time to play. You’ve got to take your seat belt off when it’s time to play.
On the first play, it was a run my way. I was keeping contain, making sure the guy didn’t get outside me, and Clinton Portis started to cut inside. I tried to throw my man to the left and run right. When I did that it felt like a tear, just like paper tearing. But it was inside my stomach, my lower abdomen area. I knew I was hurt then. I knew it was an ab injury, and I knew it wasn’t going to be good.
I tried to play that half. I came in and out. I never really finished the half. I’d play a couple plays here and there. Finally at halftime, I was trying to walk off the field but I was pretty late. My trainer walked up to me and was like, “Man, you don’t look good. You all right?” I was like, “Naw, man, I can’t lift my legs.”
And he said, “We can see.”
So he brought me in there and had me lie on the table. He gave me a couple of tests, and it absolutely shut down. The whole area. I could not lift my leg up. So he said, “Hey, the best thing to do is have shots right now. Try and see if you respond.”
So they got ready to give me two shots in my groins. My groins had pulled in compensation for my abs. They’re all connected. Once you pull one thing, the body responds and tries to compensate. It makes you stronger on the other side, but that’s too much pressure for the abs to handle. It’s a compensation process that basically makes everything shut down.
Finally, I said, “Gimme those shots.” And they gave them to me.
It’s pretty tough, not only because they had to give me a shot, but it’s not a surface shot. It’s, “OK, this hurts? OK, that’s where it’s at? Now, we’re going to shoot you right there.” Your injuries are usually like an inch or two under your skin. They stick the needle in that far. And two shots? The first one was hell, but the second one was purgatory. It’s like, oh my God.
You have your own upper body, and you have your sister’s legs. And in your mind you’re still telling yourself, “I’ve got a couple more minutes in halftime. I’m gonna play. I’m gonna play.”
And your body is screaming at your mind, like, “Are you crazy? I have nothing to give you. You go by yourself.”
And then you’re looking at your teammates. You don’t want to let them down. They’re all asking you, “You all right?” And you keep saying, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I didn’t go back into that game. The groin injury bothered me all season and kept me out of the next three games. But there was this other thing too. It would happen in my high-calf, lower-knee area. If I got hit or cut on a play where a guy blocked me on the legs, then it would numb itself for about two minutes. It would numb and tingle and sting for two minutes. Then it would go away.
The problem with that is, if a team was going no-huddle or a team lines up within that two minutes–which they do–then for that one play I’m in trouble. It’s kind of like I’m out there with one leg on that one play. But then the feeling snaps back, usually on the second play, and I’ll be fine. It happens a couple times a game.
I could feel it coming. I’d try to get up and then, boom, it would just buckle. Aw, here we go–two plays. That’s when you’re looking at the other team: Please, run to the other side. Try to buy you a play. But it doesn’t happen.
From the first game on, everyone is cosmetic. But you don’t walk into the training room when you wake up early in the morning and say, “I’m sore.” They’ll probably shut the door in your face. Or you’ll be kicking yourself for wasting valuable sleep time.
We don’t have a job where you can take a sick day. You’ve got a cold? You’re practicing. You’ve got the flu? You’re probably practicing. You’ve got pneumonia? Well, it’s more than likely you’re not going to make it.
The biggest thing that got us out of practice in Buffalo was lightning. That’s the only time I ever saw practice get shut down. It was funny, in Buffalo when it started to rain we’d all look around and be like, “I hope I see one lightning rod. If you see one, we’re going in.” And sure enough, you’d see one waaaay away, like in Erie, and we’d be like, “Hey, Coach, we saw a lightning rod! Let’s go!” For insurance reasons, we’d pack it up.
Too bad we don’t have more lightning storms in San Diego.
