Twelve Men in the Huddle Read online

  The now despondent driver did not respond.

  “Slow down Billy Mo,” said the State Trooper as he began to walk away. “Loved your game young man. Go Tarps!”

  After the officer pulled away Billy Morris slowly drove his vehicle onto the highway. Not a word was spoken until they reached the campus of Tulsa Valley.

  “Where is everybody?” asked Pete as they cruised up the main campus drive. The roadway was lined with majestic oak and magnolia trees, leading to a large administrative building in the distance. Stately buildings in Greek revival architecture adorned rolling green hills.

  “School doesn’t start until the end of August,” said Heather while combing her hair. “Only the football team is here.” She spoke between applications of fresh red lipstick.

  “What a beautiful campus,” said Pete.

  “It used to be a sugar plantation back in the day,” said Heather. “Now it’s the crown jewel of Louisiana. In one month, thirty-six thousands students will be back. I love it.”

  The sportster made its way through the campus and suddenly, after making a left hand turn around a knoll, came face to face with the home of the Tulsa Valley Tarpons, a behemoth stadium that seemingly reached to the sky. Colorful flags around the stadium’s top perimeter gently ruffled in the breeze.

  “Oh my God,” said Pete. “That’s much bigger than what I remember.”

  “It seats 96,000 fans,” said Heather. “On game day Saturday it becomes the seventh largest city in the state of Louisiana.”

  “Sacred ground,” said Billy Mo in reverence, breaking his silence since being pulled over. “Bury me on the fifty yard line.”

  Pete just stared back at the driver as he pulled into the apartment complex. He heard that football was religion in this part of the country. He was now starting to appreciate it.

  “Thanks for the ride Billy Mo,” said Pete as he exited the car. The team’s Sports Information Director escorted him to the entrance.

  “Sorry about Billy Mo back there,” said Heather. “It’s been hard on him.”

  “Yes, yes. No problem,” said Pete. “If it makes him feel any better, I never heard of the fumble.”

  “That play, along with his knee, may have kept him out of the pros.”

  “I appreciate the ride Heather,” said Pete with a smile. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this year. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Me too Dr. Wagner,” said the young woman with a soft smile. “Me too.” She turned to walk away as Billy Mo impatiently blew the horn.

  “Hey, Heather,” shouted Pete.

  “Yes doctor?”

  “Go Tarps!”

  Chapter Two

  DOCTOR HARPER

  The following morning at precisely 5:30 A.M., a black Mercedes SUV pulled up in front of Pete’s apartment. Waiting outside were Dr. Wagner and Jamal Lewis. Lewis was Pete’s new roommate who arrived the prior evening from Los Angeles. He was the second sports fellow chosen to spend a year with Dr. Harper. The duo hopped into the back seat of the vehicle.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” said Dr. Harper from the front seat, turning and extending a firm handshake to his two fellows. “I’d like to introduce to you Shannon Murphy, my personal assistant. She runs the show. Any questions as to where I am, or where to go – ask Shannon.”

  “Good morning,” said Shannon, seated behind the driver and next to the two young doctors. “Welcome to Tulsa Valley.” Shannon sported short cropped, bleach blonde hair and a nervous looking face. A cell phone was in her right hand and a clipboard in the left. While speaking she stared at her phone.

  “This is Grady Gray, my driver,” continued Harper with a nod to his left. “He was the linebacker on Tulsa’s last national championship team fifty years ago.” Grady was a frail, elderly man with white hair. A set of crooked fingers held on to the steering wheel. The driver tipped his hat to the rear seat guests.

  “We call him Grady G,” said Shannon.

  “Any troubles getting into town?” asked Harper.

  “No sir,” said Pete.

  “Please, gentlemen. Call me Dr. Harper.”

  “My flight was delayed,” said Jamal while staring out at the abandoned campus. The sun was starting to rise. “I’m in a daze. It’s 3:00 A.M. to me.”

  “Today you will be joining Dr. Harper in the outpatient surgery facilities adjacent to St. Luke’s Hospital,” interrupted Shannon. “He has several arthroscopies scheduled. After that, we need to see four athletes in the Performance Center.”

  “Is that the place where we interviewed?” asked Jamal.

  “Yes Dr. Lewis. The Harper Human Performance Center is located two blocks east of the stadium. It’s where Dr. Harper sees all his clinical patients. We refer to it as the HPC.”

  “Afterwards we’ll grab lunch and head out to the practice field,” said Harper. “Today is the first day of double sessions. So we have to make sure the players are well hydrated. It’s going to be another scorcher.”

  The vehicle turned into a nearly empty parking lot and headed towards the surgical center entrance. The facade suggested a former textile mill, a large brick smokestack towering above. Grady G sped the SUV around the rear of the building and stopped at a set of rear doors.

  “Let’s go,” said Harper as he got out.

  “How many surgeries do you have this morning?” asked Pete as he tried to keep up with his mentor’s pace.

  “Twenty-one,” said Shannon.

  Despite the hour, the surgical team stepped into a beehive of activity. The phrase “Good morning Dr. Harper,” rang out from every corner of the facility. Pete and Jamal accompanied their new mentor to a locker room and quickly changed into surgical scrubs.

  “I know you both have good skills,” said Harper as he was placing some shoe covers on. “I’ve extensively researched each one of you. Don’t let me down.”

  “Yes Dr. Harper.”

  The trio exited the locker into a central surgical bay area, surrounded by a series of six operating rooms. Each O.R. included a large glass window allowing anyone in the central bay to peer inside. Pete noticed each room to already have a patient on the table, intubated and asleep, with their operative extremity prepped and draped. It was now six o’clock in the morning.

  “Who’s first?” asked Harper.

  “Room one,” replied Shannon, who wore a set of oversized scrubs that sagged on her bony frame. “Seventeen year old high school student with a probable medial meniscus tear. Dr. Wagner to assist.”

  Pete rapidly scrubbed and gowned with Dr. Harper. The head surgeon said hello to a physician assistant standing next to an exposed left leg. The patient’s body was hidden behind the sterile sheets. The assistant handed Dr. Harper a scalpel and he quickly made three small incisions around the kneecap. Within thirty seconds he placed a small arthroscope into the knee, allowing the camera to transmit an image to a LCD screen. The team viewed the internal structures of the patient’s knee.

  “There, Dr. Wagner do you see it? A small inside cartilage tear and medial plica.” The plica was an incidental finding.

  “Yes I do,” said Pete.

  “Take your time, trim back the cartilage tear and shave out the plica. Gregg here will help you through it. O.K.?”

  “Yes,” said Pete as he took over the controls of the arthroscope.

  Harper stepped back, peeled off his gloves and walked out of the room.

  “Wow, that was quick,” said Pete.

  “Hi, I’m Gregg,” said the physician assistant. “Keep moving. He’s going to be back in about ten minutes.”

  Pete began to excise the small cartilage tear. While waiting for an instrument he was able to look into the adjacent room, where Dr. Harper had started Jamal on another knee arthroscopy. The Fellowship Director subsequently bolted into Room #3 and began a case on his own. Pete noticed each room to have a scrub nurse and physician assistant present, along with Shannon Murphy who kept moving with Harper. Ten minutes later Harpe
r walked back into the room.

  “How did he do Gregg?”

  “Great,” said the P.A. “As advertised, Dr. Wagner has a good set of hands.”

  “Are you done Dr. Wagner? It looks good from here.” Dr. Harper was looking at the LCD screen as it projected the trimmed cartilage.

  “Cartilage is trimmed out. I just have to shave out the plica,” said Pete.

  “Let Gregg do it.”

  Pete was surprised by the directive, and immediately felt the hands of the P.A. take control of the arthroscope, edging him away from the table.

  “In Room Five is a fifty-six year old male with a partial rotator cuff tear and some labral degeneration,” said Shannon while leading the team across the central bay area. “He works at the University. I believe in the Bursar’s Office.”

  Phil followed into Room Five where the arm of a patient protruded from some sterile sheets and attached to a rope with fifteen pounds of traction. A physician assistant handed Dr. Harper a scalpel and he quickly made an incision in the rear of the patient’s shoulder, followed by the insertion of an arthroscope.

  “Just like the MRI called it,” said Harper. “See it Dr. Wagner?”

  “Yes, definitely looks like a partial rotator cuff tear and some labral degeneration,” said Pete.

  “Agree,” said Dr. Harper. “Shave down the cuff, trim the labrum and do a subacromial decompression. His acromion is thin, so take it easy on the bony resection. Keep an eye on him Alison.”

  “Yes Dr. Harper,” said the P.A. from behind her mask. Pete noticed she had a set of crisp, icy blue eyes.

  Dr. Harper exited the room, allowing the frenetic cycle to continue. By ten o’clock in the morning, all twenty-one cases were complete.

  “I couldn’t have done the case any better,” said Dr. Harper to his final patient in the recovery room. “Everything went perfectly.” He was talking to a sophomore running back on the football team. At the patient’s bedside were his parents who flew in from Georgia the prior evening. A large bandage was around his left knee with an ice pack. Pete and Jamal weren’t sure which one of the three had operated on the young man. “It’s all up to you now,” said Dr. Harper. “The ball is in your court. Just do what the trainers say. We’ll have you ready by the homecoming game.”

  “Thank you Dr. Harper,” responded the sedate young man.

  His father stepped forward to firmly shake the surgeon’s hand, thanking him for his expertise.

  The three physicians immediately dressed back into their street clothes and headed out the back door amidst an avalanche of “goodbyes.”

  Just outside was Grady G, with the Mercedes. The air conditioning in the vehicle felt divine.

  “Wow,” said Jamal as the vehicle pulled away from the center. “That’s a week’s worth of surgery on the West coast.”

  “Four follow-up patients at the Harp,” said Shannon while scanning her phone.

  “Is Kelly one of them?” asked Harper.

  “Yes sir. The trainers say he is doing very well. Ready for contact.”

  “Make him first,” said Harper. “Don’t have him wait.”

  Over the next ten minutes Dr. Harper’s personal assistant filled him in on a series of matters ranging from patient phone calls to a television show appearance. The short questions were answered with surgical precision. Shannon Murphy never raised a follow-up question for the doctor. Before the two dazed Sports Fellows knew it, the SUV pulled into the Harper Performance Center. They entered through a rear set of double doors.

  The HPC was a state of the art professional and athletic facility, occupying two city blocks. Large glass windows along its Southern exposure allowed all occupants to view the football stadium, which dominated the skyline. Inside were business offices, examination rooms, an MRI unit and orthotic shop. The entire first floor consisted of an athletic training facility complete with an indoor track and Olympic sized pool. The training room was littered with free weights, treadmills, stationary bikes and futuristic machinery. Despite the morning hour, the facility was packed and noisy. The rhythmic metallic clank of barbells was only interrupted by the occasional shout of an athletic trainer. A team of young physical therapists walked about, all physically fit and wearing the HPC logo on their shirts.

  “Holy cow,” commented Pete as he walked through the main training room floor. “This gym must be a 100 yards long.”

  “Actually 150 meters,” said Shannon. “See the sprint lanes over there? They are a 100 meters long.”

  A continual series of “Morning Dr. Harper,” and “Hey Doc,” emanated from the young crowd. The HPC’s namesake moved quickly through the group, occasionally stopping to offer words of encouragement to an athlete. The walls were covered with massive photos of Tulsa Valley athletes, mostly footballs players, exhibiting their skills on the playing field. Occasional words such as ‘Commitment, Teamwork and Desire,’ were emblazoned between the photos. The Tarpon logo was ubiquitous along with the mantra, ‘Go Tarps.’

  The group entered an elevator at the far end of the facility, which took them up to the third floor.

  “What room?” asked Harper.

  “Exam room three,” said Shannon who was a step behind and to the right of Dr. Harper. The team turned the corner to be met by a large group of health care providers, just outside the door. Upon seeing Dr. Harper, the faction parted, allowing the doctor passage. They quickly closed ranks, leaving Pete and Jamal in the rear, several yards down the hallway.

  “Good morning Connor,” said Dr. Harper as he entered the room. “How’s that ankle doing?”

  What followed was an exchange of medical information between Harper, an assemblage of trainers, coaches and university representatives. On the exam table was Scranton’s greatest football product, Connor Kelly.

  Pete and Jamal were able to make out a few lines spoken by Connor, during which absolute silence gripped the room. They were unable to get a visual of the star running back, who reported feeling “good enough” for full contact activities. A lengthy discussion followed between Harper and a male with a deep voice. After several repeated words of encouragement to the athlete, the crowd began to exit the room. Pete and Jamal were shoved back as the Heisman candidate walked out, surrounded by a team of handlers. Pete was able to make out the backside of Kelly, whose frame equaled his at six foot two inches. A muscular trainer held his arm around Connor’s shoulder, leading him down the opposite end of the hallway. Within seconds the troop turned the corner and vanished, with the Tulsa Valley star in their midst.

  “Who’s next?” asked Harper as he exited the exam room.

  “Room two,” said Shannon. “Back up punter. Shoulder tendonitis. Right side. He has been in therapy for six weeks. No improvement.”

  “Sounds like we need an injection young man,” said Harper as he entered the room. “I’d like you to meet my Sports Fellow, Dr. Peter Wagner.”

  “Hello,” said the athlete.

  “Dr. Wagner is going to be giving you an injection to the right shoulder bursa. You need it. It will help calm down the tendonitis. All right?”

  “I guess so,” said the punter.

  “Follow up in four weeks,” said Harper as he left the room, leaving Pete and a nurse alone with the patient.

  The nurse handed Pete a pair of gloves. In her right hand she held a syringe containing some numbing medicine and corticosteroid. Without speaking she prepped the punter’s right shoulder with some betadine.

  “Do you have any allergies?” asked Pete to the patient.

  “Nope.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Tampa Bay.”

  “This is going to sting a little bit,” said Pete as he carefully placed the needle into the patient’s shoulder area. While doing so he noticed a white two by two inch area of skin on the patient’s shoulder, in the mid deltoid region, clearly contrasted by a tanned background. “What’s that?” asked Pete while withdrawing the needle.

  “Salt patch,” said th
e athlete. “We wear it during practice.”

  “Salt patch?”

  “Yes,” said the nurse. “Dr. Harper developed it specifically for the football team. They all wear it, especially during July and August.”

  Just then the door opened to the room and Harper poked in his head.

  “Are you done yet? Let’s go, it’s lunch time.”

  “Yes,” said Pete while peeling off his gloves. “Good luck ah…”

  “Eugene, my name is Eugene,” said the second string punter as the nurse put an adhesive bandage over the injection site.

  “Good luck,” said Pete as he left the room. “Go Tarps.”

  Harper led his two fellows down the hall to his corner office, which allowed a view through an architectural cut in the football stadium, exposing the fifty-yard line. A single groundskeeper could be seen moving a water hose back and forth slowly over the turf.

  “What a view!” said Jamal.

  “What a complex,” added Pete.

  “Thank you gentlemen,” replied Dr. Harper while looking down at a series of messages on his desk. “The HPC took years of hard work to develop. But we never rest on our laurels. If you remember one thing from this fellowship, it should be a desire to always improve. Always be a bit skeptical of the accepted norm. Constantly try to make things better. Over time it adds up. Trust me.”

  The two fellows nodded in unison.

  Shannon Murphy then walked in with two HPC attendants pushing some food carts, with a selection of cold cuts, cheeses, water and green tea.

  “Green tea is one of the keys to life,” said Harper. “It’s a mainstay of the HPC, and all the football players drink it.”

  “Sounds good,” said Jamal while filling up his glass with the beverage.

  “You’re in for a real treat this afternoon,” said Harper while biting into his turkey sandwich. “Have you ever met Coach Hayes?”

  “No.”

  “He’s a legend in these parts,” said Shannon while staring down at her cell phone and nibbling on a plate of vegetables.

  “Must be nice to be able to just walk over to practice,” said Pete as he gazed out the window. “When does it start?”