Counting the Days While My Mind Slips Away

by Ben Utecht

  A couple of days into the camp I participated in seven-on-seven passing drills. In a seven-on-seven drill, the offensive and defensive lines sit out. Instead, the receivers go up against the defensive backs. I ran a fade route down the sideline. On a fade route I try to move the defender in, then I fade out toward the sideline. The quarterback threw a high, arcing pass toward me. However, he threw the ball short. I had already beaten my man, but I had to come back to the ball. The defender, the ball, and I all converged on the same place at the same time. I jumped up high, and reached back over the defender, who already had his hands on the ball. While I was still in the air I grabbed the ball and ripped it out of the defender’s hands. When my feet touched the ground I took off running and didn’t stop until I hit the end zone.

  After the whistle blew I heard a loud, high-pitched scream. I looked over and saw Vic Adamle sprinting down the field, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Yeah! That’s what I’m looking for! Yeah! Now that’s what I’m looking for.” Vic ran all the way up to me and actually jumped in my arms. After his excitement played out, he slapped me on the back and had me run back to the line for another play.

  At the end of the camp I was asked by Coach Mason and Coach Adamle to come back the next day with my dad for a personal meeting with Coach Mason.

  “Sure, Coach,” I said. I didn’t know what Coach wanted to meet with me about, but I hoped it was something good. I called my dad and he agreed to come out the next day. Right after he hung up with me, my father called Terry, the man in our church who helped him put together my highlight video. My dad thought he knew why they wanted to see me, but he wanted Terry’s opinion. Terry agreed with my dad and gave him several questions to ask in the meeting.

  The next day I went back for the specialists camp, which is for the kickers, punters, and snappers. At the end of camp my dad and I went to see Coach Mason. He led us into his office, which was impressive. Dark woods, leather chairs and sofas; he made an immediate impression on me. My father and I took our seats across from Coach Mason as he sat behind his desk. Coach got right to the point. “We thought Ben had a fantastic camp; in fact with his talent we believe he could play for us this season!” My eyes grew wide when I heard this. At the time I was still only sixteen. Coach Mason continued, “We want Ben to be a Gopher. We want to offer him a full scholarship to come to the University of Minnesota.”

  I wanted to jump up and down, but I didn’t. I looked over at my dad, who remained perfectly calm, which only a minister would. “That sounds really great,” my dad said. “Would it be all right if I asked a few questions?”

  “Sure,” Coach said. “Fire away.”

  “What if Ben gets injured and the injury is career threatening and he cannot play? What happens to his scholarship then?”

  Coach Mason shook his head. “Don’t worry. His scholarship will remain intact even if he gets hurt.”

  “That’s reassuring. Thank you,” my dad said. Then he added, “Now, Ben is only sixteen years old and still growing.” I was already six-six, but still pretty thin. “What do you think will happen if Ben gains forty pounds?”

  Coach Mason broke out in a huge grin. “If that happens, he’ll be the best tight end in the Big 10. I can promise you that.”

  My dad looked over at me. I didn’t have any questions except where do I sign. We sat there without saying anything for a moment or two when Coach Mason broke the silence. “Well, what do you think?” he asked the two of us.

  “Glen, Ben has another camp he’s scheduled to go out to at Penn State next month,” my dad said.

  “I know,” Coach Mason said. “That’s why we wanted you to come in today.” Then he looked right at me. “Ben, here’s what you have to decide. Do you want to wake up standing on third base thinking you hit a triple, or do you want to start at home plate, standing in the batter’s box, and knock the ball out of the park yourself?” It was the coach’s way of telling me I could go to a powerhouse school like Penn State and start out on top in terms of the team’s standing, or I could be a part of the rebuilding process at Minnesota, with a chance to do something really special.

  I looked over at my dad. “Well, son, what do you think?” my dad asked.

  “You know I want to play where you and mom can come watch me every week,” I said.

  “Your mother and I will support you whatever you choose to do,” my dad replied.

  I sat there for just a moment. “I want to be a Gopher,” I said.

  Coach Mason stood up and extended his hand toward me. “Ben, I think you’ve made the right choice. Congratulations. Welcome to the University of Minnesota family.” He then shook hands with my dad as well.

  My dad and I walked out into the hall, where my dad gave me a huge hug. “I’m so proud of you, son,” he said to me. We both had tears in our eyes. It was such a special moment with my father.

  After the meeting my dad and I went to the Golden Gopher Locker Room store, where I bought my mom a University of Minnesota sweatshirt. On the drive home I called her on my dad’s cell phone. When she answered I said, “Hi, Mom. How are you doing?” in a very low-key tone of voice.

  My mom took the bait. “I’m fine, Ben. How did the meeting go?” she said with that concerned-mom tone of voice.

  “Unfortunately, it didn’t go as well as we had hoped.”

  “Why? What did they say?” I could tell she was deflated.

  “I’ll tell you about it when we get home. Are you going to be there?” I asked.

  “Yes. Oh, Ben, I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s all right, Mom. They said they’re going to watch me this season and told me to keep up the good work.” I knew I had to get off the phone fast before I blew it. “I don’t want to talk about it right now, Mom. We’ll be home soon.” I hung up the phone, and my dad and I had a good chuckle.

  When I walked in the front door of our house I kept up the downtrodden-athlete act. My mom was waiting for me. She started toward me to give me a big mom hug. As we got close I pulled the Gopher sweatshirt out from behind my back and said, “Hey, Mom, how do you feel about wearing this for the next four years?”

  My mom let out a scream. “Are you kidding me!?” she yelled. “Are you kidding me!?” She then fell back to the stairs and began to weep tears of joy. “Oh, thank you, Lord,” she prayed. “Thank you, Lord.” We all cried, laughed, hugged, and thanked God together in the entrance to our home.

  •  •  •

  I went into my senior year of high school with some lofty goals along with a pretty lofty view of myself. I’d be lying if I told you receiving a full-ride scholarship to play football at a Division I school didn’t go to my head. Football had always been a game that started in the backyard with my dad, a game where friendships were formed, where I loved hanging out with the other guys on the team. All of that was still true, but going into my senior season football was now also the way I was going to make a name for myself. I planned on dominating games and being named all-state. Every game people would see why the Golden Gophers wanted me to come be a vital part of their team.

  My plans lasted until the first half of the second game of the season. I took off down the field on a corner route. I was supposed to run straight up the field for about ten yards, then make a sharp 45-degree cut toward the sideline. Since the defender is on my inside shoulder, the cut sets up an open lane for the quarterback to get me the ball. I’d run this route so many times I could do it in my sleep. The ball snapped. I took off down the field. The defender was right where I wanted him to be. I reached my mark, planted my foot, and made a sharp cut toward the sideline. As I did I heard and felt a heavy pop in my hip like someone had just punched me hard. Pain shot through my body. My leg gave out and I collapsed to the ground. I had no idea what had just happened to me. It was almost like I had just been shot. The crowd gasped, then fell completely silent.

  The next thing I knew my mom ran the fastest forty-yard dash in the history of Hastings High. She reached me
on the field before the coaches or trainers got there. I looked up at her. She tells me my eyes were as big as saucers. “Mom, I don’t know what happened,” I said, confused and about to panic. I had never been injured in a football game before.

  My mother didn’t miss a beat. “Ben, look at me. Do you trust Jesus?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Then trust Him now. He’s in control. You’ll be okay,” she said.

  “But my scholarship—”

  She cut me off. “He’s in control. You will be okay,” she repeated. In that moment a peace I can’t even describe came over the two of us.

  •  •  •

  The following Monday my parents took me to see an orthopedic specialist. X-rays confirmed a pelvic avulsion fracture at the growth plate. “Ben shouldn’t play football the rest of the season,” he told us. When my mom asked how this injury could occur, the doctor explained: “He’s growing so fast that it puts pressure on the bones. The good news is that this should heal completely and not give him any more problems.”

  I still had one problem, however. When Coach Mason offered me a scholarship, we could not sign anything. All we had was a verbal commitment and a handshake. The national letter of intent, the official document that committed me to the university, could not be signed for a few more months. I didn’t know what the Gophers would do now that I was hurt. The pain in my hip was replaced by the fear that my Division I football career was over even before it started. Helpless to fix anything, I had nothing else to fall back on except faith. “Do you trust Jesus?” my mother had asked as I lay on the field in pain. I had nothing else to go on. “God, I put this in your hands,” I prayed repeatedly. My cockiness was gone. The injury brought “Mr. Division I scholarship BMOC (Big Man on Campus)” back down to earth. The injury stripped everything away except the only thing that lasts, the only thing I can always count on. “Do you trust Jesus? He’s in control. You will be okay,” echoed through my head.

  My mother was right. Everything was okay. Coach Mason honored his commitment to me. I still had my scholarship even though I wasn’t supposed to play again that season. The game that I fell in love with in the backyard with my dad was going to pay for my college education. It was a dream come true.

  CHAPTER 3

  UP AND DOWN

  THE FRACTURED HIP I SUFFERED in the second game of my senior year of high school did not cost me my scholarship. Nor did it cost me the entire football season, as the doctor had predicted. After the doctor told me my season was over, my high school coach, Bob Majeski, called my father. Coach Majeski is the most successful coach in Hastings history and was inducted into the Minnesota State High School Coaches Association Hall of Fame. More important, he is a great man who played a major role in my life as an athlete and a person. Coach had talked to the high school principal, who had wrestled in college at a Division I school. The principal had suffered the same injury when he was in high school. However, he was able to continue competing even with the injury through toughness and by taking ibuprofen. “The question we need answered is will Ben make his injury worse by playing,” Coach Majeski asked my father. “Playing at all this season could depend on his pain management. Is that something you’d like to check with your doctor about, because we’d love to have Ben back on the field?”

  “Why is it so important to have Ben back?” my dad asked.

  “Because he’s one of our team leaders. We all know Ben is an outstanding player, but he brings much more to the team. I don’t expect him to play at his normal level, and I will not do anything that might risk further injury. More than anything, I want Ben back for what he brings to the locker room. Even if he can’t do anything but stand on the sideline, he makes us a better team,” Coach Majeski said.

  “Thank you,” my dad said. “I can see that, but this really comes down to Ben and what he wants to do. How do you feel about that possibility?” my dad asked me.

  I couldn’t believe my dad even had to ask. I wanted to get back on the football field with my team more than anything. But I played it cool. “Sounds good to me,” I responded as low-key as possible.

  “We will get back with you and let you know,” my father said to Coach Majeski.

  My father seemed unsure about the whole prospect of me playing with a fractured hip, but he left the decision up to me. Well, me and our family doctor. To me, the choice was easy. The broken pelvis dashed my dreams of having a breakout year, but I had more than my own personal statistics in mind. We had a really good football team my senior year at Hastings High School. From the start of our first two-a-day practice we all knew we had a chance to do something special. When I went down with the hip injury, I felt I had let my team down. They counted on me, which made me willing to do whatever it took to get back on the field to help the team any way I could. One of the great lessons you learn in football is to put the team first. That is why when my dad asked how I felt about using over-the-counter anti-inflammatories and playing through the pain I didn’t have to give it a thought. The answer was an absolute yes. If it would get me back on the field with the team, I was ready to give it a try.

  My dad then called the doctor and asked him if my playing would make my injury any worse. “No, it’s still going to heal, but there will be a lot of pain with it. It really comes down to how much pain he can stand and if he is willing to try.” When my dad told me what the doctor said, there really was no question about what I was going to do. Every day before football practice I took the full dose of ibuprofen, then repeated that process afterward. The hip hurt like nothing I had ever experienced, but in football you play through pain.

  Even though this was the first real injury I had suffered on a football field, this was far from my first time to play through pain. You can’t play football without getting something hurt. You leave every game bruised and bloodied and your body just hurts. Those don’t count as injuries. That’s just the game. By the time I retired from professional football in 2009, the hurts touched every part of my body, from the top of my head down to my feet. However, when I was in high school, my only real injury was this pelvic avulsion fracture.

  I took the maximum amount of ibuprofen allowed and tried to work my way back into playing shape. I found that even with the medicine, my range of motion was severely limited. No matter how much I wanted to contribute to the team, and no matter how badly the coach wanted me to play, the reality is you don’t come back from a hip fracture in a matter of a couple of weeks. It took me five full weeks after my injury before I felt well enough to run in straight lines. I still couldn’t make cuts or run pass patterns. By then the season was almost over. I was finally ready to play in the last game of the season, the conference championship game.

  The conference championship game of my senior year was the biggest game of my high school career. We played Woodbury High School, which went on to win the state championship that season. The hype leading up to the game was electric. When Friday night finally rolled around, the stadium was full, standing room only. Our team went out with a lot of emotion, but by the end of the first half we were down by three touchdowns, 21–0. The game was basically over. However, we played inspired football the second half and came back to tie the game while shutting them out. Woodbury scored a go-ahead touchdown late, but they missed the extra point. We got the ball back late in the fourth quarter, down 27–21. Our offense moved the ball to their thirty-five-yard line. We missed on a couple of passes and the drive sort of stalled out. We faced fourth down and long with only fifteen seconds to play. We had one last shot. The entire game came down to the final play.

  Our coach called a time-out and told the quarterback to throw a Hail Mary, that is, a desperation pass to the end zone. The offense started running back out on the field when wide receiver coach Jake Moore looked around. “Where’s Utecht?” he yelled. I had not played on offense since breaking my hip. “Utecht?” he called again.

  I tapped him on the shoulder. “I’m right here,
Coach.”

  “I need to know,” he said, his eyes wide, “can you do this? I just need you to run straight down the field and make a play. Can you do it?”

  “I’ll make the catch,” I replied.

  “Get in there,” Coach Moore said, a huge smile on his face.

  I ran back out on the field and took my place at wide receiver for the first time since my pelvic growth plate had snapped. The center hiked the ball and I took off toward the end zone. Three defensive backs converged on me. I kept running. The quarterback threw the ball as hard as he could. I went up high over the three defensive backs. The ball hit me in the hands and rolled into my chest. The defensive backs bounced off me and fell to the ground as I ran into the end zone to tie the game. Our kicker kicked the extra point and we were conference champs.

  This was the kind of play I had imagined myself making while running pass routes against the cedar fence in my yard with my dad when I was a little boy. As far as high school went, this was the biggest play of my life. After the game my hip was so sore that I could hardly walk, but in the euphoria of the victory, the pain didn’t seem so bad. That’s another part of the game of football. When you win, nothing hurts as bad as it does when you lose.

  •  •  •

  Once the football season ended my injury healed pretty quickly. Then it was on to my final season playing hockey, where our team had a really good year. Not only did the pain in my hip area subside, but so did the humility and brokenness I felt right after the injury happened. When I did not know whether I was going to be able to keep my scholarship I spent a lot of time asking God for help. Now not only did I have my scholarship, but I was also the big hero of the biggest game of the season. I didn’t really need anyone’s help. I had it all going on. I was still very involved in church with my family, and I sang there often. (I started singing in church when I was a little boy. Music has always been a love in my life.) I was also a fixture at our youth group meetings. Outwardly, I was still the same guy I had always been, but deep inside I was straddling the fence between arrogance and humility. I now fit the stereotype, not of a preacher’s kid, but of the Big Man on Campus, full-of-himself jock. I knew I was going places, and the next stop was the University of Minnesota.