Oregon’s star QB took the field for a nationally televised game last Thursday night knowing something just wasn’t right. What had appeared to be just a scare two weeks before in a game against Arizona State was, regrettably, far worse. What fans, and perhaps many of his own teammates, didn’t realize was that Dixon had torn his ACL in that game. All subsequent assurances about the severity, or lack thereof, of the apparent injury were just a smokescreen, at Dixon’s behest, to buy the young man some time to make the most important decision of his playing career.
Although doctors had cleared him to play, there was an ominous caveat involved. He could play on the damaged knee, but the injury left him vulnerable to much more serious damage. And given the violent nature of the game, that vulnerability represented a huge amount of risk. As a senior, Dixon’s pro prospects had sky rocketed this season as he dazzled the football world with his frenetic, dizzying style of play. When defenses pressured the line, he could step back and launch darts downfield, hitting his receivers in stride. His 85-yard strike to Brian Paysinger that broke the game open against Michigan was as perfectly thrown a pass as could be made on such a play. When defenses took his receivers away, he could simply outrun the pursuit and slash upfield for back-breaking gains. And his decision making on when to throw and when to run had been superb. He’d made so few mistakes that it was easy to see why NFL teams were starting to buzz louder and louder about his game.
So, his weakened knee not only put his current season at risk, it put his professional future at risk as well.
Yet, there he was – laughing with teammates during pre-game warm-ups Thursday night, running all of his offensive drills, and taking the field on Oregon’s opening possession. And all the while, he knew there was a time bomb ticking in his damaged knee.
However, his team was playing for the Holy Grail of college football – the BCS Title. Oregon had climbed all the way to #2 in the BCS rankings and really controlled their own destiny for a title opportunity. In fact, they were in one of the spots for a title game showdown at the moment of their match-up with Arizona on Thursday, and Dennis Dixon knew it. He also had to know that his team wasn’t going to get the rest of the way there without him. So, he stepped onto the field, assuming huge personal risk, mostly because his team’s dream season simply could not go on without him.
And on Oregon’s first drive of the game, things worked out beautifully. Facing a 4th-and-3, Dixon further showcased his lethal ability. Faking a pitch to Jonathan Stewart, he took the ball himself on a QB draw and raced 39 yards right through the heart of the Arizona defense for a score. It was an emphatic statement – you just don’t have enough to stop me.
But the time bomb never stopped ticking. No matter how much danger he showed to the opposition, more danger lurked in that knee. And on Oregon’s third series of the game, the time bomb finally went off. Planting on the weakened knee, he crumbled to the turf. The risk suddenly became horribly real.
Still, Dixon likely assumed that risk, because the dynamics of a locker room are far more complex than putting on the same uniforms and executing plays on the field. There is a unity, a loyalty among teammates, that supersedes the box score. With college football’s crown jewel to be had and with so much already invested in the chase, how could Dennis Dixon just walk away from all of that?
It is a heartbreaking tale. Yet, it is also a tremendously heartening story of honoring what it means to be a part of a team – what it means to sacrifice for something bigger than your own immediate desires.
In fact, it is reminiscent of another story about another athlete who gave his sporting life to help his team.
In 2002, the San Francisco Giants were in a desperate struggle to reach the MLB post-season. The team’s closer, Robb Nen, was one of the National League’s most feared gunslingers. He regularly kicked open the bullpen door with a 98-mph fastball and a logic-defying 96-mph slider in his holster, and that slider seemed to contradict physics. A pitch with that much break was simply not supposed to be thrown with that much velocity. Yet, Nen could, and MLB hitters seemed helpless against it.
However, down the stretch of the 2002 season, something wasn’t quite right. Nen’s fastball slowed, and his nuclear slider suddenly became human. With the Giants surging, Nen also had a secret.
His rotator cuff was in tatters, and the more he threw, the worse the pain got. However, his teammates kept turning to him every time a close game inched towards the ninth inning, and he simply refused to let them down.
So, he kept taking the ball, and he kept destroying his injured shoulder.
He still walked out to the mound with the same stoic demeanor, the same cool confidence of having toxic stuff that he could use at a moment’s notice to humiliate hitters, but it was false bravado. He was clinging to reputation and sheer guts to get hitters out, and they were starting to figure it out.
He helped the Giants get into the 2002 playoffs and kept closing games for them in the NLDS and the NLCS. Somehow, someway, he was practically willing his way through those final tense innings. And the pain was excruciating. With a World Series title just six outs away, things finally gave way. In Game 6 of the 2002 World Series, Robb Nen gave up the tying and, ultimately, game-winning runs on Troy Glaus’ 2-run double, vaulting the Los Angeles-Anaheim Angels past the Giants, 6-5.
That was the final inning Robb Nen ever pitched in the big leagues. It was later discovered that he’d destroyed his arm in trying to deliver a championship to his team.
As with Dennis Dixon, the tidal pull of loyalty to teammates, the honor of unity of the team, must have held sway with Robb Nen. How else could you possibly explain willingly tearing your body to pieces?
Perhaps, the even more remarkable thing in Dixon’s case is that he made such a sacrifice without the benefit o####uaranteed pro contract. In any event, I can only hope that such sacrifices don’t go unnoticed. In the rush to celebrate the transitory nature of scoreboard results, we shouldn’t forget to value the people over the games they play.
Nooch is a lifelong sports fan who believes that Indianapolis ended up with a slightly better QB than San Diego in the 1998 NFL Draft, the Golden State Warriors may not make the NBA playoffs again in his lifetime (how was I supposed to know that Chris Mullin would make a coaching hire and a mid-season trade that would basically save the franchise?), and that Mike Ivie's pinch-hit, game winning grand slam for the Giants against the Dodgers in 1978 may have been the greatest moment in baseball history.
