Nothing about it was unique to arena football and its roller derby–esque format. Instead, a relatively unremarkable collision took his life. He died on the hard carpet of the Staples Center eight years ago this week, on April 10, 2005. His name was Al Lucas and he played defensive tackle for the Arena Football League’s Los Angeles Avengers. It was eight years ago, when a professional player - a former NFL defensive lineman - suffered a fatal spine injury on the field. I relate this gruesome glimpse into my subconscious because I know precisely when the dreams began. Right after this point, I always wake with a start, bile rising in my esophagus. One defender hits him high, one defender hits him low.Īnd then he’s literally ripped in half by the force of the hits. He jumps for a high throw, and as he comes down he is blasted on either side. He is catching a pass, so he’s probably a wide receiver, though because I can never make out his number I suppose he could be a tight end or a running back. He wears a generic dark jersey that could be any team’s uniform. The doomed player in my nightmare isn’t one of my beloved Cincinnati Bengals. It attacks my sleep periodically, usually in the summer rather than during football season, as if my subconscious is reminding me just how much the NFL means to me. Unlike the Commish, who was revealed to have this fear (the NFL and Goodell both disputed the assertion) in a recent profile in ESPN The Magazine, there is nothing figurative about my bad dream. In it, an NFL player is killed during a game. Roger Goodell and I have the same nightmare.
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