"Now stop being sappy and hand me the resistance band," he said. "I’m going to beat this stupid knee if it kills me."
He sat on the edge of the treatment table, one leg dangling, the other—his throwing-side knee—wrapped in a brace the size of a small car. His practice jersey was off, leaving him in black compression shorts and a sleeveless hoodie. His jaw was set so tight I could see the muscle ticking beneath his stubble. Searching For- Sidelined The QB And Me In-
He was there.