The first time I got
knocked out was by my own team-mate.
His name was Pete
‘Bucko’ Buxton, and he was a large, clumsy oaf. Bucko went on to play for
Gloucester for a long time, and has only recently retired. Respected and adored
by colleagues and opposition players alike, he is missed for his honest
contribution to the game, but he is not missed physically. You see, such a
wrecking ball was Bucko that the Gloucester physio team had to add another
column to their injury description spreadsheet: the BRI – or Bucko-Related
Injury.
My BRI had me sleeping
mid-session after an accidental knee to the temple. I woke up and dived at
Bucko to tackle him, before realising not only that was he on my side, but also
that training had stopped to allow me to wake up. I took the regulation squirt
of water to the face, finished the session and drove home. Madness.
The second time I was
sparked was during a game against Saracens. There was a fiercely contested ruck
going on and, short of anything better to do with my afternoon, I decided to
whack my head into it. It worked, and we won the ball. However, as play moved
on, I was seen by the TV cameras (and my poor mum on the sidelines) lying prone
with eyes wide open. There I stayed until the doc got to me, when I decided to
bite his fingers off as he tried to remove my gumshield. I was helped off and
had no clue where I was. Mostly, I remember being livid at being removed from
the field.
In rugby union there is a test to gauge recovery
from concussion. Every player sets a benchmark score before each season begins,
and not until he achieves this level of cognitive response may he be considered
again for selection. I tried everything I could to cheat my way back early, but
kept failing that test. In the end I passed, but it took far longer than I ever
expected. The recovery time made me look back and wince at how my BRI was
treated.
Rugby players get
knocked out a lot. There is, in my experience, a difference between getting
chinned and feeling dazed, and being knocked out cold. Machismo aside, if a
rugby player left the field every time he caught a whack and felt dizzy, he’d
barely play. But concussion is now considered serious business, and is treated
accordingly.
Seeing Hugo Lloris
knocked out was nasty, but the reaction was interesting. He got up and carried
on, as rugby men have done for generations. It did make me think, though, as a
now-retired player with gorgeous children to live for, how insane it is to risk
your brain for a game. Allow the player to decide, and he will always battle
on. This is how we got there.
Managers, players, coaches
– they all need to step aside and let the doctor make the call. Football would
do well to follow rugby’s example.
by
David
Flatman
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