A Letter to Klay

Dear Klay,

“What one man can do, another can do!” The Edge 1997 Anthony Hopkins

For most of my life I was a huge fan of professional sports. But as the years went by and cultural behaviors changed, I began to lose interest in the modern athlete and professional sports in general. As the attention shifted away from the team and more toward the celebration of individual stars, my interest waned. I no longer managed my days or changed my schedule to watch the teams I had so avidly supported for most of my life. The product had changed, and I had simply lost interest. But then I began to hear about these two players on the Warriors nicknamed the “Splash Brothers”. At first, I didn’t even understand the meaning of the moniker but I heard that they were a must-see pair of players. I casually began to watch the games while at a bar or at friends’ houses. Honestly it was Steph Curry that I heard about most and when I first watched I could see that he was a very special player. However, it was you that immediately caught my attention. Your dogged approach to defense as well as offense seemed driven by the old school mentality I had implemented in my approach to competition. Your demeanor was emotionally quiet and yet fiercely competitive. You seemed completely focused on team success with little concern for personal adulation. You were a throwback to the athletes of my youth, the ones I tried to emulate in my game. The bottom line is that I became a fan of yours because of the way you exhibited a selfless attitude in deference to team success.

Our athletic careers are so very different; yours is one of professional greatness in basketball and mine was one of amateur achievement in soccer. However, my athletic experience, which is no where near the level of yours and is obviously unknown to you, is fundamentally the same. There is a commonality to both of our athletic lives: work ethic, competitiveness, and love of team. In the venue of sports and the mindset required to be successful, we are exactly alike. In the personal tragedy of athletic injury, we are brothers.

Fast forward to the present day and all I can say is that I was shocked by your ACL injury and deeply saddened when I heard about the Achilles tear. I only heard about the Achilles’ tear, but I saw in live action the torn ACL. I knew it was bad when I saw you land. I painfully understood the gravity of the moment because I have twice experienced the same injury. When I saw you return to the floor to shoot the free throws after you were told that if you didn’t you could not return to the game, I knew what you were thinking. I saw your face and I could literally feel your thoughts. On one hand your mind was trying to convince yourself that the injury was not that bad and, on the other hand, you were driven to stay in the game because you knew your team needed you. That moment of your pain and your reaction to it solidified my belief that we were cut from the same cloth. Why? Because when I first hurt my knee I went back into the game for the same reasons.

I was a pretty good soccer player on a local level when I was a young man.  I had a dream of playing in the highest level of amateur soccer in San Francisco. I achieved that dream only to have it taken away by a torn ACL in the third game of my inaugural season. Thirty-five years ago, that was almost certainly a career ending injury. In fact, upon completion of my surgery, my doctor told me in no uncertain terms that I would ever play again. It was a jagged pill to swallow for someone who had trained so hard to get to a dream. I would go to the games on crutches and sit in the stands. I would feel sorry for myself, at times cry and get drunk watching my friends and teammates lose over and over again. I would curse the unfairness of my injury and the sad fact that I had only three games of my dream. Secretly I would feel strangely guilty that because my injury and my inability to play I was letting my teammates down.

I did not listen to the doctor’s pronouncement of my athletic end and I began privately working on my knee with the goal of playing again. It was a painful and slow process but two years of hard work later I felt ready to  return to field. I joined a team that was in the Fourth and lowest of the Divisions. I soon established myself as one of the better players and I became captain of that team. In the next four seasons we made it to the First division; just one below the Majors. That would end up being the last season I would play because in the summer following that First Division campaign I once again tore the ACL in the repaired knee. Unlike the first time I hurt my knee the feeling was not one of sadness. I had overcome the demons of self-doubt and the prognostication of my athletic doom to reclaim the ability to perform at a high level, the camaraderie of teammates, and my part of team success. I had done it Klay and so will you.

My doctors told me a very long time ago that I would need a knee replacement at some point in my life. They did not articulate to me nor did I anticipate that my damaged knee would adversely affect my back but that was the unexpected collateral damage. 2020 has been a terrible year for all of us but for you and me it will always have added painful memories. This year I have had two major surgeries. Two hard rehabs in a small amount of time is something that we unfortunately have in common; pain followed by recovery only to be right back in hellish pain again. In February, I had a lower spine fusion which forced me into a long rehab process. Alone in my apartment I would work at it every day until my back had almost returned to a solid state. That was just in time for my knee replacement which took place in late October just five days before my 59th birthday. I built a small gym in my apartment and as soon as I was discharged from the hospital, I began my journey toward my goal of being able to painlessly hike, bike, and play golf. My rehabilitation goal this time around is not as lofty as playing competitive contact sports but then I achieved that goal once already. Now it is your turn Klay.

Each day when I get down on the floor to work on my back or leg, one of the things I think about is you Klay. I think of your struggle and the mental grind of your painful journey back to the game you love and the team you love more. I told you my story in the hope that I might gain some experiential credibility with you and thus create a listening window for you to hear these final words. To the negative whisper that comes on the days when there doesn’t seem to be any progress; that energy depleting nag which tries to convince you that the grind is not worth it, I would say, “Yes Klay it is so worth it”. In response to the internal screams of pain that tests you to the point of tears I would say, “Klay, go ahead and cry. There is no shame in that but you can and must endure”. To that voice of doubt inside your head that questions if you will return and at what level you will be able to perform, I will say this, “It is most probable that you will not be quite as athletic as you once were. Perhaps you will not be able to jump as high or move as quick. But if you are 90% of your former self, which if you struggle through this painful rehab I have little doubt you will be, then you will be better than 99% of players in the NBA”. Klay, while your athleticism will be slightly compromised by these injuries your knowledge of the game and the mental toughness you have gained through this difficult road back will more than compensate. I know you have the mental strength to overcome the pain and that you can will yourself back to the team you love because that is a fundamental part of your character; our characters. I wrote this letter to show that I did it and therefore you can too. Each day live this reality Klay - “What one man can do, another can do!”

Sincerely,

Your Brother in the Struggle,

Bill