Every Day I Fight by Stuart Scott & Larry Platt

Author:Stuart Scott & Larry Platt [Scott, Stuart & Platt, Larry]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Sports & Recreation, General, Biography & Autobiography, Sports, Health & Fitness, Diseases, Cancer
ISBN: 9780698191006
Google: CcTQBAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0399174060
Barnesnoble: 0399174060
Goodreads: 23281694
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2015-03-10T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

I WON’T BE HERE FOR MY DAUGHTERS

It was supposed to be a laugher. But sports—a lot like life, as I was about to find out—don’t always play out as expected. On Sunday, November 25, 2007, I was on my way to Pittsburgh for a Monday Night Football matchup the next night between the 7-3 Steelers, a Super Bowl contender led by Big Ben Roethlisberger, and the lowly 0-10 Miami Dolphins.

When Monday Night Football moved to ESPN in 2006, I was asked to cohost the ninety-minute pregame show with Chris Berman. Boomer from the studio, me in the field. Of course, no one had to ask. Monday night games have always held a special place for me. I grew up on it, getting home from football practice, scarfing down a quick meal, rushing through my homework before kickoff. Games would go so late, it wasn’t until high school that my parents let me stay up to watch the second half. I soaked it all in: Howard Cosell’s opinions, Dandy Don Meredith’s singing (“Turn out the lights, the party’s over”), and Frank Gifford’s play-by-play. Talk about iconic television; those guys broke new ground and influenced the entire country. It was appointment television. That’s why, when GQ called me the “hip-hop Howard Cosell,” I was honored.

Now here I was, same broadcast. While many saw me, as the GQ mention might have implied, as little more than a young upstart, I actually obsessively prepared for these games. On the plane that Sunday, I went over my stack of notes from around the league. I read every stat and checked out what each coach was saying about that week’s game. In live television, you don’t want any surprises.

The Steelers were coming off a disappointing overtime loss the previous week to the New York Jets, 19–16. So they’d be looking to make up for letting one slip away. Pittsburgh would be playing at home, where they were 5-0, and on Monday night—where they were undefeated in twelve appearances. I was feeling a rout coming on.

But something else was coming on, too. My stomach hurt all day. I kept feeling like I had to go to the bathroom—and I’m not talking about number one. I was in pain all night at the hotel. I wondered if it was something I ate. Some bug?

The next day, I drank tea to try to settle my stomach. I rested in my room. I even skipped my regular Monday morning workout. Nothing worked. In fact, the pain might have been getting worse. Finally, around lunchtime, I went to the hospital.

After some tests, a doctor told me I had appendicitis. “It’s best that we take it out, now,” he said.

“Can I at least go back to Connecticut and have it done there?”

He thought for a moment. “Well, it hasn’t ruptured yet,” he said. “How quickly can you get back there?”

“I’ll charter a flight right away, and I promise I’ll go straight to the hospital,” I said.

Once I had his blessing, I called ESPN and my hospital back in Connecticut.

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