Reaching Out to the Public
A steady stream of visitors flooded into Kessler during the holiday season, which helped raise my spirits, but spending Christmas Day at a rehabilitation hospital took a bit of a mental adjustment. I got through the twenty-fifth well because Mom, my relatives, and my friends brought Christmas—and New Year’s Day—to me. We celebrated at Kessler with gifts, laughter, and holiday cheer.
A few days after the New Year, Jason Baum, senior associate athletic director for communications and the primary media contact for the Rutgers football program, called on Mom and me with an interesting proposition.
“Listen, I know you’re not ready to talk to the media,” he said, “but there’s tremendous interest in your story. I got a call from ESPN today. They’d like to do a big feature on you and use it as part of their pregame coverage for the BCS Championship game.” Two undefeated teams, the Oregon Ducks and the Auburn Tigers, would be squaring off on January 10 in Glendale, Arizona, in the Bowl Championship Series (BCS).
“This would be the perfect time to get your story out there,” Jason said. “Everyone has been asking about you, but no one really knows what’s going on.”
My name had been in the news a few days earlier when the Football Writers Association of America awarded me the Discover Orange Bowl Courage Award. Perhaps an ESPN producer had picked up on that and decided the timing was right. Playing a football game aired on ESPN had been an awesome experience for me, so it was humbling to know that a major sports network wanted to feature me before the BCS Championship game.
We agreed to do the interview, and a few days later, ESPN reporter Tom Rinaldi and producer Kory Kozak interviewed Mom and me at Kessler. They also did on-camera interviews with my sister Nicole and Coach Schiano at a nearby hotel conference room. I’ll admit that I was mesmerized when I watched the eight-minute story—long by TV standards—with the rest of the fans tuned in to the pregame coverage.
The prerecorded feature opened with slow, somber notes of an electric piano in the background and dramatic lighting illuminating those being interviewed.
“There is a difference between what we know and what we believe. Sometimes the difference defines us,” Tom said to the camera, which then cut to a shot of me leaning back in my wheelchair at Kessler.
“I believe I will walk one day,” I said with resolve. “I believe it. God has a plan for me, and I know it’s not to be sitting here all the time. I know He has something bigger planned for me.”
My sister Nicole went on to describe the Believe phenomenon. “It’s almost become a state of mind. It’s not even a word anymore. You believe in Eric. You believe in him,” she said with a warm smile.
In the piece Tom explained to viewers that doctors initially gave me a zero to 5 percent chance of regaining neurologic function. Then Mom came into view. “I didn’t want to hear about percentages because my son is not a percentage,” Mom declared. “My son is my son. Nobody knows the will that he has, and nobody knows the faith that we have.”
Tears formed in my mother’s eyes. “It hurts for me to have to see him like this. But it also makes me so proud of his strength, so proud of the courage he has because he’s not letting this get him down.”
And that was the truth. I wasn’t letting anything get me down. I was beating the odds every day, proving that I was more than a percentage.
The ESPN piece went on to reveal to my fans that just a few weeks earlier I had felt sensation in my hand for the very first time. I described how Mom frequently rubbed my hands when she sat by me in my room. In mid-December when she was massaging my hand, I suddenly felt something. It was a slight tingle. A feeling I hadn’t had since a certain afternoon in October. Could it be? I was shocked. Wow, it’s coming back.
“As he continues his rehabilitation, LeGrand and everyone who cares about him understands that it is a long and uncertain recovery,” Tom said to the camera to close the piece. “But they also believe . . . in his future, in his fortitude, in him.”
Tom’s segment was a sympathetic and touching feature, filled with tears, inspiration, and the power of Believe. I watched the ESPN feature in my room at Kessler with a couple of friends and family members, and I felt really happy. It was a tremendously exciting experience because I had never been on national TV before, so it was certainly a cool thing. Mom had a different reaction: she cried throughout the entire presentation. Like all of us, Mom was still adjusting to her new life, and seeing how I looked on national TV was quite an emotional experience for her. But for me, I was just happy to be off the ventilator and get on with my rehab.
The interview sparked news because this was the first time we disclosed that I had experienced sensations in my body below my level of injury. The feelings in my fingers were fleeting, however, so we didn’t know which direction we were going. The only thing I could control was the effort I put into my rehabilitation. Each morning, I mentally prepared myself to have a big day, reminding myself that I had to Believe.
I worked hard to get my strength back. In fact, if you watch Tom Rinaldi’s story and compare me then to what I look like today, the difference is apparent. Back in January 2011, I had to lie way back in my wheelchair, so much so that it looked like I was seriously slouching. I sat this way for two reasons: one, I was still in a weak state following my injury, and two, if I tried to sit up straight, I’d get dizzy and faint from low blood pressure. Today I have muscle strength in my upper body, which allows me to sit up much straighter, and I can also move my head to the right or left more freely. My blood pressure regulates a lot better now than it did back then.
Within days of the ESPN interview, I made my first trip to the Rutgers campus, where I surprised my teammates by showing up for an 8 A.M. team meeting at the Hale Center. This was the first time the team was getting together after the winter break, and you should have heard the chorus of “Oh, E!” filling the team meeting room. It felt great to be back with guys I’d gone into battle with. They lined up to hug me and tell me that they were pulling for me. Their belief in me made it easier for me to believe in myself.
Nearly all my teammates had visited me at Hackensack or Kessler at one time or another, but it was nice to see them in familiar territory. Even though the 2010 Rutgers team had finished 4–8 and missed a bowl game for the first since 2004, there was optimism that the black cloud hanging over the program would make way for sunny skies in 2011.
After my visit, Coach Schiano told the media that the 2011 season was a challenge, “but it’s also been something that’s drawn us together. I’m with Eric. Although it’s hard to see, there’s going to be a lot of positives to come from this. For Eric, for his family, for everybody.”
I felt exactly the same way as Coach.
Onward to Jackson
For the next three months, I continued daily rehab at Kessler. During my sessions, my physical therapists attached electrodes to my back, chest, biceps, and triceps so that my body could receive the electrical charges that weren’t occurring between my brain and my muscles. They secured my hands to an “arm bike” so that I could work my arms, even though I could not voluntarily move them.
Next, my arms were put in straps and held up to about shoulder level with light weights keeping them in place. I’d try to make movements, even pushing down a few inches. All these exercises helped improve my sitting posture in the wheelchair because I was working my upper body, core muscles, and back muscles.
Throughout the month of March, I had made so much progress that doctors removed my tracheotomy, and my medical team told Mom that we should start thinking about checking out and moving back home. I could continue physical therapy on an outpatient basis three times a week at Kessler in West Orange or any Kessler satellite facility.
We understood why I couldn’t stay at Kessler indefinitely—our health insurance wouldn’t pay for twenty-four-hour inpatient care forever. At some point I had to get on with the rest of my life. The problem was our house in Avenel: there was no way I could live there. Our home was built in the 1930s and was clearly unsuitable for someone in a wheelchair. It would be impossible for me to negotiate the six steep concrete steps to the landing, and Mom never could have lifted me by herself. Even if two linemen heaved me onto the porch, I wondered if I could get through the narrow front door in my wheelchair.
Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Ariel heard about our plight and offered to open their home until we figured out our plan. They lived in Jackson, a township in the center of the Garden State. Their beautiful four-bedroom beige brick house was lodged at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, and it would be great to be around my cousins. Once again, the family support would be tremendous.
At the end of March, I was ready to leave Kessler. Fortunately, we had great transportation to get there. Thanks to NCAA insurance, Mom purchased a brand-new, wheelchair-accessible Volkswagen Routan minivan. The van was equipped with a motorized ramp and a system to lock in my wheelchair to the floorboard.
When we arrived in Jackson, we had an awesome welcoming party: Aunt Cheryl, Uncle Ariel, and my three cousins Jazmin, Aaron, and James. Jazzy fired up the theme from Rocky on an iPod while I negotiated the distance from their driveway to the front door on an aluminum walkway that had been erected a few days earlier. Uncle Ariel and Auntie Cheryl greeted me at the door with the hugest smiles.
What a homecoming! It sure felt good to be out of a hospital setting. Because the bedrooms in the two-story, 3,400-square-foot house were on the second floor, Uncle Ariel called an audible: he turned a ground-floor family room into a spacious bedroom/living room space for me and an office/den into a bedroom for Mom. A flat-screen TV was hung in my bedroom so I could keep my eye on ESPN throughout the day. Earlier, Mom and Uncle Ariel had decorated my room with several NFL and college helmets, a No. 52 Rutgers “Believe” jersey signed by my teammates, and a red-handled axe mounted on a wooden plaque that reminded me to “keep chopping.”
The rest of the ground floor was an open floor plan with a kitchen, dining room, and large living room with a big flat-screen TV and surround sound system. Uncle Ariel took out a recliner so there would be room for me. The dining room was converted into a rehab room with a mat table and assorted medical equipment. The bathroom downstairs had a shower, but it wasn’t wheelchair accessible, so a temporary shower was installed in a laundry room off the kitchen.
I could not get over how much preparation they did to turn their home into a suitable and comfortable place for me. I was overwhelmed and grateful for their support. Auntie Cheryl and Uncle Ariel have always been strong influences in my life, and I was touched by all they were doing to make me feel comfortable—and instill spiritual values. It was my aunt and uncle who had brought me to their church—The Cathedral in Perth Amboy—when I was younger. I still remember the joyful sounds of gospel music on Sunday mornings.
Since my accident, Aunt Cheryl had helped me understand that God had a plan for me. Believing in God’s intention for my life and calling on the growing spirit inside of me helped me tremendously throughout my recovery. Sure, it was easy to get down after being immobilized, but my aunt and uncle helped me look beyond my situation for the inspiration and faith I needed to propel myself forward.
Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Ariel created a wonderful atmosphere for me, and I loved the closeness of family. What a difference that made in our lives! I was home again and ready to take on the rest of my recovery with a newfound energy.
Because almost three months had passed since I did the interview with Tom Rinaldi, there was a pent-up demand for me to speak with the New Jersey and New York media. Jason Baum said he was trying to keep the press at bay, but he could only hold them off for so long.
“I think I’m ready,” I said a couple of days after my arrival. The following morning, I was expecting a couple of camera crews from Channel 7 WABC or News 12 to show up on our doorstep, but then Mom stepped outside and saw our cul-de-sac filled with satellite news trucks as far as the eye could see.
“Cheryl, take a look at this.” Mom pointed down the block.
Aunt Cheryl, wearing a red Rutgers shirt and blue jeans, looked at the film crews either milling about or readying their camera equipment.
“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed. “I have to go upstairs and change.”
A legion of reporters and camera crews swarmed Auntie Cheryl’s home, and they were directed to my “living room,” where, once everyone was ready, I answered questions about my progress and what the future held.
I told the assembled media that six months after my injury, I had come to a better understanding with what happened at the New Meadowlands, that it was a freak play—a one-in-five million occurrence. “There’s a reason for what happened, and that’s what I truly believe,” I told the reporters. “I was picked for this to happen to. Some people can’t go through injuries like this. It would just put them down. I just believe God put me through this because He knows I can fight through what happened to me.”
I really believe what I said. Then I looked into the cameras and declared, “I will walk again. I believe that.”
A reporter asked if I was angry at my circumstances, although I knew what he was really asking was if I was angry at God. The answer was no. “There is no room to be angry,” I said, adding that I had to be patient through the entire process. “I’m learning because I’ve never been a patient person. It will all come back in time. I’m young. I was healthy, and now my body has to heal itself.”
I enjoyed my interaction with the reporters and TV newspeople. They questioned me several times more—in different ways—about how I was feeling, and each answer was a variation of “fine.” They asked how Rutgers had been supporting me and what I thought of the thousands of people who’d written notes of encouragement, supported fund-raising efforts on my behalf, or spoken to me personally. I answered that I was overwhelmed and humbled at the same time. The support was unbelievable, and my thanks couldn’t be expressed in words.
I answered every single question as best as I could. I wanted the media to see my smile—not my wheelchair. These newspeople were my conduit to the public, and I wanted everyone to understand that I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. I wanted the public to witness my strength of courage and determination to walk again someday, all with a smile on my face and an upbeat attitude in my heart.
When the questions veered toward the future, I related how I was determined to earn that college degree Mom always wanted to get. In January, I resumed my college education by signing up for an online class at Rutgers called “Blacks in Economics.” I watched the class online, in real time, through Skype, and wrote papers on my HP Envy laptop using voice-recognition software. There was a steep learning curve since I could no longer type with my fingers, but I gained confidence as I learned how to tell my computer what words I wanted on the screen.
I also learned that I could touch people through my computer. Like every college student, I had a Facebook page before my injury, which I used to upload snapshots of me in my football uniform or hanging out with Rheanne. But I didn’t have a Twitter account, figuring that even my closest friends weren’t interested in what I ate for my pregame meal.
That all changed after my injury, after my appearance on ESPN, and after my press conference in Jackson. From what my friends were telling me, there was all sorts of Twitter traffic out there about me. I wasn’t a celebrity, of course, but I was in the news and people seemed to be interested in my progress. From my wheelchair, I saw how I could become a source of inspiration for fans around the world as well as become an advocate for spinal cord research, all through social media.
I opened a Twitter account (@EricLeGrand52) after I moved to Jackson, with a goal of posting something every day or two using voice-recognition software. It was fun to watch the number of followers rise quickly . . . a thousand the first week, 5,000 within a month, and then I hit the 10,000 mark in the summer of 2011. These days, I have around 100,000 Twitter followers, and I sometimes tweet several times a day.
My Facebook page (EricLeGrand52) has taken off as well, and today I have more than 65,000 friends. Through my frequent messages, I can inspire my virtual friends and fans as well as keep them up to date with what I’m doing.
“Getting ready to chop up the last day of therapy for the week” was one of my posts. On Mother’s Day, I posted two photos of Mom and myself and wrote, “Love is sacrifice, we sacrifice for each other,” which certainly applied to my long-suffering mother. I used Facebook to notify folks that they could still sign up for a five-kilometer “Walk to Believe” held on a Saturday morning at the Rutgers football stadium in Piscataway.
Tweets on Twitter have to be short, so I posted quick messages like:
Crazy day but great day, trying to change the world day by day.
Picture yourself beating the odds.
About to get this work out in this afternoon, must put in the work to get the results you want.
Might have to wait out this storm on the deck because there’s no way I’m rolling to the car in this.
I also posted tons of fun pictures on Facebook and Twitter—like me at a 76ers game in Philly or Yankee Stadium, or hanging out with the U.S. women’s soccer team when they were practicing in New Jersey.
I’ve also gravitated to a new technology called Tout, which allows me to share short videos, and each day I send dozens of personal text messages with my iPhone, including exchanges with friends and acquaintances checking in with me to see how I’m doing. In a quest to leave no technological stone unturned, when people try to call me on my cell and the call goes to voice mail, they will hear the following message:
Hey, how are you doing? This is Eric LeGrand. I want to leave you with a quick message before you go. Never take anything for granted. Each day is a gift. It is a prize of its own. You have to go out there and receive it and enjoy it to the best of your abilities. That’s what I do every day of my life.
And always remember: Believe.
I love inspiring others and look forward to using today’s technology to spread the message of hope.
Getting Another Message Out There
The media publicity and public nature of my injury has resulted in invitations to meet some important people and local professional teams.
New Jersey governor Chris Christie asked my family and me to come to the statehouse in Trenton. Mom, Nicole, Aunt Cheryl, Uncle Ariel, and Rutgers athletic director Tim Pernetti joined me in the governor’s office, where Governor Christie told me that he was at the Rutgers-Army game and saw me go down.
The governor said he and his family were praying for me, and in his statement to the media, Governor Christie declared I had been an outstanding inspiration to people all across New Jersey, “not because of how much he has recovered, but also because of his attitude. He is extraordinarily positive about the challenges ahead of him. I am proud to be the governor of a state that has produced a young man like this.”
The visit to the statehouse impressed me greatly, and it was amazing sitting down with Governor Christie for a visit. The statehouse was such an old building with so many doors leading to so many different rooms, I had no idea where I was going. Thank goodness we had aides guiding our way, or we would have gotten lost.
After meeting the governor, three New York sports teams opened their doors to me during the summer. Leading off were the New York Jets, who asked me to drop by training camp. An emotional moment happened at the end of practice when the entire team came together in a gigantic huddle with an opening left for me. I rolled up next to my former Rutgers teammate and friend, Jamaal Westerman, who was playing linebacker on the team.
“Hey, man, we’ve been supporting you through this whole thing,” Jamaal announced to the team. “That’s why we want you to have this jersey so that you can represent Gang Green. Be sure to put this up in your room next to all your Rutgers stuff.” I was touched when he handed me a new Jets jersey—No. 52 of course—with my name stitched across the back.
I was introduced to running back LaDainian Tomlinson, who momentarily left me tongue-tied. He used to play for the San Diego Chargers and ran well against my favorite team, the Denver Broncos, but I couldn’t help but feel starstruck when he introduced himself. I also met Jets linebacker Bart Scott for the first time, which allowed me to thank him for raising money for my Believe foundation through the sale of his “Can’t Wait” T-shirts.
Unbelievable.
The New York Mets invited me to come by Citi Field, where I hung out on during batting practice and took a tour of the clubhouse. David Wright gave me his batting practice bat, and a team representative presented me with a No. 52 Mets jersey. I told reporters afterward that I loved playing baseball growing up and it still bugged me that my Little League team didn’t make it to Williamsport.
But at least I can say I’ve been on the field at Yankee Stadium, since the team invited me to make a pilgrimage to the Bronx for a visit. Even though this was the new stadium, I could feel the history of Yankee baseball as I hung around the batting cage before the game, chatting with great stars like Derek Jeter, Alex Rodriguez, Brent Gardner, and manager Joe Girardi.
In between those incredible experiences, I kept grinding away at Kessler. It was the middle of the summer when I tweeted a photo of myself standing up with the assistance of a special metalized frame at Kessler. “Standing tall, we can’t fall,” I dictated to my voice-activated iPhone. After another session, I tweeted: “45 minutes of standing today, it’s a whole new world being up at my height again.”
I had to be able to stand before I could walk, and walking was still my goal because of my Adam Taliaferro–like dream: to lead my team out of the tunnel under my own power. But I was a realist at the same time. If I was still in the wheelchair, then that’s how I would guide our team onto the field.
A couple of weeks before the Rutgers football program started training camp, my friend Mike Elchoness came by for a visit. We were chatting about the Scarlet Knights’ prospects for the 2011 season, and I told him that Coach Schiano said I could pick any home game to lead the team out of the tunnel.
“That’s awesome,” Mike said. “So what game are you going to choose?”
“I’m not sure, but I might come out for the first game,” I said. Rutgers would be christening the 2011 season with a September 1 home game against North Carolina Central on Labor Day weekend.
“Nah, don’t do that,” Mike said. “Save it for the West Virginia game.”
The Mountaineers? I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. West Virginia always brought powerhouse teams to our stadium. They were usually the team to beat in the Big East and had finished with a 9–4 record in 2010 and a No. 22 BCS ranking. Not only that, but the Mountaineers had our number. We had lost sixteen consecutive times, dating back to 1994—my first season of Pop Warner flag football.
“West Virginia always plays us tough,” I said to Mike. What I didn’t add was that I didn’t want to become a distraction to my old team.
Mike was having none of that. “Dude, you know that you’d get the team all amped up if you lead us out. Can you imagine how much the crowd would be into it? West Virginia would be the perfect game.”
I decided to get a second opinion from Coach Schiano.
“What do you think, Coach? Do you think I should come out for the first game or the West Virginia game?” I asked over the phone. The Mountaineer game, the eighth of a twelve-game season, was scheduled for Saturday, October 29.
“Whatever you want to do and whenever you want to come out will be fine with me,” Coach replied without skipping a beat. “It’s your call.”
“Okay, I’m going to think about it.”
When I talked to Mom, she said that perhaps I didn’t want to wait that long. “Maybe the fans want to see you before that,” she said.
She had a point, but Mike’s argument swayed my emotions. I told the Rutgers staff it was settled: I’d be leading the team out at the West Virginia game. Maybe I could be the spark to get our guys over the hump and finally beat the Mountaineers.
Behind the Mike
Just before the start of Rutgers’s 2011 season, Coach called with an exciting proposition: “How would you like to become part of the Rutgers radio broadcast team?”
Coach didn’t have to ask twice. “Really? I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Coach said.
He explained that I could offer my “expert analysis” in the pregame, halftime, and postgame reports, all from a player’s perspective. “You’ll be our E-rock report,” Coach said.
Once again, a wonderful thing was happening to me. I had always wanted to play in the NFL and become a broadcaster after I retired from the game, and here was a chance to get my feet wet in a broadcast setting that I was entirely comfortable with. God’s plan at work, I thought to myself upon hearing the news. This would be an opportunity to live out one of my dreams, even if the circumstances weren’t as I would have ever imagined.
I guess I had passed a tryout of sorts during the spring football game in April, right after I got out of Kessler. I was brought into the broadcast booth and asked to offer a few opinions about what I saw happening on the field. I found out, though, that broadcasting wasn’t as easy as it looks. I mean, when you’re behind the mike, you really have to know what you’re talking about because this is live radio. You can’t hem and haw and leave any dead air. You have to jump in there and say something interesting.
When Coach announced to the media that I would be joining Marc Malusis, the pregame and postgame host on the Rutgers Radio Network, a reporter asked him what might happen if I offered a harsh critique of his coaching.
“We’ll take away his food after the game,” he joked.
I’ve never liked missing a meal, so I don’t think Coach had anything to worry about.
But I was worried about doing a good job, and I’m indebted to veteran broadcaster Chris Carlin, who was the radio play-by-play voice of Rutgers football. Chris met with me several times before the season and showed me how to handle things inside the broadcast booth and what makes a good analyst.
I would be working with Chris’s sidekick, Marc Malusis, at High Point Solutions Stadium—the new name for Rutgers Stadium after a New Jersey high-tech company won the naming rights—for home games. When the Scarlet Knights played on the road, I’d call into the studio from home since traveling out of town was difficult and expensive.
My first game was the season opener against North Carolina Central. I’ll admit to having butterflies as Marc and I got started, but they quickly flew away. Marc was also an old pro at broadcasting, and not only did he put me at ease, but he adopted a conversational tone as he teed up softball questions for me:
What do you expect from Rutgers today?
Who will be the impact players in today’s game against North Carolina Central?
What does the impact player need to do?
It helped that I knew my team inside and out, so I was basically ready for any line of inquiry. Marc and I talked back and forth, much like we were playing a game of catch with the football. I settled into my commentary role with no problems.
The halftime and postgame shows were similar in nature: Marc would recap what had happened on the field, run through the stats, and then ask me what adjustments had to be made (at halftime), or what the Scarlet Knights had to work on for their next opponent (during the postgame show). Fan feedback was great. People I ran into said they liked hearing my voice on the radio and what I had to say because I knew the players so well.
Because I was “working” in the press box for all the home games, one of the Rutgers staffers suggested putting me on the video scoreboard for our home game against Pittsburgh in early October and letting the fans see me for the first time. That sounded like a great idea, so we came up with a plan.
At the end of the first quarter, I drove myself to an outdoor landing just outside the press box, where a video cameraman was waiting for me. Our enhanced sound system cranked up “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey, which got the sold-out crowd of 46,079 whooping it up. Hey, this was my song.
As the familiar piano intro began, the video scoreboard showed a young black man with dreadlocks sitting in a wheelchair lip-synching the lyrics about the small town girl taking the midnight train going anywhere.
The crowd went crazy, and everyone loved it. In fact, they drowned out Journey’s iconic song and kept up the cheering. When I looked down at the fans, thousands were pointing their smartphones at the stadium’s giant video screen and taking pictures of me “singing” along with Journey. Many of those photos were posted that night on their Facebook pages.
Meanwhile, I was on top of the stadium and feeling on top of the world. If singing along to a Journey song was this much fun, then leading my team through the tunnel and onto the field for the West Virginia game would taste that much sweeter.
October Surprise
On the morning of Saturday, October 29, Mom came into my bedroom and opened the curtains.
“See the snow?” Mom asked.
I looked out. It was snowing all right. Actually, it was nasty outside. A nor’easter causing strong winds and a mixture of snow and sleet had deposited an inch or two of the white stuff on the ground. Even in New Jersey, an October snowstorm was surprising.
“So what are we going to do?” Mom continued. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“This is perfect,” I said. “With all the adversity I’ve been through, how can I not go ahead?” After the events of a little more than one year earlier, I knew I could handle a little snow.
I wasn’t so sure about the cold, however. My body always felt chilled, even if I was indoors with the heat on. I would be outside for a long time, exposed to the elements on a snowy, frigid late afternoon. There was no way I could avoid being cold today.
When we arrived at the stadium, it was freezing outside. We parked near the Rutgers locker room underneath the south grandstands so that I could see the guys before the game, especially my old roommate Scott Vallone. “You’re still part of the team,” he said, which was nice to hear. I especially enjoyed taking in the musty smell of the locker room through my nostrils, including the minty aroma of liniment.
Mom escorted me to the press box, where Marc Malusis and I did the pregame show. We talked about how Rutgers had started the season strong, winning the first five out of six games, but an unexpected 16–14 loss to Louisville the week before left the team with a 5–2 record and 2–1 in the Big East conference.
I noted that West Virginia was bringing another strong team to Piscataway: the Mountaineers were the 25th-ranked team in the country with a similar 5–2 record and 1–1 in conference play. The feeling among the players, however, was that nobody beats Rutgers seventeen straight times.
When the pregame show was over, Mom and I took the elevator to ground level, and I got in the VW van for the short ride over to the Rutgers locker room. It was rush, rush, rush to get there in time. There were stairs between the locker room and the tunnel leading out onto the field, however, so I had to wait inside the tunnel until my teammates came out for me to lead them onto the field.
Inside the locker room, Coach Schiano was doing a fine job putting the players in the right frame of mind. “Big game, gentlemen,” he said. “You know the stakes, and you know Eric asked that this be the one game he leads us out. Let’s win it for him!”
Meanwhile, I was shivering in the cold. I never thought about wearing a jacket—not at a moment like this. Instead, I had on a long-sleeve Nike Cold Gear thermal T-shirt covered by my black Rutgers jersey, No. 52. I had donned a red wool cap and gray gloves, which didn’t do much at all to ward off the cold.
I waited for a good five minutes for the team to arrive, which seemed like an eternity. The time was 3:30, and a gray pallor hung over the stadium like a wet Scarlet Knight blanket. The stadium was half full because of the horrible weather.
None of that mattered now. When my teammates exited the locker room, my heart pounded with excitement. For the first time in a long time, I had forgotten how cold it was.
A red-handled axe was placed across my armrests to show our fans that I was still “chopping.” Scott Vallone and another old roommate, Khaseem Greene, each grabbed a hold of one end of the axe as we moved forward. Coach Schiano cleared a path and then let me come out of the tunnel first.
The Rutgers fans—many of them wearing yellow raincoats or plastic slickers to protect themselves from the wet snow—exploded with cheers as the Rutgers Band played our fight song. Then chants of “Fifty-two! Fifty-two!” gained steam as I led a slow procession of teammates onto the field and toward the 50-yard line. Scott and Khaseem, along with Devon Watkis and Beau Bachety, made sure I didn’t get stuck in the snow.
As we rolled out, I wanted to drink in the moment. It had been a little more than year since I last walked onto the field. Today I was rolling in with a new purpose. I didn’t even feel the icy flakes hitting my face. I looked at the crowd on both sides of the field and thought about the journey I had taken over the last year—all the trials and tribulations.
When we reached the 50-yard line, we made a right turn toward the Rutgers bench. At our sideline, my teammates gathered around me for a final pregame huddle. Coach Schiano was in the middle of the scrum, and he bowed his head. “God, please heal this man!” he cried out. “Please let him walk again!”
“Amen!” the team said in unison.
Coach then broke us with his familiar chant: “It’s family on three . . . onetwothree—family!”
The crowd cheered crazily as I exited the field, but from the corner of my eye, I witnessed two of my teammates crying—Brandon Jones and Steve Beauharnais. That’s when I almost lost it, too, but I was becoming numb from the cold.
I had been asked to drop by the ABC broadcast booth, where Mark Neely and Ray Bentley were calling the game, and chat with them during the second quarter. Then I’d have to rush next door to the Rutgers Radio Network, where Marc Malusis was expecting his partner to help him out with the halftime and postgame show.
Before I could go up to the press box, though, I had to get warm again. I felt like I had driven into a meat locker and been locked inside for the last hour.
“Let’s get you to the van,” Mom said.
I rolled up the ramp into the van, and Mom cranked up the heat as high as it would go. She changed me out of my wet jersey and thermal T-shirt and put on a new T-shirt and Rutgers hoodie.
When I felt warm enough, we returned to the press box, where I drove myself into the ABC booth during a commercial break. Mark Neely and Ray Bentley had been expecting me, but I felt like I was imprisoned in a meat locker again. The reason why was obvious: the windows were wide open, and Mark and Ray were dressed in overcoats to ward off the damp cold. The freezing wind whipped through the booth, making things miserable.
Before I knew it, we were on the air. Mark and Ray, during lulls in the action, asked me how I had been doing since my injury a year previously, what rehab was like, and what it meant to me to lead the team out onto the field. I said I had been working hard on rehab, making progress. Leading my team was a huge thrill, I said, something I’d never forget.
We cut to a commercial, and a producer noticed that that my teeth were chattering.
“Do you want a blanket?” he asked.
I appreciated being asked, but I didn’t want to be seen on the air with a blanket wrapped around my body like I was some mummy. Besides, the only thing that would warm me up was a hot blanket wrapped around my neck.
I stayed with Mark and Ray for the entire second quarter and certainly was impressed by their professionalism. I appreciated the opportunity to speak to the public about what was happening in my life while commenting on the action down on the field. But at the same time, I couldn’t wait to get out of the booth when the second quarter was over. I flew out of there and went back to my broadcast room with Marc Malusis, who was expecting me for the halftime show.
When Marc and I were done breaking down the first half, I wheeled myself into a nearby suite, where Mom and some family members were watching the game. She could see that I was still freezing. Mom wrapped me in everything she could find: two blankets, a sweatshirt, and a hat. But I was still powerfully cold, and nothing could warm me up. Once you get a chill like that, it’s a deep-to-the-bone chill, and it takes hours for the body to regulate and warm back up.
The first half had been heartwarming, though. We took a 31–21 lead into intermission as our freshman quarterback, Gary Nova, threw two touchdowns to jump-start our offense. The Scarlet Knights then carried a 31–28 lead into the fourth quarter when Coach Schiano gambled with a fake 28-yard field goal attempt. The conditions were wet and snowy on the field. This time holder Patrick Kivlehan had receiver Brandon Coleman open in the end zone, but the pass was broken up at the last second.
West Virginia turned around and drove 88 yards to our 1-yard line, fourth and goal with less than seven minutes to go. The Mountaineers were going for it. How I wanted to be out there, digging my cleats into the FieldTurf and being part of a huge stop. The Rutgers fans were on their cold and wet feet . . . until quarterback Geno Smith scampered around the right end and dived into the end zone.
Once again, Rutgers had lost to West Virginia. I was upset but not too troubled, because I was more worried about staying warm. If it had been a nice sunny day, I would have been much more upset than I was.
Mom drove us back to our apartment after the game with my teeth chattering and my body involuntarily shivering even though Mom had the heat blasting into my face. Back in July, we had moved from Auntie Cheryl and Uncle Ariel’s home to a wheelchair-accessible apartment in Woodbridge, which borders my hometown of Avenel. The move brought us closer to Kessler, closer to our community support, and closer to Rutgers.
Our new place was a modest two-bedroom, one-bath apartment. Mom slept on a pullout couch in a bedroom next to mine. I finally warmed up just before we arrived, but when I had to go from the parking lot of our apartment complex into our unit, I got chilled all over again.
When we were finally inside the apartment, Mom took off my wet clothes, dressed me for bed, and put two blankets over my head. I shivered for a long time, and I wasn’t warm until five o’clock in the morning, when my body finally regulated. It was a miserable night. Just miserable.
I didn’t stay down for long, though, not after the reception I had received the day before. My spirits picked up the next day, and I tweeted this message:
So I left tire tracks in the snow yesterday as I led my team out next time will be footprints
But God had something planned that I never could have predicted.
Sports Moment of the Year
Like most rambunctious boys growing up, I wasn’t the biggest reader, but I did like to thumb through Sports Illustrated. The stories were always informative and the photography was always amazing.
A month after I led my team onto the field at Rutgers, SI announced that for the first time in its fifty-seven-year history, the editor would not be choosing the image that would go on the cover of the magazine. Instead, SI would relinquish that call to the fans and allow them to choose the Best Sports Moment of 2011 for the cover of the year-end double-issue.
Fans were invited to visit the sport newsweekly’s Facebook page to help select the cover from a pool of fifteen nominations. I guess some of the Sports Illustrated editors in Manhattan had seen the media coverage of my rollout onto the field against West Virginia and deemed the moment worthy of a nomination. At any rate, the image that received the most votes by December 16 would appear on the cover.
There were many great moments to choose from—ace quarterback Aaron Rodgers leading Green Bay to victory in Super Bowl XLV, a monster dunk by the Clippers’ Blake Griffin, and Derek Jeter becoming the first Yankee to reach three thousand hits. Seeing my competition, I figured that I didn’t have a chance.
What was interesting, though, was that you could follow the vote total on the SI Facebook page. After the first week, I was surprised to find myself in third place behind David Freese’s World Series heroics for the St. Louis Cardinals and another “football” player—Lionel Messi of FC Barcelona, whose outstanding play overwhelmed Manchester United, 3–1, to win the Champions League title and stake a claim as the great soccer team ever.
It became obvious that social media was driving the votes. Surfer Kelly Slater’s supporters got the word out early and drove up his numbers. Backing grew for Abby Wambach and the U.S. Women’s World Cup soccer team for their huge upset of Brazil. Lionel Messi must have had half of Spain and Argentina (his native country) voting for him.
Then I received some help from unexpected sources. New Jersey governor Chris Christie and Newark mayor Cory Booker started tweeting about me and urged New Jersey residents in particular and football fans everywhere to vote for me. After that, my vote counts went crazy. I picked up a huge head of steam, and soon David Freese and I were in a horse race, each putting our nose out in front for a while.
Several days before the December 16 deadline, Sports Illustrated closed down the results tab so that nobody could see what was going on. I could barely contain my excitement because I knew I had a good chance to be the Best Sports Moment of 2011. I thought it would really be a cool thing to win, but I didn’t get my hopes sky high or anything.
On the day SI would announce the winner at noon Eastern Standard Time, I had been asked to interview Coach Schiano for Sports New York—the first time I was doing broadcast work for a regional sports channel seen throughout the Northeast. Rutgers had bounced back with another excellent season in 2011, finishing 8–4, so there was a lot to talk about. The interview time was set for 12:30 at the Hale Center.
I was chitchatting with the producer and camera people before Coach’s arrival when I noticed two people on the periphery.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Oh, they’re with Rutgers Radio,” said the producer. “They’re here to listen to your interview with Coach Schiano.”
Mom entered the team meeting room. By this time, it was ten minutes after twelve, and the winner of SI’s Best Moment of the Year had been announced.
“Mom, can you show me my phone? I want to see if I won.”
“Oh, I forgot it in the van,” she replied. “Do you want me to get it?”
Did I want her to get it? Of course, I did. “Mom, I want to know if I won.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back,” she said.
Mom turned on her heels and left the team meeting room as Coach Schiano was entering. It was time to do my interview; I guess I would have to wait a little longer, although the suspense was killing me.
The producer sat Coach down, the lighting was adjusted, and off we went—the tape was rolling.
I asked Coach several questions about Rutgers accepting a bid to play in the second Pinstripe Bowl at Yankee Stadium on December 30 against Big 12 school Iowa State. Coach smiled and said it was a terrific situation when your team can play a bowl game in the greatest city in the world, which I’m sure pleased the producer of Sports New York. “Getting an opportunity to play in a bowl game hosted by the New York Yankees is a great reward for our players,” Coach said.
When I was done, the house lights came up. I was making small talk with Coach Schiano when I noticed Mom leave the team meeting room and return a minute later with a poster in her hand.
“What’s that, Mom?” I asked as she approached us.
She gave me a bright smile and turned the poster in her right hand. What I saw nearly made me faint. The poster was a giant Sports Illustrated cover—a picture of me coming out of the Rutgers tunnel, surrounded by my teammates. “Fan’s Choice” said the headline, with the subtitle “The Return of Eric LeGrand.”
“Eric, you won!” Mom screamed. Just then, a half-dozen reporters and photographers poured into the team meeting room, and I heard the clicks of cameras and blinked from the flashes. They started asking me all sorts of questions, and now I was the one having to come up with answers.
The two guys who were with Rutgers Radio? They were actually from Sports Illustrated. Turns out my mother knew everything the day before, but she didn’t tell me I had won. She normally wasn’t very good at keeping a secret, but I guess she was able to keep this one, because I had no idea.
I wanted to do an end zone dance but settled for a big whoop-dee-doo holler. Coach Schiano looked happier than I was. The Sports Illustrated representatives said I captured 29 percent of the vote total, 10 percent higher than second-place finisher, Messi. Seventy-nine million people from 119 countries cast votes online for me. That was insane.
Even more insane is that I didn’t tell anyone to vote for me, and I never voted for myself. I hadn’t mentioned anything in my Facebook page or tweeted about the contest (even though other people did post about it). God was in control.
Gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated meant the world to me. It really did. That is something you dream about as a little kid—achieving something remarkable in the world of sport and receiving recognition for that moment from the most influential sports magazine in the world.
I was in awe and didn’t know what to say.
It was dawning on me that I was inspiring more people than I ever could have imagined if October 16, 2010, had never happened.