Jamie’s concussion was a strange rite of passage. It changed him. It gave him liberty to be someone new. He’d discovered a new spark, and it was more than just what he told a newspaper in Miami about “realizing how much I appreciated the game and sometimes took it for granted.”
Everything about Jamie took on some new form. He was named an assistant captain. He scored 14 goals in his first 20 games, which was all over the news. He lost weight, to the point where even his face thinned out. He let his hair get long and developed a fondness for vintage cars. He sold the Suburban, and I went with him to Miramar and watched as he traded a brown envelope filled with hundred-dollar bills for a 1977 Corvette Stingray. It was candy apple red.
And his sex drive was off t...
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