Slow Getting Up: A Story of NFL Survival from the Bottom of the Pile by Nate Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

presses deep into her flesh as if in slow motion. The blade’s an extension of my pointed will. She winces and stiffens. Her hot breath hits my face and she thuds to earth.
    A cold wind shivers through me. I sit up like a shot and look around. All’s calm around me. The only sound is the water wheel gently turning in the shallow creek. I look down at my right hand, quivering and gripped tightly around my folded pocketknife. I hike back to my truck and drive home.
    I hear from the radio that we’ve lost in Minnesota. A predictably erratic and brilliant performance by Randy has done us in. Seconds before halftime he caught a long pass and, as he was being tackled on the twenty-yard line, he pitched it backward to a teammate, who scored as the clock ran out. He ended up with 10 catches for 151 yards. Nothing compared to the week I had.
    W ith four games left in the season we have an injury to one of our active wide receivers, and Charlie and I both cross our fingers. God chooses Charlie. He’s activated that week for the game against the Kansas City Chiefs. I stay down on the practice squad. Charlie’s pay goes from $4,350 a week to nearly $15,000: minimum wage for an active rookie. I decide to go take a nap in my Denali.
    Two weeks later, the team is traveling to play the Colts in Indianapolis. We are 9-5 and have won four of our last five games. It’s our biggest game of the season. If we beat them we secure a spot in the playoffs. Blade tells me that if I want to go to the game I can; all I have to do is ask Coach Shanahan. I approach him in the hall before a meeting and ask him if I can go.
    —Of course you can, Nate. All you had to do was ask.
    On Saturday morning before we leave, Shannon Sharpe addresses the offense. He always gives a talk on Saturday morning before we review the film. Shannon’s a three-time Super Bowl winner: two in Denver and one in Baltimore. This is to be his last season in the NFL. He wants one more ring. During his monologue about everyone in the room having a job to do, he says, “Whether you’re Shannon Sharpe or you’re Nate Jackson, everyone has a role on this team.” I’m flattered that I popped into his head, even if it was when he needed the lowest man in the food chain. At least he knows my name.
    I get my own room in Indianapolis like everyone else, complete with the two free pay-per-view movies, a staple of Broncos hotel accommodations. I watch porn. No, I don’t. Wait, what?
    We win the game impressively and clinch a playoff berth. The dome in Indianapolis is usually one of the loudest in the league but it falls completely silent about halfway through the fourth quarter. Peyton Manning rarely lost there. It’s a team win that will likely set up a rematch in the first round of the playoffs, after one final game.
    The atmosphere is jubilant at work on Wednesday morning. It’s Christmas Eve and we’re going to the playoffs no matter what. Jake has brought us to the postseason in his first year as our quarterback. Since we would gain nothing from winning our last game in Green Bay, Coach plans to rest some of our key starters. Rod’s one of them. They need to activate a receiver to take his place. Blade pulls me aside after morning meetings on Wednesday and tells me the good news.
    —Congrats, Nate. You deserve it.
    Before practice, I go upstairs to Ted’s office and sign a new contract. My practice squad days are over. I’m a member of the fifty-three-man roster. The $4,350 a week is dead forever: chump change for my couch cushions. I’ll get my $15,000 for this week and will watch that number rise steadily every year forward. Daddy’s got a new pair of shoes for every day of the month.
    W e have a tradition in my family that goes all the way back to my infancy. I am the youngest of my dad’s six children and my mother’s two, and every Christmas Eve, my brothers and sisters come to our house with their families and it’s one big lovefest. But this year there will be