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Volume CXXXIII, Number 5 |
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Jim Weeks: a great friend and inspiration
BOBBY DESAULNIERS
STAFF WRITER
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| Jim Weeks keeps smiling despite a knee injury that has sidelined him for the remainder of his senior season. (Hans Law, Bowdoin Orient) |
The first play that the Bears came out with was a bubble-screen pass to Brian Durant '03, resulting in a first down. Spirits were up. The Tufts defense had already begun to over-think the situation. We all lined up for the next play- a run play to the right. In the midst of the play, I heard the most gut-wrenching noise ever to reach my ears. Immediately, I hoped that it was not what I thought it was, but it was just that. Jim Weeks '04 lay on the ground, holding his knee and grimacing in pain.
I stood in disbelief. How could this happen to Jim? How could he be grabbing his knee with that same look of anguish upon his face that all of us had seen before? People say things happen for a reason-Jim has actually said it to me recently and I bought it whole-heartedly. But, my faith in that old proverb died at that moment.
The story of Jim Weeks has been burned into my mind as one that is marked by a continuum of resilience. Freshman year, Jim was penciled in as the second-string center and all-around back-up utility offensive lineman.
As one of the starting linemen went out with an injury in the game at Hamilton, Weeks stepped in to block on the point-after-touchdown attempt. This block, by definition, is not a truly exhausting or incredibly complicated one. However, during this play, Jim went down with a torn ACL in his knee. He missed the remainder of the season.
His rehabilitation work began the next week. By the late spring, his knee was as close to 100 percent as it could get. Prospects of playing time and an injury-free season lay ahead for Jim. The sky was the limit until, one spring afternoon, Jim's knee gave out again during a light wrestling match with a friend.
The long road of rehabilitation started again. Jim underwent knee surgery once again and worked through the summer to ensure that he would not miss his entire sophomore season. With a few weeks left in the season, Jim returned to the field. He moved over to the defense and was used primarily as a practice squad player.
For two seasons, his knee kept him off of the field. Times were always tough for Jim, but he never put his head down and quit. He never thought that maybe there was some force begging to keep him away from football. It never crossed his mind.
Junior year rolled around. Jim played beside me at right guard. Throughout this season, he and I formed a bond that contributed greatly to our ability to perform on the offensive line. Our scheme was a series of blocks where technique and execution depended on the man one is working with. By the end of the season, I knew exactly where he would be and how he was going to block the scheme; reacting to his movements became second nature. Having him there, playing his game inside and out, embodying what it means to be "cold steel," helped everyone around him. It put me at ease to see him line up next to me.
Then came the off-season before his senior year. For the first time Jim Weeks did not have any rehab to do. Nothing needed surgery. Jim and I worked out together constantly. Jim took his lifting very seriously, as he felt he had to gain much ground in that department. I remember distinctly making fun of him for his clipboard that not only worked as a clipboard, but also flipped up so it could hold a lot of pens and old workout sheets.
At first it was funny to see Jim with it, but after a while, the clipboard became just like Jim. It had all the answers. If you needed a pen to borrow, the clipboard could lend it to you. If you needed to know how much to use on the bench, the clipboard could tell you. It was overly mechanical and, above all, trustworthy, just like Jim.
Running was another part of the off-season regiment. Our afternoons were always full, so Jim and I got the pleasure of working out together at 7 a.m. twice a week. My face was painted with misery every morning that I stepped into the sticky air that surrounded me as I entered the field house. What made these experiences memorable? Jim's face, which was at least twice as miserable.
Not surprisingly, Jim never quit. He and I were never the fastest guys out there, but every morning from 7-8, Jim made me go until there was nothing left in the tank. He never stopped, so there was no way I would let this miserable sap out work me. After each workout, under the sweat, coughing, and near-vomiting, a smile would come out on Jim's face. It sometimes took a few hours to show itself, but it always came. It was a smile of victory. He had overcome yet another day and he was one day closer to that victorious walk off of the field in his senior season.
Flash back to last Saturday. Jim was carried off of the field by the trainers and you could see in his eyes that he knew it was no minor injury, due to his intimate experiences with surgery-inducing ailments. I knew it too. After the initial pain subsided, he bared a face that I had never seen before, a face of pure uncertainty. In the past he had always known that he had more time. No matter how bad the injury, there was still time to work it out. His work ethic never faltered, so he had opened up opportunities for himself. He did not know if this was possible now.
As it turns out, Jim tore his hamstring muscle, which will most likely keep him out for the remainder of the season. Up to this point, Jim had been contributing greatly on an offense that averaged over 120 yards per game. The massive work that Jim had done in the off-season helped secure the line. Having him out there, lining up next to you, also felt…right.
The legend of Weeksy and his struggle with injury echoed in the locker room and on the tongues of the underclassmen that had not experienced it first-hand. All of the rumors were true. The kid who overcame so much and never gave in. The kid who took a beating and never uttered a complaint. The kid who was the silent machine. These kids were all Jim Weeks.
Needless to say, I've lost my faith in the inner workings of fate since Saturday. Nothing could have prepared me for that shock. I've imagined that it was me on the ground rolling in pain and it was Jim shouting for the linemen to keep their composure. Seeing Jim around campus on crutches drives me insane. What could Jim have done to deserve this? Why is it that the worst penalties seem to be enacted on the best people? Why did it have to be Jim, again?
Although Jim may not be with us for the rest of season, my competence as a lineman and our success as a unit is because of Jim. His work ethic and "cold steel" attitude were an example for not only the players who may take his spot in the future, but also the players that he used to line up next to. The success we incur is because of Jim Weeks. He may not know it, but it is known among the rest of the players that his legacy will live on past his time on the field and at this school.
I will never forget, and I constantly think back to his silent, yet potent
antics that always forced a smile upon my face. I will never forget his
father referring to us as "you and Jimmy" in talking to him
after the games. I may never block alongside Jim again, but every play
that I am a part of for the rest of my career will be "me and Jimmy."
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