The last one that I remember is the one in rugby at college. We were doing takedown drills and I was to tackle one of the guys and he was trying to break throug

The last one that I remember is the one in rugby at college. We were doing takedown drills and I was to tackle one of the guys and he was trying to break through and score a try. I came at him and wrapped him up, and I think that he then used his elbow to try and drive me away. This time, again, he hit me on the crown of my head. There was that familiar shiver of warmth and chill that went down my spine for ~3 seconds. It was raining that day, lightly, and the field was totally mud. I got up after a bit from the blow. I was ready and in line with the guys to go at it again. Bob, the volunteer coach for the club, was trying to give directions on another iteration of the drill. He asked if there were any questions. I was still out of breath from the drills, and I asked him a question. But I didn’t have anything to say, all I knew was that I had to ask a question. I think a word salad came out of my mouth, that it was filled with stones or something. Bob looked at me like I was pulling his leg, like indignation at such a stunt. I again tried to say something, repeat myself through the huffs. Then I remember just falling down into the sloshy grey-brown mud , my arms at my sides, and just vomiting over and over and over just dry heaving in the middle of everyone and ruining the drill. I remember later, maybe 5 minutes?, one of the older and faster guys sitting me down in the try-zone and asking me who the president was (Bush). I still couldn’t talk right. I was shivering, but I wasn’t cold. They tried to cheer me up, saying it wasn’t that bad of a hit, that it only counts as a concussion if you get knocked out. It made someone feel better, but that person was again not me, I was just watching impassively, as someone else in my head marionetted me about. I remember that I talked to my room-mate's neurosurgeon father on the phone. He said not to fall asleep for a day, or I would die. I was really tired though and slept anyways. I still miss those sports, incredibly so. I miss the hitting, the drills, the camaraderie. I miss the parties and the fraternity of other men. No where else in life have I had those kinds of close friendships, that brotherhood really. The price is these kinds of concussions and injuries. But, if you are looking at it from the outside, I want to tell you that I walked away because I found the price too high. Other 'brothers' of mine, guys whose back I had, they did not walk away and they are doing alright, in our own ways. Still, I want to say that though the price of those sports and that friendship was these types of injuries, it was still a very hard decision for me. If I could have a magic pill that would take even one concussion away from me, give me one more chance, I'd be back on those fields and on those mats in a heartbeat. It's not that easy to explain, but at least one person on HN really would trade a concussion for one more blow of the whistle.