The Forgotten Man

That's actually 100% correct, great memory on that. Mersereau was a replacement player during the strike in 87 and made the team. Not too many guys can say that.

 

Cimini wrote another similar article back in 1997 only 5 years after the accident. I think the ESPN article is much more gripping but none the less this is pretty good as well.

http://articles.nydailynews.com/1997-11-23/sports/18056707_1_dr-seuss-scott-mersereau-forever/2


Touched By Fate Five Years After Collision, Dennis Byrd And Scott Mersereau Are Detached, Yet Forever Bonded

BY RICH CIMINI

Sunday, November 23, 1997


OWASSO, Okla. The poem is displayed in a glass-enclosed frame in the foyer of Dennis Byrd's secluded, lakefront home, located in a private enclave 15 miles from Tulsa. The verse is a subtle reference to the day that changed his life forever Nov. 29, 1992, when his neck was shattered in a collision with Jets teammate Scott Mersereau.

Off the foyer is the football room, which is filled with leather and mahogany and memories. There are two color prints on the wall: Byrd hugging Marvin Washington after sacking Dan Marino; Byrd, arms extended, soaring in the face of Jim Kelly.

The wooden bookshelves are occupied by five game balls, football books, history books and one of the most popular books in the Byrd household, "Green Eggs and Ham," by Dr. Seuss.

Again, everything is neatly understated, with only one, partially hidden reminder of that fateful day. There it is, clumped like a dust rag on one of the shelves his last jersey. Green, with white letters and numbers.

BYRD, 90.

The front of the jersey is tattered, cut in half from top to bottom. The doctors sliced it off Byrd's then-paralyzed body as they transported him via ambulance from Giants Stadium to Lenox Hill Hospital.

"This brings back a lot of memories," said Byrd, holding the jersey against his chest. "If I spend time thinking about it, I can be there on that day. I can remember the events of that day better than any other day in my life."

He paused, perhaps remembering what it was like to be BYRD, 90. Finally, a smile appeared on his still-boyish face.

"I guess they weren't too concerned with neatness," he said, studying the doctors' tailoring.

Same 'ol Dennis.

Five years after his jersey was torn and his life shredded, Byrd, 31, has stitched everything together quite nicely. He still walks with a noticeable limp, still struggles on stairs and still tires easily, but "my life has changed completely for the better. It was changed by three girls, close friends and an accident that happened five years ago."

An accident that also changed the life of Mersereau, who, unbeknownst to the sporting public, has suffered his own physical and emotional hardship.

"Dennis carries it with him every day," Mersereau said of Nov. 29, 1992. "And so do I."

Scott Mersereau, once a fun-loving bachelor, is now a serious-minded, single dad in Boca Raton, Fla. He's trying to launch a career as a financial consultant, but he spends much of his time caring for his 2-year-old son, Dylan. Dr. Seuss is big in their home, too.

It has been 2 12 years since he talked to Byrd, his partner in fate. Mersereau wishes they could've maintained a closer relationship over the years, but he's not bitter. He still considers Byrd a dear friend the feeling is mutual and Mersereau believes his admiration for his former teammate helped him overcome personal turmoil.

You see, even though Mersereau's jersey 94

wasn't torn five years ago, his life was frayed, too.

"At times," he said in his first interview since retiring after the 1993 season, "it's been pure hell."

Mersereau, forced to quit at 28 because of excruciating back pain, underwent a 12-hour operation in 1995. He needed a three-level fusion, with bone grafted from his hip, to repair two fractured vertebrae in his lower back. Eerily, it was a procedure similar to the one performed on Byrd's neck.

Six steel rods were inserted in Mersereau's back, restricting his flexibility. He can't run, can't swing a golf club, can't even touch his knees. Mersereau, who once finished second in the NFL's Strongest Man competition, grimaces in pain when he picks up his son. His only exercise is walking four miles a day.

And he was the lucky one, the one who walked away from the accident with only a sprained ankle. Now he believes the back injury may have stemmed from his high-speed collision with Byrd.

"A couple of weeks later, I started to experience back problems," Mersereau said. "Ultimately, there could've been some there from the accident."

To this day, Mersereau still can hear the foreboding words of his surgeon.

"Right before I went under," he said, "the doctor said to me, `This is going to be really hard on you mentally. You've got to have a positive attitude or you will kill yourself.' "

Mersereau was prepared for hell, but the recovery turned out to be harder than he imagined. For two weeks, he got a small taste of Byrd's nightmare.

"I couldn't do anything for myself," said Mersereau, now 225 pounds, down 50 from his old playing weight.

He was bedridden, unable to walk to the bathroom. Unable to shave. Unable to bathe himself. Unable to do much of anything. He required a nurse's care eight hours a day. Restricted by a bulky brace, he needed four months before he was able to drive a car.

"I talked to Mers when he was low," said Greg Robinson, who coached Mersereau and Byrd on the Jets' defensive line. "And, believe me, he was low."

Unlike Byrd, Mersereau didn't have an adoring public to root for his recovery. He didn't have the tabloids clamoring to report his progress on the back pages. No, he did it on his own, with some help from a distant friend.

"I often thought about Dennis, and that really inspired me," Mersereau said. "Here was a guy whose prognosis was uncertain nobody knew if he was going to walk again and look what he did. I knew my situation was temporary, so I had to get better. I drew strength from the experience with Dennis."

 

Part II

Mersereau passed the time in bed by reading Byrd's autobiography, "Rise and Walk." Over and over, he read it. He also watched a tape of Byrd's TV movie, cringing when it shows the actual footage of the collision and crying when Byrd's character walks for the first time a scene Mersereau witnessed in real life at Mt. Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.

"It was so fitting that I happened to be visiting him that day," said Mersereau, who cried then, too. "It was like it was supposed to happen that way."

Until then, Mersereau was racked with misplaced guilt, thinking he was somehow responsible for the accident. In fact, the Jets suggested that he speak with a psychologist.

"It was harder on Scotty than any of us," said Jeff Lageman, a former Jets defensive lineman. "We were worried about him."

His burden was lifted in the hospital corridor, when Byrd placed his right hand on Mersereau's left shoulder and. . .

He walked. Twenty-six beautiful steps.

"Next to my son being born," Mersereau said, "that was the happiest day of my life."

Byrd and Mersereau were close friends before the accident. In fact, they shared a house for two weeks in August 1992. In their free time, they watched movies. Their favorite was "Dances with Wolves." They loved the ending, the scene when Wind in His Hair bids an emotional goodbye to Kevin Costner's character, Lt. John Dunbar.

"Do you see that I am your friend? Can't you see that you will always be my friend?"

That, Byrd and Mersereau decided, would be us. Always friends. No matter what.

Now, five years later, Byrd remembers "Dances with Wolves" whenever he thinks of Mersereau.

"We might not talk a lot," Byrd said, "but he will always be my friend."

Byrd's eyes grew moist when told of Mersereau's touching recollections of their day in the hospital.

"He really said that?" asked Byrd, seemingly overwhelmed. "I'd better be careful with this or I might end up bawling like a kid."

Byrd remembered that moment, too. How could he forget an event with such poetic symmetry?

"It's ironic," he said. "He and I came together in the collision that caused my paralysis, and here he was, the same man, enjoying with me this tremendous victory when I was walking again. It was a very special moment in my life."

Byrd regrets that he hasn't kept in touch with Mersereau and many of his former teammates and trainers privately, some say they're hurt by Byrd's detachment but he said it's nothing personal. He's just . . . well, busy.

He's a devoted husband to Angela, his former high-school sweetheart, and a doting father to his two girls, Ashtin, 7, and Haley, 4. Byrd tries to spend as much time as he can with his daughters. They read stories, wrestle on the floor and, yes, play with Barbie dolls.

"I might be one of the few men in the country who goes into a Toys 'R Us to pick out a Ken doll for himself," Byrd said, grinning.

He still participates in physical therapy, one-hour sessions on Tuesday and Thursday. Byrd realizes his condition isn't likely to improve, but he must continue the therapy to maintain his condition.

"Physically, life is very hard for me," he said. "That's just a fact. Every time I go to bed, I'm very proud of myself, because for that particular day, I overcame something that was hard to do.

"I don't want to paint a picture that, five years later, I'm completely well. It's still work, but the things I can do are pretty great."

Byrd, an outdoorsman since he was a kid, has maintained his passion for hunting. His den is a hunting lodge, with an assortment of 40 stuffed animals and birds adorning the room. It's taxidermy heaven. He hunted them all, including a bear from Arizona and a snarling leopard from an African safari. He has a story for every conquest.

He still watches football, of course, but as a fan, not a frustrated former player who believes he was robbed of his prime years.

"I don't dwell on what might have been," Byrd said.

He played only four years in the NFL. The injury cost him several years of earning potential, but money isn't a problem. Though he wasn't obligated to do so, Jets owner Leon Hess paid off the final two years of Byrd's contract, well over $1 million. Byrd lives in an exclusive area, where the homes start at $350,000.

Byrd's new obsession is opening a summer camp for disabled children. He has a 478-acre parcel in Guthrie, Okla., and he spends hours on the phone, trying to solicit donations. His goal is to open the camp in the spring of 1999.

"It's like a full-time job," Byrd said. "It's my new dream."

Said Mersereau: "I'm happy for Dennis. With incredible faith and a strong mental attitude, you can achieve anything. Dennis Byrd is a living, breathing story of that."

BYRD, 90. MERSEREAU, 94.

Can't you see, they will always be friends