The 2023 NFL Week 10 Roundup | The Patient, the Pioneer and the Panacea
It was slated to be a picture-perfect, chamber-of-commerce-approved 76 degree, sunny day in Montreal when Tommy John awoke in his hotel room on July 17, 1974. Tommy, at age 31 and on top of the world, had all the reason in the world to bound out of slumber and reach for the stars — quite literally — that fateful day. He was torching the 1974 regular season as the second starter for the LA Dodgers like no other in baseball at the time. He threw for a complete shutout against the Phillies in early April, shutout the Braves in eight innings just four days later and shutout Philadelphia once more on April 25th (four hits, no runs). Between May 5th and mid-June, he won every single one of his starts. The unbelievable streak continued from late June through July 7th. And so on the morning of July 17th, Tommy (with a 13–3 record, leading the NL, declaring itself leading into the All-Star break), dejected and profoundly crestfallen, found nothing but disappointment. He had learned through newswires that he’d been left OFF the All-Star roster for MLB’s upcoming All-Star game. He’d mightily expected an invitation to a longstanding childhood dream but instead found a cold shoulder. And disbelief. He complained vociferously and brazenly to the LA Times in what reads today, discordantly, as a classic case of sour grapes. Things would go from self-pity to self-implosion in just a matter of hours. That night’s game against the Expos would go on the mark in infamy the moment Tommy’s world would completely fall apart. With the Dodgers leading 4–0 in the bottom of the third inning, Tommy was demonstrating to his voting contemporaries exactly why they had chosen incorrectly for the All-Star game. Tommy’s attempt at his routine and mischievously signature fastball ended in catastrophe. All of a sudden, he had no control of the ball. He aimed at opposing batter Hal Breeden’s strike zone and the ball went wild. After a brief mental reset, a second attempt’s trajectory went even more rogue — and atrociously so — than the one that preceded it. Manager Walt Alston, sensing deep trouble, pulled Tommy from the game. He complained of slight pain but other than that felt completely fine. He was just puzzled as to why the mechanics of this throw, perfected since a teenage upstart, weren’t unfolding as had become second nature to him. Little did he know at the time that he would become a test-case for a revolutionary surgical procedure which would go on to redefine, strengthen and lengthen pitching careers in baseball forever. As the sun set on Montreal that day, so too did it unexpectedly smother Tommy’s personal and professional lives all at once. Though the day would turn sour, Tommy would go on to blaze an innovative patch back to sweet redemption with the help of an adventurous physician and a boatload of faith predicated on the complete unknown. This is the story of how Tommy’s strikeout was actually a swing for the fences of the future in forging what today is universally renown and revered as Tommy John Surgery.
Back at Montreal’s Jarry Park Stadium in 1974, Tommy was out of sorts. He was mad, sad, disoriented and ashamed. His arm, which he could capably rely on to rocket him into stardom, had failed him. And he didn’t know why. Nor did the team physician, Frank Jobe. All Tommy knew was that he was mentally directing his throw just as he always did. His body would continue forward with forceful might, but his arm slung uncontrollably to right field. At the point where his arm is bent backward, ready to be unfurled, and where force is applied on the pitch; that’s precisely where things turn to spaghetti. Adding to the mystery, Tommy wasn’t in much pain. Slight elbow discomfort, but nothing outrageously unbearable. Frank, the team physician, advised resting a few games and icing the elbow. A month passed with no improvement, further sending Tommy into bouts of emotional withdrawal. He attempted to pitch in batting practice in late August back in Los Angeles and came away despondent when he couldn’t put any heat on the ball. He advised the Team that his season, and quite possibly his career, was likely drawing to a close. Frank, didn’t share in the pessimism.
While Tommy was resting, Frank was hard at work studying Tommy’s exam records including extensive review of his elbow X-ray records. He could see clearly that Tommy had actually ruptured his ulnar collateral ligament, the crucial ligament that runs on the inner side of the elbow to support certain motions such as throwing. The question was, could it be repaired. Innovatively, Frank immediately landed on the employment of ligament replacement procedure used in routine hand and wrist injury at the time. Never before to repair an elbow. Frank hypothesized that the same technique could quite possibly reverse Tommy’s plight. In this case, Frank could envision replacing Tommy’s ruptured ulnar collateral ligament with a tendon from his right (non-pitching) forearm. And with it, a hoped-for restoration of Tommy’s pitching mechanics, accuracy, force and career prospects. Frank approached a downtrodden Tommy with his outlandish idea tabled with the reality that in all likelihood his proposed procedure might permanently cripple his pitching career. But Tommy was raised as a risk-taker and happily greenlit the nexus of Frank’s vision and his own fight for redemption. There was no other option and besides, Tommy was moved by Frank’s dogged determination to help. They had become very close in only a matter of weeks and he couldn’t deny Frank’s heartfelt, beckoning, inventive, and career-making force-of-nature joie de vivre. Even in spite of the dire risks.
And so, surgery was set for just after the regular Season’s conclusion in late September 1974. True to his word and studied plan, Frank harvested a tendon from Tommy’s left forearm. Next, holes were drilled into Tommy’s right ulna and humorous bones. The donor tendon was then carefully threaded through the pre-drilled holes, in a figure-eight pattern, and attached to bone surfaces with special sutures. If this sounds like a painful procedure, it’s regrettably as-advertised. Tommy’s recovery was painted in discomfort and was long and slow. And populated with a setback for added measure. A week after the surgery, Tommy’s left hand appeared shriveled and even more worryingly, he had lost sensation in several of his fingers. Tommy again underwent the knife where Frank discovered a damaged ulnar nerve. Frank was able to successfully reroute the nerve and other crucial vasculature. Tommy still couldn’t feel his fingers but his hand returned to its normal state. A cast was affixed to Tommy’s repaired arm and Frank offered him a 100–1 chance at full recovery. By January, the cast was removed and that’s when seven-day-a-week physical therapy began. By Spring, Tommy had miraculously regained full arm motion and pre-July 17th physical strength. But, troublingly, he still couldn’t feel his fingers. Without the sense of touch, the nuance of pitching was all but impossible. With the encouragement of Frank and his physical trainers, Tommy soldiered on. With an arduous training regimen over the course of the next three months, the nerve reoriented itself aligning with Tommy’s OTHER nerves of steel. And one by one, sensation returned to his fingers. By June, Tommy’s velocity was back. And by that Fall of 1975, Tommy was healthy enough to pitch in an off-season instructional Arizona league. By the 1976 season, Tommy made his sensational debut on April 16th. The comeback of comebacks. He allowed three runs in five innings and endured a tough loss. BUT. No one had ever in the history of baseball so completely recovered from so debilitating a pitching injury. Including the great Sandy Koufax. And none so thoroughly and credibly at Tommy. After the game, players and sports media termed him “The Bionic Man.” Five days later, Tommy would go on to throw seven scoreless innings. He completed his first game post-surgery in mid-June. A three-hit shutout quickly followed against San Diego on July 23rd. Another 10-hit shutout in September against the Reds cemented the aura. His 1976 season would become decorated in accolades (10–10, 3.09 ERA, 91 strikeouts, 61 walks, 207 hits in 207 innings pitched). In a word: outrageous. He was awarded the NL Comeback Player of the Year and coronated with the 1976 Fred Hutchinson Award (for outstanding character and courage). Not bad for a 100–1 shot at full recovery.
Tommy, the Bionic Man, would famously go on to play for the Yankees, Angels, Athletics and the Yankees again before retiring nearly two decades later in 1986. An incredible feat made possible with an inventive, intuitive, ingenious team physician masquerading as a career-REmaker in Dr. Frank Jobe. Frank, himself, wasn’t done in professional sports. He also pioneered a breakthrough shoulder reconstructive surgical technique in 1990 that would play a key role in extending Dodger ace Orel Hershiser’s storied career much past its would-be expiration date. Termed the Father of Modern Sports Medicine, he remained to his death in 2013 a special advisor to the Dodger organization and physician emeritus for the PGA. With the trend for hard and fast pitching an unrelenting one in the current day, it’s no wonder that Tommy John surgery is now an optimal weapon ready for deployment in any pitcher’s toolbox living alongside a curve ball, splitter, forkball and all the rest. As recently as 2018, 26% of all MLB pitchers had undergone the procedure. More astoundingly, the same pitchers are turning to second Tommy John surgeries in further lengthening what the first could not; 30 pitchers alone since 2018 opting to return the operating table. Angel’s All-Star Shohei Ohtani just the latest in the hopes of salvaging a hoped-for $500M payday in free agency. Which opens up a whole host of Pandora's box dilemmas as to where crutch and ability delineate. But no matter. That’s another thorny matter for another less pressing day. But let it be known that Dodger Tommy John, in refusing to take heed from his body’s frailty, helped to push the frontiers of modern sports medicine; a mission Dr. Frank Jobe fearlessly piloted employing Tommy John as proof of concept and rehabilitative LIFE.
Turning now to NFL as we turn the page on Week 10, yikes. Just…YIKES. Again the beauty, serendipity and ugliness of football. A game that epitomized the latter actually began Sunday matchplay in Frankfurt. That’s where the Colts and Pat journeyed all the way to Germany to lay two eggs. The Pats laid the bigger of the eggs in an absolutely devastating and embarrassing 6–10 loss to Indy. Worse still for NE beyond recording zero TDs, flailing Mac Jones was benched late in the game only for backup Bailey Zappe to continue in his predecessor’s hilariously errant ways lofting to Indy a game-christening interception. Cameras immediately panned to owner Robert Craft who was seen hanging his head in dismay and disgust. It’s now looking likelier than ever that Captain Belichick sees the end of the plank before the Season’s official end in early January; an unthinkable conspiracy theory just weeks ago. A 2–8 start and 3Ls in a row will do that. The Colts, for their part, lit no fires and did just enough to let the Pats dig their own grave. A much happier take to tell in Cinci where the Texans strolled into Paycor Stadium with standout startup QB CJ Stroud continuing in his prolific and meteoric ways (23/39, 356yds, 1TD 1INT, 2CARs, 8yds, 1TD). He’s singlehandedly enlivening the team where Deshaun Watson once powerfully presided. His playmaking so impactful at an early stage of the Season that he’s already seemingly bagged Rookie of the Year honors and is now in true contention for MVP consideration. In his 9 games so far, the young Texans have never looked so exciting. A 30–27 victory underscores matters. The Bengals, hot-to-trot since Week 5, were handed a tough loss despite a still-resilient Joe Burrow/Joe Mixon combo.
Meanwhile over in Jacksonville, the 49ers came into town fresh from a BYE looking to forget the past month. For a season that had started so white-hot, October turned ice cold for a team suffering from injury and heightened expectations. SF received their fresh start they so desired and a much-needed infusion of Trent Williams and Deebo Samuel. Without the Brock Purdy doldrums of his pre-BYE self, the 49ers are back in the saddle, as evidenced by the team’s 34–3 drubbing of the Jags. Over in Glendale, Kyler Murray returned from ACL injury to his awaiting Cards and WOW have the tables turned. Kyler was Kyler and pressed on for a 25–23 WIN, their first in an unsightly 7 game stretch. And finally over at AT&T, America’s Team put a hurting on an already-spiraling not-so-Big-Blue. The 49–17 obliteration officially cemented NYG’s long-faced plane flight back to Newark.
In our Round Robin, the Vikings are no longer grieving the loss of Kirk Cousins, not with the inspired addition of Joshua Dobbs under center just two weeks ago. The team has collected five W in a row, their last at the expense of a moribund NOLA; Derek Carr is doing THAT squad no favors. The resurgent Steelers lid past the up-and-down Packers as the Ravens implausibly lost to the Browns, 31–33, in an absolutely horrible game for Charm City. Detroit turned out the lights at SoFi for the Chargers, 41–38, and the Commanders lost yet another one, this time to Seattle in a game that should not have ended the way it did. The Jets decline continues — again for another week — as they cling inexorably to Zach Wilson. I suppose they’re awaiting a heaven-sent Aaron Rodgers? Last time I checked, that’s not a strategy, coherent, salient or otherwise. And lastly, last night. If it wasn’t already clear, BUF’s complete collapse was made abundantly clear in MNF’s stinging loss to Denver, a team that offered umpteen opportunities for the Bills to draw the curtains around their opponent. Instead, BUF one-upped DEN for each of their sloppy mistakes. A 22–24 home loss resulted with an ending as groan-inducing as it was infuriating. While Russell Wilson and Company go on a mini three game tear, BUF teeters on the edge of catastrophe. Serendipity, beauty and ugliness, indeed. Yikes.
