Loyola Reduces White Noise to a Whisper : Instead of Playing, O’Byrne Suffers Pain of Watching

It was supposed to be the best night in Rob O’Byrne’s life, the highlight of his two-year stint as starting quarterback for one of the nation’s best high school football teams.

But several hours before the kickoff for Saturday evening’s game between O’Byrne’s Crespi High team and powerful Loyola, there were already subtle hints in the O’Byrne home that something was not right. Little things like the star quarterback being unable to dress himself.

What seemed destined to be the brightest moment in his life had, in the second it takes two bones to snap, become a nightmare one week ago when O’Byrne suffered a broken right arm in a game against Alemany. He came to the showdown against Loyola with the arm strapped tightly against his chest, the shattered bones held together with steel pins and his arm encased in a heavy cast.

He felt enormous pain when the bones broke. But that pain was stub-your-toe stuff compared to the agony O’Byrne endured Saturday night before his team’s 15-8 loss.

It began with a slow and gut-wrenching ride to the game in the family car, his father and mother and sister packed in around him. He might as well have been on the moon.

“No one talked at all,” O’Byrne said. “Absolute silence. I was looking out the window most of the time, thinking what a fluke thing it was. You play football and you think you might hurt your knees or your ankles. But this, it’s just such a freak thing.

“I was going to go to school and take the bus to the game with the team, but I just didn’t know what was the right thing to do. I thought about being with them, but then I decided that tonight they have to do it without me, so it’s probably better if I’m not around them too much.

“I know I can’t help them in their biggest game and it’s so hard for me. I’ve been with these guys for so long. This is so hard for me. I’ve never felt like this before.”

O’Byrne walked into the stadium alone, his right arm tucked beneath his brown and white Crespi jacket. His eyes glanced at the empty field. He was quiet for a minute. And he swallowed hard.

“This was going to be so good,” he said. “This was going to be the game. I was reading the papers this week and I kept reading, ‘Crespi will be without quarterback Rob O’Byrne . . .’ and it hit me so hard. It was like I was reading about somebody else.”

Forty-five minutes before kickoff, the Loyola Cubs stormed onto the field, a frenzied parade of adrenaline-pumped kids that passed close to O’Byrne. He stopped talking and his eyes grew wide.

“They’re small,” he said.

And then his teammates emerged from the locker room. His teammates and his best friends. And as a crowd that eventually would grow to more than 11,000 began a roaring cheer, the excitement that showed in O’Byrne’s face quickly faded. He watched for another second, then turned away. The cheers, he knew, were not for him anymore.

Later, he milled about on the field as Crespi went through its warmup drills. A few players came by and offered awkward handshakes to the now left-handed O’Byrne. But mostly he stood alone. His teammates had an important night ahead of them. They had to prepare.

O’Byrne retired to the sideline and watched his replacement, Ron Redell, go through some drills with the offense. O’Byrne’s offense.

“I know how Rob feels,” Redell said. “He’s my best friend and I feel as lousy as he does about what happened.”

At this level, when that comes from a 17-year-old, don’t doubt its sincerity. This was not an NFL backup who would privately be cheering his good fortune. This was a young man whose best friend was being dragged through an emotional crushing machine.

“This is his season, not mine,” Redell said. “We got this far because of Rob, not because of me.”

Crespi Coach Bill Redell, whose son was given a chance to play because of O’Byrne’s injury, walked up to his battered ex-quarterback. There was no great show of emotion. That’s the Redell way. But his feelings were obvious enough.

“Rob hasn’t said anything much all week, but there was no need to,” Redell said. “We all know how he feels. He feels lousy. As lousy, I guess, as he’s ever felt in his life. We decided today that if we win, Rob gets the game ball. Right out there in the middle of the field.

“Now, all we have to do is win. . . .”

They didn’t, their touted offense being crushed by a brutal Loyola defense. And on a gloomy night when the only bright spots that Crespi saw were the glaring floodlights that illuminated the stadium, O’Byrne’s nightmare continued.