Brain trauma took football player’s old life away

The former star running back boards first.

It’s a few minutes before 7 on a Tuesday morning as Brad Ebner gives his father a hug and ambles onto a small yellow school bus that has pulled up outside his Goleta home.

The bus has been modified inside with a large open space for a wheelchair on one side and three seats with room for another wheelchair on the other.

As the driver navigates the Santa Barbara area, five more college-age passengers come aboard: two men using wheelcairs who have cerebral palsy; a man with autism; and a man and a woman who have mental disabilities.

The group is headed to Santa Barbara City College for a transition program designed to teach basic life skills to 18- to 22-year-olds with special needs.

These are Ebner’s new teammates.

Everyone else has been afflicted since birth. Ebner, 21, is the exception. He was playing football for Dos Pueblos High four years ago when he suffered a head injury that nearly killed him.

The trauma to Ebner’s brain left him unable to focus on simple tasks and with excessive impulsive behavior. He also has limited short-term memory, though as the bus passes San Marcos High he suddenly announces that was the place where he was injured.

Then, just as quickly, his attention shifts elsewhere.

“Look at those mountains,” Ebner says. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Ebner finds splendor in everything — flowers, birds, trees and cars, especially Ford Mustangs. He spends most of the bus ride inquiring about each of them.

“Do you know what kind of flowers those are?” he asks no one in particular. “I love flowers.”

Though he looks the same, his family says Ebner is the boy they knew before the injury in name only.

In a paper she wrote for a high school class, Ebner’s younger sister, Brittany, recalled going to her brother’s room for a soda before that last football game. Brad had risen from his chair, wrapped his arm around her and given her an affectionate squeeze.

It was the afternoon of Sept. 29, 2006.

Wrote Brittany: “That was the last time I saw him.”

Playing on

Ebner had just broken off a long run in the third quarter of a game against Santa Maria Righetti when he violently collided with a defender. After briefly returning to the huddle, he retreated toward the sideline, his knees buckling as he collapsed into the arms of a physician.

Rushed to the hospital, he underwent surgery for bleeding in his brain and slipped into a coma for eight days. When he emerged, he embarked on an agonizingly slow recovery in which he had to relearn how to walk, dress himself and use the bathroom.

Empowered by adolescent invincibility and tales of NFL stars returning from concussions within the same game, teenage football players are shaking off potentially traumatic brain injuries as if they’re little more than a hangnail.

Chuck Ebner believes his son suffered from second-impact syndrome, a condition in which a person suffers a second concussion before the symptoms of a first concussion have subsided, producing devastating results.

He recalls Brad’s taking a blow to the head and getting his “bell rung” early in the game against Righetti, and that he had played sparingly before the hit that caused him to lose consciousness.

There were signs of trouble even before then.

Cheryl Ebner said her son told a friend during the week before the game that he had ringing in his ears and that he was having trouble concentrating since he had taken a hit in a previous game. However, Brad said nothing to his team’s medical staff.

“He wanted to play, so he probably thought, ‘I’m not going to tell anybody,’ ” Cheryl said.

Dr. Mark Brisby, who was on the Dos Pueblos sideline as Ebner collapsed, said he didn’t remember Brad’s suffering a previous blow to the head. But, he added, “That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Chuck Ebner said he has no interest in studying video in an attempt to pinpoint exactly what triggered his son’s injury, and he doesn’t begrudge the team’s medical personnel. However, he does hope that his son’s plight prompts decision makers to consider the consequences of sending an injured player back onto the field.

Routine struggles

Brad Ebner looks intently at the behavioral therapist seated next to him.

“What is your name again?” he asks. It’s the same query he’s made three times in less than an hour. “Beth?”

The young woman shakes her head.

“Ann?”

“Claire,” she says finally.

The therapist is working with Ebner on his tendency to touch others inappropriately. Earlier in the day, he had grabbed a young woman’s hand and tried to kiss it while she was being introduced to her new classmates in the transition program.

Mostly reserved before his injury, Ebner now acts as if he’s running for public office during daily strolls along Santa Barbara City College’s seaside campus.

“What is your name?” he asks a blond girl who momentarily stops to humor him, triggering his ubiquitous follow-up line: “Did you go to Dos Pueblos?”

Most people respond to his greetings with a smile and a wave, but there are exceptions.

“Como estas?” he says to a young Asian woman who ignores him.

“Hey, big old basketball player,” he says to a short tattooed man carrying a skateboard.

Ebner’s teachers, hoping to stimulate his competitive instincts, build challenges into even the simplest tasks. In an attempt to curb Ebner’s habit of lingering unnecessarily in bathrooms, one teacher races him to see who can get back first, offering a candy bar as a prize.

Though a smile rarely leaves his face, he easily becomes exasperated and will act out with inappropriate gestures or words. On a recent ride home from a therapy session, he repeatedly punched his father in the arm — hard — for no apparent reason.

“He just doesn’t know when enough is enough,” Chuck says.

Ebner’s old high school friends rarely come around anymore, and his relationships with Brittany, 15, and brother Brett, 18, have changed. Since the injury, the younger siblings have taken a nurturing role.

“I never saw the same person again,” Brittany wrote in her high school paper. “My memories of him before the accident will slowly fade away. I don’t remember the sound of his voice. I miss him so much.”

A brighter day?

One of the feet that made Ebner among the fastest runners on his football team now drags when he walks. He also has no peripheral vision on his right side, which occasionally causes him to stumble or bump into obstacles.

Yet mentions of his injury and talk about how his life has changed trigger no emotion.

“Talk about a 180-degree change in your life,” his father says.

There is reason for hope, though. Ebner has come a long way since the days when he would zone in and out of conversations as if someone had flipped a switch. His memory is also improving. He can recall the names of longtime classmates and teachers, though he still has trouble with new acquaintances.

His parents, who are divorced, hope Ebner can eventually stop shuttling between their homes and move into his own apartment. Moving to a therapy center in Bakersfield that specializes in traumatic brain injuries is another option.

Ebner’s bedroom at his mother’s house contains the usual trappings of a teenage football star: trophies and awards, a schedule calendar, a homecoming king’s crown.

There’s also a laminated piece of paper taped to the closet door — photos of Ebner brushing his teeth, getting dressed and eating breakfast, accompanied by a guide that allots an amount of time for each task. That helps him make it onto the bus on time each morning.

There’s also a photo of Ebner in full football uniform on the wall. As he gestures toward it, the inflection of his voice doesn’t change.

“That used to be me,” he says.

ben.bolch@latimes.com