Florida's Roderick Johnson copes with a career end just as it begins

Nicole Auerbach | USA TODAY Sports

GAINESVILLE, Fla. – He can watch the bodies collide, the exact sequence, the hit. He can pinpoint the exact moment his football career ended.

He's got the video on his phone. He keeps it there, and he's watched it about a dozen times in the past three months. Roderick Johnson doesn't find it that strange. It's more surreal than anything.

"Every time I look at it, it sends chills through my body," Johnson says, his voice soft. "I was like, wow, my football career is really — on tape — being snatched from me."

The video shows a slice of Florida's scrimmage on April 3. Johnson was finally feeling more comfortable in the new offense first-year coach Jim McElwain was implementing. The 6-6, 296-pound Johnson played in all 12 games last season, starting three at right tackle. He was the Gators' most experienced linemen, a vital cog in a fresh system. His dream of playing in the NFL was alive and well; he believed he had a shot at becoming a first-round pick in the 2016 draft.

Offensive line coach Mike Summers remembers the play that changed it all — a power running play, nothing out of the ordinary as he describes it. The player Johnson was blocking slanted inside, forcing Johnson a little deeper than usual; the left guard was pulling around the center to the same side Johnson was on. Johnson and the left guard crashed into each other.

"That collision — because they were both coming so hard at each other — was one that just kind of froze Rod in mid-air, and then he fell to the ground," Summers says. He, McElwain and the team's medical staff rushed over. They saw signs of movement. They heard Johnson speak coherently. They thought it could just be a stinger, a momentary numbness before feeling returns.

"I didn't know where the hit came from until I watched it on film," Johnson says. "Once I got hit, I couldn't feel nothing in my body at all. I felt like my whole movement shut down. I was scared at first, but I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and I started getting all my feeling back."

But he'd hurt his neck, and he had experienced numbness in his fingers. After the athletic trainers attended to Johnson, they told him he was finished for the day. He underwent X-rays, then an MRI exam. He sat out the week of practices leading up to Florida's spring game, as athletic department officials sought advice from specialists. Johnson admits he was getting "a little spooked."

Two days after the spring game, Johnson was called into a meeting with McElwain and Summers, among others, a meeting that quickly turned emotional.

"I was real upset," Johnson says. "Before Coach Mac could even say what he wanted to say, I had started crying. I knew what time it was. I knew what time it was when I first walked up there and saw the head athletic trainer. This can't be good. … They told me the news, the worst news I've ever heard in my life."

Johnson had been diagnosed with congenital cervical spinal stenosis, a narrowing of the spinal canal that doesn't allow enough fluid to gather around the spinal cord to properly protect it. One wrong hit can leave a player paralyzed for life.

Among other football players who have received the same diagnosis are Cooper Manning, brother of Peyton and Eli, who was forced to retire just before his college career would have begun; and David Wilson, former New York Giants running back who announced his retirement in an emotional news conference last summer at age 23.

"It just crushes you," McElwain says. "It's hard. He was a guy who had a lot of football ahead of him."

In the weeks that followed the diagnosis, Johnson read up on the condition. He watched Wilson's retirement speech and tweeted the former Giants running back as he tried to process the finality of his condition. Some days were better than others.

Watching the NFL draft proved difficult, even amid happiness at hearing teammates' names called.

"It still don't make sense to me, to this day," Johnson says. "I don't understand what's up. A lot of people say, 'God has bigger plans for you.' But I've never seen no bigger plan than football.'"

FILLING THE VOID

It's technically Plan B, but the plan is fairly simple: Johnson will act as a player-coach this summer and fall, working with Florida's offensive linemen. He's excited to work with the freshmen, even joking on Twitter that his injury opened up the possibility for some true freshmen to receive significant minutes. He began his new role last week, helping during a workout.

Coaching is something Johnson had never really considered, but those around him believe it will be an important part of the healing process.

"For a lot of guys, football is the one thing that's always been a constant; I think it's very important to keep that in their lives," McElwain says. "The biggest thing is to be there for him, force the interaction a little bit, because sometimes you can go into a shell. It's natural to feel sorry for yourself. That's a natural thing. I tried to keep him as positive and give him direction. What good can we make out of this in the end — that's really the thing, more than anything."

Says Summers, his position coach: "We knew the kind of hole that would leave, just in the daily itinerary. Lifting weights, coming to meetings, going to practice, watching video. There's a huge hole that was going to be there, a vacuum that was going to need to be filled with something.

"We felt like if he had a role to fill that could still involve him in football and keep him active and understanding what we do, that would be a way to transition from player to a guy who now could not play."

Johnson talks about coaching high school after he graduates, or perhaps staying at Florida as a graduate assistant while working toward a master's degree. His father — "Big Rod" to Johnson's "Little Rod" — is curious to see how his son handles the challenges that come with coaching young men with all sorts of personalities.

One of Johnson's high school coaches, Jonathan King, is most excited about seeing his former pupil become a mentor, considering all the bumps along the road that led Johnson to Florida.

Johnson didn't play organized football until eighth grade because Big Rod was too worried he'd get hurt, despite Big Rod having played himself. Once Johnson started to play, it became clear both talent and great potential existed. But Johnson was, as he puts it, lazy.

It took American Heritage School, a private school in Delray Beach, Fla., to change that. Thanks to his family's persistence, Johnson transferred there midway through high school, but he struggled to adapt to an environment that required him to be accountable, both to his academics and his football training. It was a culture shock. Sometimes, early on, he'd catch the bus home or to his grandmother's house to duck practice. Johnson even considered quitting football.

"For some kids, that's life-changing, when you're not used to having things be demanded of you," says King, who is also Johnson's cousin. "It also broadened his horizon. You can be greater than what you're doing. You can be bigger. There's more to life than just living in Delray Beach, Boynton Beach. You've got to shoot for bigger things. Once he saw that, it just changed him."

His passion for football grew. College scholarships came into the picture. Johnson got serious about the weight room — and got in good enough shape to play on both sides of the ball. He committed to Florida, but then faced his first roadblock — he was short a credit, requiring that he take an online course before enrolling. He eventually got an 'A' in the class.

Johnson redshirted his first year here, yet another admittedly difficult experience. But by last season, he was seeing significant playing time; he earned three starts. He knew this fall he'd be the bedrock of the Gators' offensive line. Big Rod said his son was "raring to go."

"We had four players off of our offensive line last year drafted, and five of the top six ended up in NFL camp," Summers says. "Rod returning as a starter who had played all season long was going to be a huge piece of this offensive line. He was the piece of the offensive line. It was a crushing blow to our football team to lose a player like that with that type of experience, and not only his experience but his passion for football. His energy was something that this team relied on."

The Gators still will rely on it — but in a different way, with it coming from the sidelines. King hopes Johnson can draw upon his personal experiences to relate to younger players and teach them big-picture lessons.

"To me, he can go anywhere and give a speech on the highs and lows of playing football," King says. "You can be in one place one moment, you can be here in the next. It's all about what you're going to do when you get back up. I'm proud of him what he's doing by keep going forward. You've got to keep pushing forward."

WALKING AWAY

Deep down, Johnson understands the positive part of a particularly bittersweet diagnosis — the fact that the condition was discovered before he suffered a left-altering hit. He can still walk. He can still run. He feels like the same athlete he was before April 3.

Johnson spent a few weeks trying to find a doctor who might clear him to play, someone who wouldn't let his NFL dreams die. He tweeted that he was officially retiring from the sport, and that he didn't want his mom to have to see him in a wheelchair.

"I always tell him, it's better to walk away from the game than be carried away from it," Big Rod says. "It could be worse."

Florida opens its season against New Mexico State at home on Sept. 5. Johnson's father expects to see his son shed a few tears as he experiences what it's like to walk onto the field not in uniform.

But that's not quite accurate.

On Johnson's left bicep, there's a tattoo of Johnson's own football jersey, and his number, 55. He added it in the weeks immediately following his injury. "It's to let Gator nation know I'm going to be here forever," he says.

Even if he can't wear his uniform on game day, he'll forever wear it in ink.

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