I will make the call for Bill O'Brien.

Because there's no reason to wait, nothing left to figure out.

Gamesmanship with a battered brain is demeaning and insulting. Resorting to generic coachspeak - "doubtful," "up in the air" - is absurd when we're talking about a human life.

Brian Hoyer must not take the field Sunday in Indianapolis.

It's T.J. Yates' job again. It's Hoyer safely watching the Colts from afar.

And now I'll make an even bigger decision for the Texans.

The 30-year-old Hoyer - very good guy, proud father of two, husband to his high school sweetheart - cannot be allowed to play football again this season.

One concussion was enough. Two in 27 days for a 6-2, 215-pound quarterback is frightening. Five already in a single lifetime is a shocking reminder that this crazy sport we continue to love really is just a silly game and Hoyer's brain can't afford another imminent hit.

I watched Hoyer's body crack the turf and his head slam into the ground in person Sunday night. I replayed the video multiple times Monday morning.

It was Case Keenum in Week 11 all over again. As nearby Patriots and Texans rose up and moved on, Hoyer just lay there. Then he slowly rolled around like he was dying. Then he completely disappeared, evaporating into the NFL's still-murky world of Concussion Land.

"There's nothing more important than the health and safety of every player in that locker room. That's paramount," O'Brien said Monday at NRG Stadium, after 27-6 New England became the 6-7 Texans waiting for the equally inept Colts. "Whenever you suffer a concussion like that - multiple concussions within a (four-) week span - obviously, the player himself is concerned about that. Nobody is more concerned than I am because of my relationship with Brian and his family."

Then truly protect Hoyer and his family, Texans.

Don't put a ball in No. 7's hands again during the 2015 season. Don't even let O'Brien think the dangerous thoughts: Hoyer's better than Yates; the Texans have a slightly sharper shot at capturing the horrible AFC South if Hoyer's mental fog clears before the year is complete.

Hoyer had to save himself on Nov. 16 at Cincinnati. He, not the NFL, recognized his in-game concussion symptoms. An intelligent, highly devoted QB who seemingly lives at the Texans' facility couldn't remember the team's plays during "Monday Night Football." But had Hoyer not outed himself, Yates never would have taken the field.

Succession of sacks

Sunday was just as scary. The game log shows the Texans' starting QB officially leaving with 9:24 left in the fourth quarter and Bill Belichick's Patriots leading 27-6. But anyone watching from the safety of home could have heard NBC report to a national audience that Hoyer was being checked out by a doctor about five game minutes prior.

Preceding and contained within those mysterious moments: Hoyer sacked hard by New England defensive end Rob Ninkovich (6-2, 260) near the end of the third period. Hoyer immediately cracked by Patriots lineman Jabaal Sheard (6-3, 260) during the Texans' next offensive play, coughing up the ball and providing the first hint that all wasn't right inside the QB's head. Then Hoyer going down for good when New England tackle Akiem Hicks (6-5, 324) swung and crushed the seven-year vet for a jolting 4-yard takedown.

Only after all that was concussion No. 5 finally official.

What exactly does it mean for the brain, skull and human body when you reach that point after just turning 30 and playing one of the world's most dangerous games for a living?

Kenneth Podell, co-director of the Houston Methodist Neurological Institute's concussion center, spoke only in hypotheticals when asked about two concussions in a month and five in a career for an NFL athlete. But Podell acknowledged anyone with multiple concussions faces a "higher risk" in the future and ended his statement with honesty: "We're going to be very concerned about that."

"It's a difficult decision," said Podell, a neuropsychological consultant for the Texans. "It's about risk and future health. And that's what it's going to come down to with any player that's had multiple concussions very close together."

Family concerns

I've seen Hoyer's future. I watched the visions unfold in real life last summer, when Ryan Mallett was all the rage and O'Brien was still trying to decide which QB he liked best.

Texans practice would end under the scorching Houston sun. Star names would be surrounded by microphones and cameras. Autographs would begin. Hoyer would always drift away and find his kids. Then he'd run with, play with and hug his son Garrett and daughter Cameron. He was a man being a dad.

"He gets out: 'Bye, daddy. I love you.' I was ready to lose it."

That's a teary-eyed Hoyer in early September, recalling the joy of taking 3-year-old Garrett to school for the first time.

"She's been along the whole way."

That's Hoyer capturing the magic of a marriage to his wife Lauren, who's lived through it all with a football husband who began as a fourth wheel on a freshman date.

That's why Hoyer has to walk away. Maybe just for a little while. Maybe for good.

Because concussion No. 6 will always be waiting on a field that doesn't care how long or well he lives.

His wife, kids, family and friends always will. And they'll still be there when this violent game finally throws him away.