Concussions are scary, and more needs to be done to limit them

I didn't call for the pass because I was too far ahead of our defenseman, who was hanging on to the puck for an inordinate amount of time.

Just move it. Fire it off the glass. Do something with it already.

I glanced back one last time, just in time to see he had decided to pass it up to me, which meant I must have had a little open ice ahead.

When I woke up after the hit, I was just a little touch upset, needless to say.

My weak legs managed to get me to the bench, where I promptly put down my stick and waited for the defenseman who passed me the puck to change. And when he did, I tried to fight him on the bench.

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And that was my first concussion.

We were in junior, and I was trying to get a college scholarship. Northeastern had come to watch me play that day, and I had played a pretty decent game. A goal and an assist should have been enough to prove I was worth some of the institution's money, I figured, but it was all soured by the instant hangover-type feeling I felt in the dressing room after the game.

When our coach asked me to talk with Northeastern's assistant coach after I had showered up, I almost instantly forgot when or where I was supposed to see the guy, so I panicked.

I walked outside barefoot, in an untucked dress shirt and the bottom half of my equipment, and probably sounded as dumb as I looked. To this day, I can't remember what I was thinking, walking out there like that, but apparently the misfirings in my brain figured it would be a good idea. I recall zero percent of the conversation.

And that's concussions for you. They start with a bang, things get cloudy (and eventually forgotten), and then it just ... lingers.

BOURNE'S IDENTITY Justin Bourne, a former minor league hockey player, writes a column for USA TODAY during the NHL season. See Bourne's previous column.

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I was one of the lucky ones because I had only a couple over the course of my career and never one of the really bad ones. But I've played enough hockey with friends who haven't been so fortunate, so I always feel obligated to weigh in on the topic when it comes up, and that's happening an awful lot lately.

The bottom line: Our paying attention to this stuff matters.

I've seen a teammate who looks, sounds and acts perfectly healthy get cleared to ride the bike, say they feel great at minute four and puke violently at minute five. What has to be going on in your body for that to happen? Horrible things.

Not only has it cost good players their careers, it has cost good men their personalities. Brain trauma can change who you are as a person, a scary thought for the partners and families of professional athletes around the world. Worse still, they're now finding links between concussions and Lou Gehrig's disease, and possibly Parkinson's disease, too.

When Commissioner Gary Bettman comes out and concedes concussions are on the rise, you know it's gotten bad. Players are bigger and players are faster, but their heads are no more able to take a blow than they were when the game was slower and guys were smaller.

If I'm in the NHL today, I guarantee you I would still be for the league taking any and all protective measures for my gray matter, as would most guys. You don't hear a lot of players coming out and saying they want head shots left in the game for a reason: When you get one, you know how serious they are.

It's time for a change in hockey. I'm sure someday we'll look back on how the game was played during this era and shudder.