No pity

The tough world of quadriplegic rugby

RALEIGH -- It's a perfectly reasonable desire, but it feels shameful to say it out loud. But since we're all thinking the same thing anyway, you might as well give voice to it: "I don't ever want to end up like that."

Hey, nobody does, bucko. It's everybody's nightmare. The guys who did end up like that -- the six men in custom-built wheelchairs who spend every Friday night at a local community center banging the hell out of each other -- had the same nightmare. They understand your secret fear.

They also know that people get real weird around them. Some people pretend not to even see a wheelchair, as if to acknowledge it could suddenly cause its occupant to realize, "Whoa! I can't walk. When did this happen?" Others overcompensate in the other direction, becoming elaborately courteous and concerned for the poor, poor wretch who had that Horrible Thing happen.

So ask yourself this question: Which one are you?

Whichever is the case, you're going to have a hard time with quadriplegic rugby. It's impossible to look away, largely thanks to its train-wreck appeal. Besides, if you're at a match, you are by definition there to stare at the handicapped people. Those guys in the wheelchairs want your attention. So that'll help if you're a look-away type. You'll probably adjust pretty easily.

It's the I-feel-your-pain people who have the toughest row to hoe.

After all, pity is a tough instinct to ignore. Imagine attending a match where the Raleigh Sidewinders -- the Triangle's newly formed quad rugby team -- is scrimmaging against another collection of handicapped players. Imagine watching as one of the Sidewinders bashes his wheelchair into an opponent's chair, tipping it over. Imagine the sight of a crippled person lying near-helpless on the floor, scrabbling with his impaired limbs as he seeks to right his chair.

Now ask yourself this further question: Can you imagine giving an exuberant high-five to a fellow spectator as you roar your approval at this bit of violence committed on a guy in a wheelchair?

If not, you might not be ready for quad rugby.

'We get to hit'

"I like rugby better than [wheelchair] basketball," says Ron Frederick. "Because we get to hit."

Frederick was born with deformed hands and legs -- the legs were subsequently amputated when he was 10. That combination qualifies him as a quadriplegic, but it hasn't interfered with an active life. Frederick wrestled in high school, he rides a specially fitted Harley-Davidson and he's a monster on the quad rugby court. Put Dick Butkus in a wheelchair, and you've got the idea.

Frederick recently spent $2,700 on a wheelchair designed for quad rugby. It's already dented, scratched and battered.

Then there's Brant Daye. He played high school football in Durham, then went on to play fullback for N.C. Central University. He was injured in a pickup football game nearly two years ago and was left paralyzed from the chest down. But you put him in one of those Mad Max-style wheelchairs, and he's going to lay a lick on you.

Ditto for Justin Richardson, Mark Herndon and Eddie O'Neal. Even Brandon Futch, a 17-year-old senior at Clayton High School, who was so grievously injured in a car accident last year that he sometimes uses a toggle-equipped power wheelchair to get around, mixes it up as much as he can. His only problem is getting up to ramming speed.

"I love it," Futch says. "I don't know what else I'd do Friday nights." Friday is when the Sidewinders practice, and "that's the big night of my week," he says.

For all that enthusiasm, the Sidewinders are still in the formative stage. The six men -- and considering what Futch has endured, he's earned the right to be called a man -- assembled themselves into a team in the spring.