Seizures can't snap up football career

-- John Carrington/Savannah Morning News

Randy Anderson (right) plays for South Effingham despite suffering from a mild seizure disorder.

Prep football career doesn't stop for seizures

By Bradley A. Huebner Savannah Morning News

Randy Anderson had all the signs.

He showed up at the first South Effingham football practice three years ago with long hair. He weighed almost 300 pounds and had a fascination with classic Rock-n-Roll.

Before practice, he couldn't put his football uniform on right. When he finally did, he'd loaf through drills where he "could not pick his feet up out of the grass," according to one coach.

He'd walk into the wrong huddle. He wandered away from drills.

He had all the signs.

"I thought he was on drugs at first," said head coach Mike Harper, "I thought he was in the ozone. I didn't see any way this kid was going to hang in there with us."

Harper was partially right about the drugs. Anderson was taking Lamictal to treat an uncommon form of petit mal or absence seizures. The seizures, categorized by missed connections in the brain, sent Anderson into brief lapses of consciousness. If a seizure came while Anderson was walking, he continued walking in an unconscious state.

Things like power tools, pools and automobiles are off limits to Anderson.

"The first time we saw this was in middle school," said Linda Anderson, Randy's mother. "We thought he was ignoring us or just not listening to us."

South Effingham trainer Jill Martin, who is ready at practice or games with a bottle of Randy's pills, said the seizures are like momentary naps.

"On your VCR, you can hit pause. The frame stops right there," she said. "He's kind of going through a little freeze frame; everything stops for him."

Everything but football. Harper took a chance on Anderson figuring he wouldn't last anyway. Anderson not only earned playing time, the senior has started at left tackle the last two seasons.

Coaches and staff now can recognize whenever Randy needs another pill, and teammates know when to shout his name or snap before his face to lift him from a spell. The accommodations have become commonplace.

"It's basically short blackouts," said Anderson's neurologist, Dr. Julia Mikell. "Sometimes the person blinks or just stares, but there's clearly a loss of consciousness."

Causes range from trauma to the brain, tumors or genetics. Randy's cause isn't clear. The effects are.

While answering questions for a 20-minute interview, Anderson had three barely noticeable episodes. Looking into his brown eyes, he seems interested in the questions, then the eyes grow darker and the interest wanes. Soon, he's frozen, absent.

Finger snaps bring him back, and he answers the question that was asked seconds ago, before the seizure. He smiles like someone just relieved of a blindfold in Marco Polo. He's no longer "it" or "out" and noticeably pleased.

It all sounds so harmless, but when sports are involved the threat of injury rises significantly. Anderson had to quit baseball because the ball kept hitting him in the head during lapses.

In a wrestling match last season, Anderson suffered a seizure while standing up, arms at his side. Dennis Roddenberry, wrestling coach and football offensive coordinator, screamed Anderson's name and frantically snapped his fingers like a big-band groupie.

When neither worked, Anderson's opponent picked him up and slammed him into the mat -- face first. Blood poured. The referee eventually called the match.

"There were 30 seconds left," Roddenberry said. "Randy was winning. He just stood up, faced the guy, and (stared). But he wanted to continue even after he had has nose smashed into the canvas. He's not a give-up kid."

It's happened in football, too. One game Anderson froze in his lineman's stance as the play continued around him. The defender stared at Anderson, confused by the ploy and waiting for its secret. No harm was done.

"When I saw it on film," Randy said, "it was the funniest thing I ever saw."

In three years of football, Randy's gone from being mislabeled lazy and cause of laughter to a team leader.

At 5-foot-11 and a healthier 245 pounds, the left tackle is the lone senior lineman. He protects the blind side of two quarterbacks, one a freshman. He's been the lead blocker on eight of star running back Keith Glover's first 13 touchdowns. Coaches have complete confidence in him.

"He's probably our most consistent offensive lineman," said coach Roddenberry. "When we need short yardage, we go behind him probably 75 percent of the time."

Anderson's lost 50 pounds and increased his bench press to his playing weight of 245. He's the most unlikely success story Harper could have imagined.

"This has been an interesting, positive experience," said Harper.

The seizures are now only footnotes to his story. So comfortable is Randy with his condition that he had "SEIZURE" printed on his game T-shirt. He doesn't hit other players; he "has a seizure on them."

For all the studies blaring the positive effects of scholastic sports, none speak louder than Randy Anderson's life.

At the end of a recent practice, Anderson posed for a photographer. The Rocky theme song blared over the speakers in the background. You couldn't help but pause yourself to see a mother's proud son smile in a hero's light.

"His mother's been great," said Harper. "She does not want the world to stop for Randy."

In two weeks, Anderson's football career will stop. The experience that has given him a work ethic and an extended family will end. In a year, he'll turn 19, unable to drive a car. His whole life will look like 4th-and-100, as his football career once did to his coaches.

He probably can't be a truck driver like Dad. He must go a year without seizures to get his license. To hold a job, he'll need someone nearby -- another Harper -- to thaw his spell should his mind freeze.

Just like the heavyset kid who showed up for football practice three years ago, he could go either way. Petit-mal seizures stop around age 20, or they turn into the more demonstrative and dangerous grand-mal seizures. His form of seizures will likely continue in their frequency and degree.

He's demonstrated one thing through athletics that will serve him the rest of his life: He's not a give-up kid.

"No one thought he'd make it through the first week of football," his mother remembers. "They even had bets on it." Web posted Thursday, November 5, 1998