A world of hurt: an NFL athletic trainer plays multiple roles—treater, healer, confidant, reader of the team pulse—and walks an uneasy line, especially on a trip to the principal's office

Sporting News, The, Nov 19, 2001 by Paul Attner

At least the game, from an injury standpoint, had gone well. Seven players suffered some nicks, but all were minor. In a season of inconsistency for the Saints, lack of injuries has been one of the constant positives. Incredibly, they have no one on injured reserve, and only three prominent players--offensive tackle Willie Roaf, reserve defensive end Willie Whitehead and tight end Cam Cleeland--had out against the Jets. Patton is optimistic all three can play in the Saints' next game.

For the players who missed Sunday, it is no reward to be in the training room on Monday. Patron's goal, as dictated by Haslett and Mueller, is to prod the injured to play again quickly. And Patton takes his directions seriously.

"We want the training room to be harder than practicing," says Haslett. "We want it to be miserable in there. When the players say it's no fun being in there, that's what I want to hear." Eagles coach Andy Reid, for whom Patton previously worked, told his players the training room "is no Leisure World." That has become Patton's mantra.

Whitehead is learning firsthand about this anti-Leisure World. One of Patton's first tasks Monday morning is to prepare a rehabilitation workout schedule for the injured players. Some teams outsource rehab to clinics, but Patton keeps it on-campus. That way, he can interact with the injured players on a daily basis and monitor their progress. Each player has his own folder, listing exercises and treatments. It's an ongoing chess match. What is the right approach for a specific injury? What is the appropriate amount of rehab? How much do you push it? Whitehead, whose right knee sprain is virtually healed, looks at his routine and balks.

"I can't do all of this" he tells Patton.

"Yes, you can," says Patton. He suggests that Whitehead change out of his clothes, a T-shirt and gray sweat pants, but the player declines.

Whitehead then embarks on a rigorous, 90-minute regime, including a grueling exercise in which he steps on and off a raised platform under the timed guidance of assistant athletic trainer Kevin Mangum. Whitehead's clothes quickly are soaked with sweat.

"I gotta go home in these clothes," he complains near the end. The trainers chuckle. Before he leaves, Whitehead tells Patton he thinks he can resume playing. That has to be easier than rehab.

The training room is a chilly, tidy place reflecting Patton's obsession with neatness and organization. In the middle of the room are nine tables, where players receive ultrasound, ice and other treatments. Near Patton's office are two ice machines and three taping stations. It's not mandatory for players to have their ankles taped, but most do.

Patton doesn't like the treatment tables. He is against passive rehab, and strives to get the players into exercising as quickly as possible. His aversion extends to massages. "Booty rubs," he calls them.

In one corner is a rehab room, where players utilize everything from basic tools to computerized equipment to two $19.95 ab-dollies that Patton bought after watching a 3 a.m. infomercial. Another room contains hot and cold whirlpools and a high-tech underwater treadmill.