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Bridgewater's coaches, from Charlie Strong at Louisville to Zimmer in Minnesota, consider the quarterback an honorary son. The worst thing his teammates can say about him is that he's the closest thing the locker room has to a teacher's pet. They laugh at the way he tends to parrot Zimmer's philosophy.

"I swear he's the nicest guy I've ever met in my life," Boone says. "He's a sweet guy -- and that's not a word you usually associate with football players, but he really is. His genuine sincerity toward everything is just ... you're like, 'Wow, he's really a good person.' He never says a bad word, he's never mad."
 
Wide receiver Adam Thielen says, "Across this league, everyone has respect for Teddy," and he cites Sam Bradford as proof. Bradford texted get-well wishes to Bridgewater the day after the injury -- about the same time the Vikings' front office started asking tight ends coach Pat Shurmur, once Bradford's offensive coordinator in St. Louis and Philadelphia, for a detailed scouting report on his former quarterback. Three days after that, Minnesota traded a first-round and a conditional fourth-round pick to the Eagles to turn Bradford into its Next Man Up.

"Everyone still loves Teddy," Bradford says. "Teddy's the guy. There's no moving past Teddy. That's just how it is, and how it should be."

Running back Jerick McKinnon shakes his head slowly when asked to describe what he saw that morning. He looks toward the practice field, to the 30, right hash.

"I saw it all," he says. "I ain't going to go into it. I don't have any words to describe it."

Bridgewater is around the facility, they all say. He helps Bradford understand the offense. He is upbeat, working out, still a part of the team. Perhaps his car is parked in one of the reserved for injured player spots in the team lot, not more than 50 yards from the grass practice field where everything in his life suddenly changed. His presence is mostly spectral. He is not visible when the media are allowed in the locker room, and he does not watch the games from the sideline. He has not spoken publicly. To the outside world, he is invisible.

It's what passes for decorum inside a merciless culture, a way of ensuring a peaceful transition of power. It seems there's a corollary to Next Man Up: the necessary disappearance of the Last Man Down.

Injury reports are transmitted to fans at U.S. Bank Stadium through two huge video screens that hover above each end zone. A generic model of the human anatomy appears below a player's name and number. The body rotates to create the illusion of three-dimensionality while a target circle wanders the body to create suspense -- where will it land? -- until it rests on the spot of the injury. The injured player is off somewhere, safely out of sight. Words appear:

Brandon Fusco, Concussion, Will Not Return.

It's the great injury game show, sponsored by Twin Cities Orthopedics.

S197 wrote:I saw it at the Packers game. Article sensationalizes it quite a bit unless they changed it. Basically it shows the player's name, an x-ray looking diagram, and a circle around the ankle or whatever is hurt. I thought it was nice to get info while in the stands and didn't think it was a big deal.