MS battle puts Super Bowl in perspective

The powerful left arm that once rocketed footballs 60 yards downfield now has trouble with the smallest tasks. The legs that carried him into sold-out stadiums betrayed him long ago.

But if you’re thinking this was going to be one of those sentimental sob stories about a former college and professional ballplayer who laments his fate as he pines for the roar of the crowd and weeps over his yellowed press clippings, then you don’t know David Humm.

I can think of no better time than Super Bowl Sunday to make the introduction. Between all the media hype and Madison Avenue marketing, it’s easy to lose your perspective this time of year. On the day Americans gather in a great and gaudy congregation to worship in the Church of Football, a reality check is in order.

Humm provides that for me. At 60, his body wracked by multiple sclerosis, he really means it when he says he wouldn’t trade his life with anyone. Listen to him for even a few minutes and you’ll start to believe that wheelchair he uses and the increasing medical care he requires are mere inconveniences.

There was a time no one could have imagined he’d need the help. The native Las Vegan was a born All-American.

A gifted athlete, he didn’t play a down of football until his freshman year at Bishop Gorman High. Once he spun his first spiral, though, "I just fell in love with it."

He’s been in love with the game ever since. But football played at the highest level can be a demanding and even devastating mistress.

He couldn’t have known that at Nebraska, where he made the game look easy. Humm helped lead the Cornhuskers to major bowl games and a national championship. Drafted in 1975 by the Oakland Raiders, he landed in the middle of one of the most colorful and successful franchises.

In two stints with the Raiders, with stops in Buffalo and Baltimore in between, Humm adjusted to his role as a backup quarterback and holder on field goals and extra points, where the only time a player is noticed is when the snap is fumbled.

Between the endless practices and all those games, Humm’s body took a beating. He suffered numerous concussions.

"I don’t know how many," he says. "There are the little ones. And there are the ones where you see the stars and the floaters, and there’s the ringing and screaming of sirens in your ears. I might have had eight or 10 of those, but back then nobody counted them.

"You’d get hit and they’d say, ‘What day is it? Who are we playing?’ You’d answer, and they’d say, ‘That’s close enough. Go back in.’ And you did. It was just part of the game, but nobody thought it would lead to anything."

Humm left the sidelines for the broadcast booth after the 1983-84 season not knowing he was about to experience the biggest hit of his life. He was diagnosed with MS in 1988 at age 36.

Talk about a blindside blitz. The disease has pursued him more relentlessly than any linebacker. Menacing defensive end Richard Dent once knocked out four of Humm’s teeth, but that was a kiss on the cheek compared to battling the chronic disease that attacks the central nervous system.

If you’re waiting for him to complain about his lot in life, you’ll wait a long, long time. The man would rather talk about his daughter, Courtney, or his family and friends. Or just about any major high school, college, or professional game you can name.

The truth is, it would take Humm half the morning just to list all the body parts that no longer function properly. But when I ask him to elaborate, he politely tells me to get stuffed. The disease hasn’t damaged his candor, courage, or sense of humor.

"My MS started in 1988," he says. "I’m 25 years with it. It’s work. It hurts. It’s a job in itself. But, I mean, look at my life. I’m still with the Raiders (as a pre- and post-game radio broadcaster.) We live in Las Vegas. We have 40 million people visiting Las Vegas each year, and there are times I’d swear I know 20 million of them."

His estimate might be low. A never-ending parade of former college and NFL greats come to his front door, and thanks to a home studio he still contributes to Raiders broadcasts after nearly 30 years.

He lost the use of his legs in 1997, and increasingly relies on nursing assistance. Last year, he spent two months in the hospital battling the ravages of the disease – and was ticked off because he missed his Raiders broadcasts.

"How do we put this in terms you’ll understand? This disease can kiss my (expletive deleted) running. This disease doesn’t slow me down in any way. I’ve got a chair on wheels. I’ve been to every one of my daughter’s sports events."

Humm doesn’t bother to count what’s been lost. He’s too busy adding up all his life’s blessings. He has a daughter he adores, the love of a big family, and a stadium full of friends.

And he still has the game that has helped define his life.

"How do you like the picture I’m painting so far?" he asks. "So would you like any part of it? I played in my first Super Bowl in my second year in the league. How many players have gone a whole career and never played in one? Not only did I have a great time, but I’ve never been out of the game. And my family got to be involved in all the games, all the parties, all the parades.

"I am blessed over and over. Some guys are bitter and some are sad, but look how lucky I’ve been. … Life is very good."

With that, David Humm excuses himself.

He has friends at the door, a game coming on, and a very good life, indeed.

John L. Smith’s column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Email him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 702-383-0295. He also blogs at lvrj.com/blogs/Smith.