An injury to Hunter makes world stop Gary Shelton, The St.Petersburg Times, published 29 September 1998 Move. Come on, damn it. Move. The wide receiver lay crumpled on the field, face down, as still as your heart. For a second, maybe two, those around him had dug into the cradle of his arm for the football. Then the realization came that this was serious, that this was trouble, and no one cared about the ball anymore. Brice Hunter lay on the ground, frozen there beneath the lights, and just like that, your mouth went dry. The trainers came onto the field, sprinting rather than jogging, and the way they worked told you this was nothing routine. This was frantic. This was frightening. Come on, Brice. Move your hand. Move your foot. Move something. Please. There are moments that remind you what a violent, dangerous game this is. Most of the time, we push such thoughts out of our heads, and we consider it a tragedy when the Bucs cannot block or throw or win. Moments like this remind you how little these games really matter. Moments when you hold your breath and search a prone body for an arm that moves on its own, for a finger that twitches, for anything that would hint this will not be another tragedy. The trainers moved quickly, waving desperately for a cart to take Hunter off the field. Still, he did not move. His teammates lined the sideline, watching, hoping. A small circle - Derrick Brooks, Lorenzo Neal, Shelton Quarles, Tony Bouie and James Cannida - knelt in prayer. Mike Alstott, 20 yards away, was on one knee with his head down. Other players looked on, their eyes hollow, their lips grim. Finally, you saw it. He moved his legs. Didn't he? Did you see it? From the moment of collision, you knew this could be a serious injury. The Bucs were in their two-minute drill, and Trent Dilfer had thrown a sharp slant pass to Hunter. But as he caught the ball, Lions safety Mark Carrier drove through him, helmet to helmet, and Hunter's head twisted violently to the right. Usually, trainers wait for officials to signal them onto the field. Not this time. It was clear Hunter had been knocked unconscious, and time was important. So they rushed to a field where so much tragedy has occurred. It was here, less than a year ago, Lions linebacker Reggie Brown suffered a spinal injury. It was here, in 1991, that Mike Utley was paralyzed. First, the trainers checked to see if Hunter was breathing. He was, but Dr. Joe Diaco wasn't satisfied. The first decision was made - to roll Hunter over. They discovered he had a cut in his mouth and was bleeding. It was three, maybe four, minutes before Hunter regained consciousness. There was little of the usual disorientation, trainer Todd Toriscelli said. Hunter was lucid. He tried to get up, was ordered not to. For 30 seconds, he argued to be allowed to walk off under his own power. The trainers wouldn't allow it. And so they strapped Hunter onto a stretcher, still in his helmet, and loaded him into a cart and drove him off the field and through the tunnel. He moved. His feet. His hands. Except for a concussion, early reports said he is going to be all right. If Monday night's game had very little sweetness, there at least was this. Hunter, and the Bucs, were lucky. A fraction of an inch this way or that, and who knows how serious the injury might have been? Who knows what the odds might have been? "It's a brutal game," receiver Karl Williams said. "Your mind fills with all kinds of crazy thoughts of what might be wrong." For that matter, what were the odds of Hunter even being here? He is one of those players who will not go away, a player who has made an uphill climb an inch at a time. He was cut by two teams, spent two seasons with the Bucs on the practice squad, got his chance only after two other receivers were hurt. Two catches into his career, he was still on the turf. Who knows what kinds of thoughts go through a player's mind as he lies there, wondering if his body has been damaged, and if so, by how much? This is the risk that goes with the reward. This is the scary part of the spotlight. This time, there was good news. This time, the receiver looked as if he would get away with nothing but soreness. This time, there was no tragedy, and even that felt like a triumph. So go ahead. Talk about a team that is 1-3 a quarter of the way in. Talk about a stagnant offense. Talk about a team that is 6-9 in its past 15 games. And try not to think of the 10 minutes of horror when we watched Brice Hunter lie still and pondered the possibility of a greater loss. The receiver is going to be okay. "When I heard that, I said another prayer," Brooks said. "I said 'Thank you.' "