One-Handed Catch

What many don’t know about the nearly undefeated 2005 USC Trojans is that they had Jose Alvarez as a wide receiver on the team. 

His name has since been erased from history. Wikipedia articles don’t mention him, Youtube clips have censored him out, and ESPN no longer shows footage of the 2005 National Championship game.

The government doesn’t want you to remember Jose Alvarez. But I do. I was his teammate, after all.

Here is his story.

“Alvarez, you’re up!” yelled wide receiver coach Lane Kiffin during tryouts before the season.

Alvarez, a 5 foot 8 skinny lad weighing no more than 135 pounds, ran a post route. He was clearly the biggest underdog to make the team of that tryout, and everyone knew it. Somebody that skinny and short would be toast in a game.

The 3rd string quarterback, Mark Sanchez, threw him a terrible pass.

“Run it back, start again.” began Coach Kiffin as he turned away.

Although Alvarez was about 10 yards away from the pass, his right arm stretched out in an amazing fashion as it lifted him off the ground and reached the ball single-handedly like a magnet.

“Kiffin, did you see that?!” yelled head coach Pete Carroll.

“Yeah, this Sanchez kid needs to work on his accuracy throwing the ball.” replied Coach Kiffin.

“I agree, but did you see that catch?” Coach Carroll said as he pointed to a surprised Alvarez holding the ball with shock. “I know he’s not what we’re looking for physically… but if he can do that.”

The coaches needed to see more. So with every dastardly throw by Mark Sanchez came another spectacular catch by Jose Alvarez’s incredible arm.

“Kid, your arm is a rocket!” exclaimed Coach Kiffin, “It just shoots you up into the air with great persistence! How do you do it?”

“I’m just that good.” Jose Alvarez said nervously, “I really want to make the team, coach.”

“You’re in, buddy, you’re in.” said the starstruck coach, “We could really use your talents this season.”

Our first game of the season was against Hawaii. 

Hawaii had no answers for the amazing arm of Alvarez.

“Look at that kid fly!” announced the commentators, “It’s almost as if his arm is controlling him rather than the other way around!”

Alvarez reached for a deep ball off the sidelines. It was like second-nature to him.

The Trojans won 63-17, with Alvarez seeing the majority of the targets.

Superstar wide receiver, Patrick Turner, was not happy with his fading spotlight.

“You think you can just walk on the team and take my reps?” Turner pinned Alvarez against a locker like a bad high school movie.

“Woah man,” Alvarez didn’t know how to react.

“I know you ain’t normal. What are you… a robot?” Turner choked Alvarez harder against the locker. “Walk off the team, or I will make you walk off.”

Alvarez’s special arm held on to Turner’s wrist and squeezed. Turner screamed in pain and let go of Alvarez.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-” Alvarez said before he was interrupted by the next action that his arm took.

Alvarez’s arm unnaturally whacked Turner in the face like a pool noodle. Alvarez grabbed on to his sentient right arm to stop it from hitting Turner, but his special arm had a mind of its own.

Alvarez’s arm hit Turner repeatedly. Turner tried to dodge, counter, and hit back, but Alvarez’s arm blocked every punch and twisted the enemy arm in the air like a Wing-Chun master. 

“Cut it out you two! Now!” Interfered Coach Kiffin. 

Alvarez’s arm palmed Coach Kiffin’s face like a basketball and swung the coach’s body onto the ground. 

“Coach, I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me!” Alvarez apologized, nearly hyperventilating. “I’m so sorry, so sorry!”

“You’re off the team.” Coach Kiffin said as he tried to get himself up. “Get outta my face.”

Alvarez regained control of his arm and walked off.

The next day, head coach Pete Carroll brought Alvarez into his office to chat about the incident.

“Coach Kiffin tells me he kicked you off the team,” the gum-smacking Coach Carroll said, “I don’t know why he’d do that. You’re a star in the making, kid. Even if you did beat the guy up... and your teammate. I’m pretty good with tolerating behavior.”

Alvarez looked down at his arm and held on to it, almost as if being proactive in it acting out again.

“So here’s what I’m going to do,” announced Coach Carroll, “I’m going to tell Coach Kiffin you apologized and that you’re back on the team. We got a big game next week. Show up.”

“Coach,” Alvarez began, “honest to God, I didn’t mean to hit anybody. My arm… it has a mind of its own sometimes.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, son.” said Coach Carroll, “It either has a mind of its own all the time or it never does. It can’t have a mind of its own sometimes. You know what needs a mind of its own? Yourself! Use your brains next time. Now head down to practice and I’ll update the staff.”

Alvarez and I weren’t very close at the time, but I took this as an opportunity to get to know him better after I saw him being aloof at practice.

“Yeah it’s nothing. I’m just dealing with some stuff.” Alvarez said as he put his helmet back on, “Think you’ll see some game time next week?”

“If we blow out the next team like we did the last, yeah, maybe at the last drive of the game.” I answered, “Other than that, I might not see play ‘til next season.”

“I didn’t even think I’d make the team this year, man.” said Alvarez, “I feel like God has a plan for all of us.”

“He sure gave you that special arm.” I said.

“I don’t think it’s special. I wish I could do what it does without its help.” Alvarez sorrowfully looked down at his arm.

“Hold on, what?” I asked confusingly, “You wish you could catch a football without the help of your arm? So, what, you wish you only had one arm?”

“That’s not what I mean…” Alvarez explained, “I want to be special. I don’t want my arm to be the one that’s special. It has a mind of its own.”

I remember that conversation vividly because I never looked at his play the same ever again. 

Every stride, every route, every break, every hop, every catch, it was all being led foremost by his forearm. 

A mind of its own? I wondered about it every time I saw him on the field.

We won the next 11 games. Guess who got most of the looks? Alvarez and his otherworldly arm were unstoppable. But it did not matter. Because in 2010, an investigation by the FBI led to the NCAA forcing the USC Trojans to vacate all its games in 2005. Meaning, all of our wins no longer counted in the record books.

The official story was that running back Reggie Bush was an ineligible player during that time, thus making all of our games illegitimate. They made this up in 2010, years after Reggie won his Heisman trophy. He took the hush money, and the government made sure it would have no impact on his career or legacy. That was the deal, and it worked.

It was the perfect cover-up for what really happened.

“Alvarez!” yelled Coach Carroll, “Get out there, what are you doing? It’s the National Championship! You were supposed to leave the locker room half an hour ago, the game is about to start!”

“I can’t… move my arm…” Alvarez replied, fully padded, helmet on, sweat running down his face as he struggled to pick his arm up with the other. 

“Now’s not the time for joking! Get moving!” Coach Carroll slammed his fist on a locker. “We need you out there now!”

“I swear Coach Carroll, I’m not making this up, it won’t move!” Alvarez said with tears of desperation in his eyes. 

Coach Carroll runs over and lightly pushes Alvarez in an encouraging way off the bench in the locker room. Alvarez’s body moved, but his arm stayed firmly positioned on the bench.

“It won’t move, it won’t move.” Alvarez was violently crying.

Coach Carroll ran to get the team doctor. After performing some tests, the doctor came to a conclusion.

“This is going to sound strange,” the team doctor said, “But this is an example of a neurological disorder called ‘Alien Hand Syndrome’. It’s the reason why you think it has a mind of its own.”

“You’re in on this too? Good Lord!” exclaimed Coach Carroll as he stormed back out on the field.

“Scientists believe this neurological disorder is extraterrestrial in origin,” the doctor explained to Alvarez, “We need to take you to a lab to run some tests. There’s been cases where the arm chooses to murder. We need to send you out now.”

“Can we go literally any time after the National Championship?” Alvarez said, “and can you just help me find a way to get it back up and working again?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. And you are a huge liability for everyone here. There’s no telling what that arm will choose to do next.” The doctor advised. “I do have a solution, but it’s one you’re not going to like.”

At that moment, the doctor injected Alvarez with an anesthetic which caused a nerve block on the arm. Alvarez and the doctor watched as his arm changed from green, to blue, to purple, to red, to yellow, and then to a blue-green color.

“Doc…” Alvarez said as he watched his arm grow three times in size. “Run!”

Alvarez’s arm swung at the doctor, but the doctor lowered his head right on time. Alvarez’s arm was now even more powerful than before, but a lot slower. It swung and caused dents on the walls and lockers, but missed every shot it got at the doctor. The doctor pulled out a tranquilizer from his bag, and shot it at Alvarez’s body.

Alvarez fell to the ground, but his arm kept swinging at the doctor. Every swing moved Alvarez’s body along with him as he was passed out, his football helmet and pads protecting him as he was being swung around against the lockers and walls.

Since I was a third string quarterback, my seat on the bench was the closest to the locker room, and I heard loud bangs and screaming during the singing of the national anthem. I think the other guys heard it too, but we all knew we’d get in trouble if we went in and checked it out. So, considering my place on the depth chart, I ran down to the locker room to check in on the noise.

What I saw next is hard to believe, but it sure happened right in front of my eyes. I saw the doctor with an electronic medical saw that looked like a pizza cutter, and he was using it to cut off Jose Alvarez’s overgrown arm. 

“Hey!” I yelled, “What are you doing? What’s happening?!”

“Sanchez,” the doctor addressed me, “you need to get my staff to get the ambulance, stat.”

At that moment, Alvarez woke up. “Whaaa… what happened?”

He looks at his mutilated arm shrinking in front of him.

“Doc… what did you do…” Alvarez said still waking up from the anesthetic.

“I had to remove your arm,” the doctor said, “It’s an alien. But it no longer has control over you.”

“What the f—!” I exclaimed. 

“I need to get on the field, doc.” Alvarez said while in tears.

“You just lost your arm!” the doctor said, “You need to rest, and we need to get you in the ambulance, you can’t play with one arm!”

“This is everything I’ve been wanting all season.” Alvarez said as he stood up and stormed out of the locker room and into the huddle.

I also ran onto the field to get the medical staff to get the ambulance, but then I noticed Alvarez lined up with his one good arm.

Don’t ask me if the team noticed during the huddle that his arm was missing. Don’t ask me if the fans or the broadcasters noticed either. All I know is that they sure noticed after quarterback Matt Leinart was under pressure during the first play, and he scrambled out of the sack to throw to a wide-open Jose Alvarez 17-yards to the middle of the field.

Alvarez tried to grab it with his one good arm in the air. He dropped the ball.

“Is Jose Alvarez missing his right arm?!” said the announcers in the now redacted ESPN broadcast coverage of the game. 

Coach Carroll didn’t take him out of the game. Coach Kiffin didn’t do it either. Not even the team escorted him out. Jose Alvarez walked himself to the sidelines and was immediately attended to by the medical staff who drove him away.

I never heard from Alvarez ever again. I don’t even see any social media accounts of his. He’s… just… gone. Completely wiped out the way the government intended. Whatever was up with his arm must have been that intense.

I’ve been worried about him ever since. Years later, I ran into one of the medical staff when I was on the New York Jets, and he told me that he was the one who drove Alvarez to the hospital at that game. 

“What did he say to you?” I asked one of my one million questions about Alvarez.

“He was weirdly very happy,” replied the medical staff member, “He said he did his best with what he had. He may have dropped the ball, but he did so with his ‘good arm’, so he said. And that’s all he said he needed to know.”

We lost that championship game against Texas. Not that it would have mattered since we had extraterrestrial support the whole season and the NCAA would have vacated those victories as well if we had won.

Even though Alvarez lost, he won something much more. I just hope he’s still around because I want to tell him that I’m proud of him.

That day plays on the back of my mind every time I see green grass. I remember the way Coach Carrol was acting after Alvarez was taken away in the ambulance.

“What the hell happened to Alvarez!” yelled Coach Carroll looking for answers.

“If I tell you,” I began, “you won’t believe me.”

“Damnit, Mark Sanchez,” Coach Carroll said, “I don’t trust even your stories to be accurate.”