1 Chapter #1 Reborn

Pain. Darkness. Those were the last things I remembered before opening my eyes to a bright light. As my vision adjusted, I slowly took in my surroundings. I was in a sparse, sterile room. Medical machinery beeped quietly in the corner. Sunlight streamed through the window, the glow revealing drifts of dust motes floating through the air.

Groggily, I sat up in the narrow hospital bed, cotton gown rustling against my skin. My body felt strange, unfamiliar. How did I get here? The last thing I recalled was watching the latest Browns game at home, cursing their ineptitude as they blew yet another lead late in the fourth quarter. As the memories flickered at the edges of my mind, an uneasy feeling grew in my stomach. Something wasn't right.

I turned to glance out the window, hoping a glimpse of the skyline might offer some clue. But outside lay a view utterly alien to me. Gone were the familiar skyscrapers; in their place spread gently rolling hills and clusters of trees just budding with new spring growth. Where the hell was I?

The door creaked open then, startling me from my bewildered reverie. A middle-aged man in a tailored suit entered, footsteps brisk and expression all business. His crisp aluminum briefcase caught the light as he clicked it open on the small table beside the bed. "Good, you're awake. I'm Carmen Policy, general manager of the Cleveland Browns. How are you feeling?"

My mouth went dry. General manager of the Browns? This had to be some sort of bizarre joke or dream. Except everything felt frighteningly real. I shook my head, as if the gesture alone could dislodge this nonsense. "I...I don't understand. Where am I? What's going on?"

Policy peered at me closely, eyes keen but not unkind behind silver-rimmed glasses. "According to the EMTs who brought you in, you collapsed at your home late last night. No outward sign of injury or illness, but you've been in a state of unconsciousness ever since. The doctors ran some tests but found nothing abnormal. Chalked it up to acute exhaustion, maybe compounded by dehydration. Judging by your expression, I'm guessing you have no memory of who you are or how you came to be here."

I swallowed hard, mouth cottony with unfamiliar medication and unanswered questions. "N-no, sir. My last memory is watching the Browns...but that doesn't make any sense. I'm not - I can't be their general manager. There must be some kind of mistake."

"Easy now." Policy raised a calming hand. "Disorientation after regaining consciousness is perfectly normal. Let's take this slowly. According to your records and identification, your name is Dwight Clark. You've been the GM of the Cleveland Browns for the past five years. Does that name ring any bells at all?"

My mind churned frantically. Dwight Clark - the name held no meaning. But there was something reassuring about Policy's steady tone and manner that eased my panic, if only slightly. "No, I'm afraid not. But please, tell me the date. Maybe that will help jog my memory."

Policy glanced at his watch. "It's April 19, 2000. In one week's time, we'll be attending the NFL draft in New York City to select our players for the upcoming season." His eyes probed mine with cautious concern. "Do those details help orient you at all?"

2000. Impossible. I was just watching the Browns last night. But everything about this seemed frighteningly lucid - the sterile hospital room, the tailored suit and briefcase, Policy's forthright yet caring demeanor. It felt real, whether I wanted to believe it or not.

"No, I'm still lost," I admitted in a small voice. "But thank you for your patience, Mr. Policy. I appreciate you taking the time to explain. Perhaps seeing familiar faces and places will help trigger my memory further."

"Of course." Policy offered an understanding nod. "The mind works in mysterious ways sometimes. For now, our priority is getting you back to full health. I'll have the doctors run a few more tests, just to be safe. Then it's best if you rest up before the trip to New York. With any luck, being back in your element doing what you love may very well be the cure. Don't worry - we'll get your memory back on track in no time."

His reassurance steadied me slightly, though confusion still roiled in my gut. I caught sight of my hands then - larger, more calloused than the ones I knew. Malevolent prickles spread across my skin as I studied this unfamiliar physique, pondering the impossible implications. Could I truly have somehow...swapped bodies? Assuming the identity of Dwight Clark, Browns general manager? It seemed ludicrous, yet try as I might, I could summon no alternative explanation.

The days that followed confirmed Policy's assessment, at least externally. Medical exams found me in perfect health, with no cause identified for my prolonged unconsciousness. Returning to Berea and walking the familiar Browns headquarters did nothing to trigger memories, though I took great care not to let on the full extent of my confusion. Bit by bit, I pieced together Dwight Clark's routines, responsibilities, relationships through careful observation and discreet questions to trusted colleagues.

My sole comfort came in studying game film and prospects' stats, comparing them to my encyclopedic knowledge from the future. By draft day, I had memorized lengthy reports on each potential selection, debate points honed to persuade hesitant scouts and ownership. Now it was time to put that preparation to the test.

I arrived at the draft downtown feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. Here in this very theater, pivotal Browns careers would be determined by my decisions over the next three days. But success here also offered perhaps my sole hope of retaining this job - and avoiding further medical examinations that might expose the bizarre truth of my unfathomable situation.

The draft room was packed with nervous energy as I took my seat at the head of the table, surrounded by coaches, scouts and front office leaders all eager to dive in. Scouting director John Spytek leaned over, expression curious yet warm. "How you feeling, Dwight? Ready to get this party started?"

I flashed my most confident smile. "Absolutely. Thanks for all your hard work getting us ready, John. I think we've got a great board laid out. Now it's time to start building a winner."

A chorus of supportive murmurs met my statement as the room settled in, game faces firmly on. Commissioner Paul Tagliabue took the stage to open proceedings, outlining this year's selections and trades thus far. I tuned him out, already running through my practiced arguments one last time. Everything rode on this first choice.

"With the first pick of the 2000 NFL draft," Tagliabue announced at last, "the Cleveland Browns select linebacker Brian Urlacher of New Mexico."

Applause and whoops broke out amongst my scouting team, joined by cheers from surrounding Browns fans in the theater. I allowed myself a small satisfied smile, imagining Urlacher's stunned delight when informed of his destiny in Cleveland. After years of futility, we were declaring our intent to rebuild through defense, starting from the inside out. And with nine sacks his senior year, Urlacher possessed the athleticism and nose for the ball this unit sorely lacked.

Turning to acknowledge Spytek and the others, I caught sight of owner Al Lerner leaning over, expression curious. " it´s a start, Dwight. Are you sure about Urlacher over Cortney Brown, though?"

I met his gaze evenly, having anticipated this pushback. "I understand the argument for Brown, sir. But we need a leader for our defense, someone who can take over games. And in my view, Urlacher has that sort of rare leadership ability in addition to his physical skills. He's going to be a cornerstone for us for many years."

Lerner considered this, stroking his chin thoughtfully before nodding once. "All right, I'll trust your judgment. Let's see how it plays out."

The approving smile Spytek flashed my way told me I'd persuaded the last doubters in the room. My stomach unknotted slightly as the pick was announced, adrenaline buzzing through my veins. So far, so good - now came the hard part of actually calling and welcoming the selections.

As requests were made to connect with Urlacher, I withdrew my cell phone, taking a deep breath to steady my suddenly shaky fingers. After two rings, a euphoric voice answered. "Hello?"

"Brian, this is Dwight Clark from the Cleveland Browns. I just wanted to be the first to personally congratulate you - you're now a member of the Cleveland Browns and our number one draft pick."

A stunned laugh burst from the receiver. "You're kidding, right? The Browns?! I just think I was gonna be a mid-first rounder, let alone go number one! Man, this is a dream come true. Thank you so much for the opportunity, Mr. Clark, I swear I won't let you down."

I allowed genuine delight to creep into my tone. "You very much earned this, Brian. I have no doubt you're going to be a cornerstone for our defense for many seasons. Now go celebrate - you deserve it.

To be continued...