Inspirational Story: The Seattle Slam Murder Baller

3090481747A Broken Life, Fixed With a Little Murder


By Eric Bell

Tells the inspirational story of a young man who became a quad after a diving accident and the sport that helped restore his zest for life.

There I was, flat on my back in intensive care at Harborview Medical Center with a 35-pound weight screwed to my skull keeping the pressure off of my two shattered vertebrae and severed spinal cord. Now what?

“Have you ever heard of Murderball?” The sweet-voiced, redheaded nurse asked me through a slight grin.

Fast forward three years…

The first time I played, I was overwhelmed by a rollercoaster of emotions. As my hands were taped up and I was buckled and strapped into a wheelchair that closely resembled a war chariot, it started with anxiety and intimidation.

Pass this story on.  It is truly outstanding.


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About Karen
Karen Koehler, partner at the nationally recognized law firm of SKW, blogs about all things related to spinal cord injuries...More
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Favorite Quotation
On Another's Sorrow
Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief.

Can I see a falling tear.
And not feel my sorrows share,
Can a father see his child,
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd.

Can a mother sit and hear.
An infant groan an infant fear?
No no never can it be,
Never never can it be

And can he who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small
Hear the small bird's grief & care
Hear the woes that infants bear

And not sit beside the nest
Pouring pity in their breast.
And not sit the cradle near
Weeping tear on infant's tear.

And not sit both night & day.
Wiping all our tears away.
O! no never can it be.
Never, never can it be!

He doth give His joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.

O He gives to us His joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan.

— William Blake