https://www.espn.com/nfl/story/_/id...kings-cb-jeff-gladney-indicted-felony-assault DALLAS -- Minnesota Vikings cornerback Jeff Gladney was indicted Tuesday by a Texas grand jury for felony assault of a woman he was previously in a relationship with. Gladney, 24, who was a first-round draft pick last year out of TCU, started 15 games for the Vikings as a rookie. He remains on the roster but has not been around the team since his arrest in April in Dallas. He's charged with domestic violence by impeding breathing, for "intentionally, knowingly and recklessly" causing bodily injury and applying pressure to the woman's neck and throat, according to the indictment. The altercation grew out of an argument and took place over a span of more than two hours, according to a lawsuit recently filed against Gladney by the former girlfriend. She also alleged in the suit that he tried to bribe her and intimidate her into keeping quiet. No court date has been scheduled yet. If convicted, the cornerback could serve up to 10 years in prison.
https://www.espn.com/nfl/story/_/id...olts-ol-quenton-nelson-5-12-weeks-foot-injury Indianapolis Colts All-Pro guard Quenton Nelson will be out five to 12 weeks with the same foot injury as quarterback Carson Wentz, coach Frank Reich said. Dr. David Porter is scheduled to perform the surgery on Nelson on Tuesday afternoon in Indianapolis. Porter performed surgery on Wentz's left foot on Monday. "Where Carson's was an old [high school football] injury that cropped up, Q's was not an old injury," Reich said. "Q's was a developmental anomaly. Something he was kind of born with, something always there, you never know and all of a sudden there it is. They got there different ways, but essentially the same thing. Can't make that up, right?"
It’s the sound that’s stayed with her all these years, the screams she can still hear in her head, the ones that come after a mother sits her three children down and tells them father’s gone and he’s not coming back. “This wasn’t crying,” Jena Ehlinger says. “This was wailing.” Her oldest was 14. In the eighth grade. Sam had spent that Sunday morning at home, with his younger brother and sister, finishing his homework and waiting on results from dad’s race. Now mom was in tears, stammering through her words, trying to tell them that something had gone terribly wrong, that dad might’ve had a heart attack, that they tried to save him but couldn’t. Ross Ehlinger had gone to San Francisco for a triathlon. He never made it to the finish line. Now Sam couldn’t sit, couldn’t think, couldn’t begin to process it all. Now he was running, down the hall, up the stairs, into dad’s office. Why? Because he could feel his father in that room. Ross was the dad who’d always been there — the successful trial lawyer who coached his boys in youth football and had been dragging them to Texas home games since they’d been toddlers. He’d written a birthday card for Sam just six months earlier. “I’m proud to be your dad,” it began. Now he was gone, and Sam was the man of the house, and Jake and Morgen needed him. So did mom. So he bottled up the pain and he buried it. He stayed as strong as he could. “We were kind of in a fog for a year,” he says now, “and then you wake up and you’re like, that really happened?” The four of them moved on, best they could, best anyone can, but even in the happiest moments they could feel that twinge in the bottom of their hearts. “Even on the best days, you’re just a tiny bit sad,” Jena says. May 1 was one of those days. Sam had grown into a star quarterback in high school, a four-year starter at Texas, a late-round prospect hoping to hear his name called in the NFL Draft. After the call finally came — sixth round, pick 218 by the Indianapolis Colts — the four of them huddled together, their eyes watering, the emotion evident. Jena. Sam. Jake. Morgen. No doubt Ross was on their minds. He would’ve loved that moment. He would’ve been so damn proud. Five days later, another call. Sam was walking through the Colts’ practice facility for the first time — meeting his new coaches, getting fitted for shoulder pads, finding out where his locker would be — when he glanced down at his phone and saw a text that read “CALL ME ASAP.” It was one of Jake’s friends back in Austin. He was outside Jake’s apartment. Something was wrong. “There’s caution tape everywhere,” the friend told him. “There’s eight cop cars here. They won’t tell us what happened.” A minute later, Sam got Austin police on the phone. His brother’s body had been found unresponsive. Jake was gone. This time, instead of running, Sam fell to the floor. If Sam was their rock, Jake was their joy. Sam was serious. Jake was silly. Sam would be sitting in the Texas locker room at halftime of a game, steaming over his mistakes, and Jake, a walk-on linebacker who rarely played, would stroll up, whisper something in his ear and make him laugh. There was no one better at loosening him up. Jake was part grizzly bear, part Labrador, his mom says, the kid who’d blare Justin Bieber in the car and belt out lyrics at the top of his lungs, the friend who always put you in a better mood, the brother who always had your back, the high school football player who’d outsprint coaches in the dark so he could be the first one on the practice field at 5:30 a.m. After Ross died, the boys learned to grieve together. Sam was 14, Jake 12. They shared a bathroom and a bunk bed. Dad wouldn’t be there for their high school football games, for their weddings, for any of it. There were times when the pain felt like too much. Eventually, they learned to let it in. They had their grief. They had each other. “I made a lot of mistakes along the way,” Sam says. “As men, there’s an idea that you have to be tough, and instead of correctly addressing and identifying those emotions, we bottle them up and push them down. It’s almost like a bomb building up inside of you.” Jena won’t allow it. Not anymore. “You gotta get it out,” she tells her kids all the time. “Or it’s gonna get ugly.” So they cried together. They prayed together. They slogged through it, eventually coming to peace with their loss, sudden as it was. Ross Ehlinger was just 46, competing in the Escape from Alcatraz triathlon in San Francisco on March 5, 2013, when he died during the swim portion or the race. The cause of death was believed to stem from heart arrhythmia. In football, Sam found a way to honor his father, to connect with him. Ross used to take the boys out back when they were younger, dress them up in burnt orange jerseys and toss them passes. For a dad and his two sons, the dream was always the University of Texas. Sam earned the starting quarterback job as a freshman and kept it all four years. He was undersized but scrappy and strong-willed. He was everything Ross had taught him to be. Once, back in high school, Sam tore cartilage in both of his knees during a game but never missed a snap. They beat the defending state champs on the road that night. The coaches didn’t find out about the injury until two days later. “He’s as tough as you’ll ever come across,” says Todd Dodge, Ehlinger’s high school coach back in Austin. “The physical toughness is how he’s made up. The mental toughness is from everything he’s been through.” On draft day this past spring, while the Ehlinger house was packed with family and friends, Sam kept checking his phone. Hours passed. Quarterbacks were picked. He heard nothing. When his agent, Erik Burkhardt, would walk through the den, Jake would glare at him. Burkhardt would later joke that the look he was getting was something along the lines of, “Do your job!” He was a fiercely loyal little brother. He was protective. He was proud. Finally, the call came. The Colts wanted him. Sam smiled. Jena cried. Morgen, too. Jake wrapped up everyone in a bear hug. The two brothers spoke the night before Sam flew to Indianapolis for the first day of his NFL career. Jake told Sam good luck. He told him how proud he was. The next afternoon, Sam Ehlinger learned he’d lost his younger brother.
Sam collapsed in a hallway at the Colts’ practice facility, muttering NO, this can’t be true over and over and over. Kylen Granson, a high school teammate of Ehlinger’s and now with the Colts, found Sam lying on the ground. “I gotta go home,” Ehlinger finally mumbled. “My brother died.” He’d been at the Colts’ facility for a matter of hours. Frank Reich was in his office when he got word. The Colts’ coach walked out and found Ehlinger on the floor. “It was the type of grief you only see a handful of times in your life,” Reich remembers. “Where the loss is so great and the pain is so great that there are just no words.” Jena Ehlinger was in Mexico for a family friend’s wedding. When she finally checked her phone, she had dozens of missed calls. Some from Jake’s friends. Some from Sam’s friends. Some from numbers she didn’t recognize. One voicemail was from the Austin Police Department, urging her to call them as soon as possible. Her first thought: Jake or Morgen had gotten into a car accident. “I need to talk to you about Jake,” the detective began, and that’s when she knew. She didn’t hear another word. She dropped her phone. She broke down. Eventually, she called Sam. By that point, he’d climbed off the ground and stumbled down the hall. He found his way to the office of David Thornton, the Colts’ director of player engagement, and in moments like this, the team’s crisis manager. Ehlinger needed an anchor. In that moment, Thornton was it. Pretty soon, Reich was in there. General manager Chris Ballard too. So was the team’s counselor, Elizabeth White. Jena called. Sam answered. Time to be strong again. “I couldn’t believe it,” Jena remembers. “He quoted me a Bible verse.” “Be strong and courageous,” Sam told her, reciting Joshua 1:9 by heart. “Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” “He’s with dad now,” Sam continued. “That was his buddy. Remember how they were buddies? He missed him.” Amidst a moment of unimaginable anguish, those words gave a mother comfort. Jena could finally breathe. “We have to tell Morgen,” she said, “And I don’t think I can do it.” So Sam did. He sat in Ballard’s office and called his younger sister. “Mo Mo,” he began. “Jake’s gone up to heaven.” It was Ballard who drove Sam to the airport that afternoon; Colts owner Jim Irsay who provided the plane. A week later, Sam carried his brother’s coffin into the funeral, sobbing. “There’s no way he’s going to be able to speak today,” Morgen, 18, whispered to her mom. Sam’s eulogy lasted eight minutes. He spoke about Jake’s loyalty and his love for life. About the idea of eternity, and how temporary life on earth is, and how that had made the last few days a little less horrific. Jake was back with dad. Then he told the 2,000 people who’d shuffled into Riverbend Church Home for Hope that afternoon, including Ballard and Thornton, what Jake would want them all to know. “What would he want for us right now?” Sam said. “What would he want for us as a family? For everyone in this room? . . . Jake would say, ‘No, no, no, I didn’t pass away too soon.’ He’d say, ‘You got 20 years with me. You got 20 years of laughter. You got 20 years of happiness. Of love.’ That’s what he’d say.” The cause of Jake Ehlinger’s death has yet to be released and remains under criminal investigation. Sam declined to elaborate. For the second time in eight years, a family has been forced to forge on, to carry forward with a hole in their hearts. “It’s like I’m in a tsunami,” Jena says of the grief. “The littlest thing will just take you down to your knees.” A song. A comment. A story. It comes in waves, often when they least expect it. Sam has those days, too. Days where a memory will crash right into him and remind him that his little brother’s not here anymore. He’ll think about how impossible that is. How unfair. “No one 22 years old deserves this kind of tragedy,” his old high school coach says. It’s only been three months. Sam is two weeks into his first NFL training camp, playing the most mentally demanding position on the field, trying to win a quarterback battle that could — believe it not — elevate him to the Colts’ starting job for a week or two to begin the season, depending on the status of Carson Wentz. Under a white wristband that Sam wears at practice is an orange bracelet, JAKE EHLINGER scripted on one side, his jersey number at Texas, 48, on the other. The Roman numerals MDLXVI — Ross’ race number that day in San Francisco — are already tattooed on one rib cage. There are plans for another tattoo, this one to honor Jake. “Everything’s felt like a massive blur,” Sam says, looking back on the last six months. The draft. Graduation. His brother’s death. The start of his NFL career. “Throw learning a playbook on top of that,” he says. Ballard skipped a day of rookie minicamp to attend Jake Ehlinger’s funeral. He still texts Jena and Morgen, checking in every few weeks, to comfort them as they slog through the stages of grief. In the weeks after the funeral, Sam heard from a number of new teammates, men he hadn’t even met in person. Darius Leonard reached out. He’s been through the loss of a brother. He knows the pain. DeForest Buckner texted. Kenny Moore, too. “Means the world to me,” Sam says. “That’s what we do,” Reich said. “That’s who we are as an organization. The person matters.” After the funeral, Sam wasn’t sure he should leave. They’d buried Jake. They’d said their goodbyes. Now he was supposed to fly back to Indianapolis and begin his NFL career? What about mom? What about Morgen? Leaving them didn’t feel right. Their rock needed to be there. But Jena wouldn’t let him stay. “It’s one flight,” she kept telling him. “It’s two hours. We’ll be fine.” She caught up with her son a short time later, after one of his first days at training camp, and she could tell he was off. The grief doesn’t die just because football season started. So she told him to do what she does when she misses Jake. She told him to watch the funeral. “It really helps me to watch what you said that day,” Jena told him. “Because what you said is what we believe.” She sent him a link. A day later, she texted. “Did you watch it?” He had. It had made him smile. It had pulled him through the pain, if only for a bit. There are days that seem so dark, Sam told his mom, when it feels like the light has no way of creeping in. But there are days when pinholes of love and hope and joy find a way to poke through. Eventually, they’re gonna add up, he promised her, grow bigger and bigger, and then the sky will clear.
