My leg isn't broken, but I feel Bryan Cox's pain.

During the Patriots' loss to Denver last week, Cox was caught from behind, low and at an awkward angle, by the Broncos' Dan Neil. This was at least the third in a series of egregious, illegal blocks this season. Intent to injure? The NFL thought so, fining Neil $15,000 on Thursday.

After the play, an infuriated Cox vowed to come back as soon as possible and take retribution of his own. I can't blame him.

I say that because six years ago, during a preseason game in Kansas City, I tried to kick a friend. With my cleats. In the ribs.

His name was Allen DeGraffenreid. We had been teammates the year before in Cincinnati. I was the nickel back and DeGraffenreid was a receiver on the Bengals' practice squad. On the field we went at it all the time. Off the field, we weren't exactly close, but we had enough of a rapport that I thought we were friends.

It was August 1995. I had moved on to the Redskins, and Alan was with the Chiefs. At 6'3", 220 he was a more-than-capable blocker. So, on that humid night when he tried to cut-block me, I was a little surprised. When he tried it again a few plays later, I was pissed. Enraged. Incensed. My reaction, in that moment, was to strike back.

Every defensive back in the league knew the Chiefs' receivers were notorious for their cut blocks, in which they would dive -- helmet first --at your knees. The technique was totally legal. What made it uncool was that they would always do it at the end of a play, the instant before the whistle blew. When you see the ballcarrier is wrapped up, and on his way to the turf, it's human nature to slow down. The play is over -- you're not expecting the receiver in front of you to go for your knees.

I don't remember the Chiefs running back on that play, but as he hit the turf and I slowed down, DeGraffenreid lunged at me, low. I jumped over him, my heels scraping his shoulder pads. When I landed, I had my back to him, but I was furious. I whipped around and shouted: "What are you trying to do, cripple me?" As I said it, I raised my leg and tried to nail him in the ribs. He saw me, rolled out of the way, and I missed.

I'm glad I missed. I sought him out after the game, but couldn't find him. At the time I was glad I didn't, because the incident was pretty ugly and embarrassing. I never saw him again.

I realize most fans think passion should be contained in some neat little package, but football is founded on violence, and violent impulses can't always be controlled. When rage takes over, that package can easily come unraveled.

Just ask Bryan Cox.

Alan Grant, a former NFL defensive back, writes football for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at alan.grant@espnmag.com.