You Are Ricky Williams
You are Ricky Williams.
You could have been one of the all-time great NFL running backs.
You came out of college as that rarest combination of size, speed, and sheer power that comes along once every Earl Campbell…
…except the Tyler Rose chose a weed of a different sort, one that is sold legally in little green cans, right next to the cigarettes.
Skoal brother, indeed.
You chose a weed of a different choice.
You are Ricky Williams, and you are possibly the dumbest S.O.B. not yet in captivity.
Oh, you’re stupid, alright, and I can prove it. In fact, I can give you a little over 8 million reasons why you bring trailer park IQs down…just ask the Dolphins. See, they want that signing bonus back, the one that you smoked up, because you didn’t render services as expected. And this, by the way, was after the Saints traded an entire draft to get you and then washed their hands of you when they picked up one Deuce “I Don’t Smoke Reefer” McAllister.
And all you had to do was put the Buddha down.
See, I don’t get that part. What is there about smoking an illegal drug that would make you lose a fortune?
Okay, honest admission time: I may have indulged while in college.
And so have a lot of us.
This doesn’t make it right. This just means that you aren’t the only one who has known someone who smelled like patchouli.
The difference is this: when we were graduating, and going to jobs that would give us the kind of urinalysis that NFL players regularly beat, we did something rather rash: we stopped smoking dope. We cleaned our systems out, we threw out the number to the hook-up, we peed in a little cup, and we were rewarded with 50 hour a week jobs that pay us 50 large per annum.
In other words, we quit smoking dope for jobs that would take us 144 years at 50 K per year to earn the $7.2 million that insults Lance Briggs this year...but I digress.
All you had to do was leave the Chronic alone until you retired.
Hell, you could have retired after your most recent contract if you wanted to. Once you were no longer an employee of a multi-billion dollar business that is covered by every news source known to man, once you were just another weirdo civilian with dreads and millions in the bank, you could have smoked enough reefer to bring Bob Marley back if you wanted to. You could have gone to Amster-friggin-dam, opened up a WalMart-sized hash bar, and smoked yourself silly every day up to and after your enshrinement in Canton and no one would have thought badly of you.
That’s where you misread the public. It’s not that we don’t like you, it’s just that we think you’re the kind of stupid that shouldn’t be allowed in public without a responsible adult.
Once again, and death is not an option: millions of dollars and a life of ease forever, or an ounce of Indo from a Deadhead named Skag?
One might think that this was a no-brainer…
…but apparently marijuana leaves you with no brain.
And now you’ve got to apply to Roger “Kennesaw Mountain” Goodell for reinstatement? (BWA-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA)
It sez so right here that the herb will be legal before you carry a football again in the NFL.
You are Ricky Williams, forever cursed by the albatross of unrealized potential, a sad footnote who could have been a legendary icon.
Here’s hoping that the last ounce was worth it…and knowing that it wasn’t.
You could have been one of the all-time great NFL running backs.
You came out of college as that rarest combination of size, speed, and sheer power that comes along once every Earl Campbell…
…except the Tyler Rose chose a weed of a different sort, one that is sold legally in little green cans, right next to the cigarettes.
Skoal brother, indeed.
You chose a weed of a different choice.
You are Ricky Williams, and you are possibly the dumbest S.O.B. not yet in captivity.
Oh, you’re stupid, alright, and I can prove it. In fact, I can give you a little over 8 million reasons why you bring trailer park IQs down…just ask the Dolphins. See, they want that signing bonus back, the one that you smoked up, because you didn’t render services as expected. And this, by the way, was after the Saints traded an entire draft to get you and then washed their hands of you when they picked up one Deuce “I Don’t Smoke Reefer” McAllister.
And all you had to do was put the Buddha down.
See, I don’t get that part. What is there about smoking an illegal drug that would make you lose a fortune?
Okay, honest admission time: I may have indulged while in college.
And so have a lot of us.
This doesn’t make it right. This just means that you aren’t the only one who has known someone who smelled like patchouli.
The difference is this: when we were graduating, and going to jobs that would give us the kind of urinalysis that NFL players regularly beat, we did something rather rash: we stopped smoking dope. We cleaned our systems out, we threw out the number to the hook-up, we peed in a little cup, and we were rewarded with 50 hour a week jobs that pay us 50 large per annum.
In other words, we quit smoking dope for jobs that would take us 144 years at 50 K per year to earn the $7.2 million that insults Lance Briggs this year...but I digress.
All you had to do was leave the Chronic alone until you retired.
Hell, you could have retired after your most recent contract if you wanted to. Once you were no longer an employee of a multi-billion dollar business that is covered by every news source known to man, once you were just another weirdo civilian with dreads and millions in the bank, you could have smoked enough reefer to bring Bob Marley back if you wanted to. You could have gone to Amster-friggin-dam, opened up a WalMart-sized hash bar, and smoked yourself silly every day up to and after your enshrinement in Canton and no one would have thought badly of you.
That’s where you misread the public. It’s not that we don’t like you, it’s just that we think you’re the kind of stupid that shouldn’t be allowed in public without a responsible adult.
Once again, and death is not an option: millions of dollars and a life of ease forever, or an ounce of Indo from a Deadhead named Skag?
One might think that this was a no-brainer…
…but apparently marijuana leaves you with no brain.
And now you’ve got to apply to Roger “Kennesaw Mountain” Goodell for reinstatement? (BWA-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA)
It sez so right here that the herb will be legal before you carry a football again in the NFL.
You are Ricky Williams, forever cursed by the albatross of unrealized potential, a sad footnote who could have been a legendary icon.
Here’s hoping that the last ounce was worth it…and knowing that it wasn’t.
Labels: football, NFL, Ricky Williams, running backs
posted by van walker | 10:46 AM
1 Comments:
I am not proud of it, but I love this whole saga. I like the Darwin Awards, too. Ricky Williams is apparently a great guy, and it's not that I wish him ill, but every time he tests positive for ganja, I almost drive off the road laughing. It's just funny. It's like the old definition for insanity (repeating the same action over and over expecting different results) - every time the Dolphins declare they want Ricky back, you can cue the laugh track, because something is about to go horribly, comically wrong.
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