Finally Free (12 page)

The games I was playing were well hidden from the Falcons organization, the NFL, and the public for a long time. And though hidden, my lifestyle and decisions soon caught up to me and began issuing warning signs that I was taking a dangerous path.

A series of embarrassing public and not-so-public incidents began damaging the façade I had built. Some are very well documented. I tell you of these incidents now, not to glorify them or bring up bad memories for others, but to simply clear up false information and reveal the truth. Mainly, the truth about the man I had let myself become—a selfish liar who was too weak to say no to my friends and lead them.

The warning signs started to appear in 2004.

The first incident is not well known, and truly was a result of an honest mistake made by one of my associates. However, my attitude caused me to be caught in an awkward and embarrassing situation.

It happened while traveling with some of my entourage on a Tuesday—my day off during the season—from Atlanta back home to Virginia. As we passed through the security checkpoint at the airport, a member of my party inadvertently picked up a watch off the X-ray conveyor belt, believing it was mine. He put it in his pocket, we flew home, and he gave it to me. However, it was not my watch; it belonged to an airport screener. He had put his
watch through the machine but left it on the belt as he finished something else. After noticing it was missing, the screener contacted his supervisor. They reviewed the surveillance tapes and saw what had happened, saw who it was, and reported it.

A call was made to the Falcons, who then reached out to me. I told them I had the watch, it was an honest mistake, and I would bring it back when I returned to Atlanta on Wednesday. But I didn't return it on my way back; instead, I went straight to practice. This caused several back-and-forth phone conversations between me, the Falcons, and the airport. I eventually gave the watch back six days later, but only after I had caused considerable headaches for everyone involved and frustration for a man who just wanted his watch back.

The situation affected others more than it did me, so I didn't think it was a big deal. And although it all worked out and was minor in the big picture, I should have been paying attention. More importantly, I was not a man of my word.

On my way through Miami International Airport security in January 2007—shortly after the postgame incident in New Orleans (which became known as “dirty birds”), and after our 2006 season ended—I got myself into a precarious situation. TSA authorities confiscated a water bottle from me that had a secret compartment that appeared to have remnants of marijuana.

The incident created quite a stir for the Falcons, who were
extremely upset that their star quarterback was once again making negative news.

Here's what happened: entering the airport that day, I was not in the best frame of mind. As I approached the security checkpoint, I was oblivious to the numerous signs telling passengers they are prohibited from taking liquids or containers through the screening process. Yet I was carrying a water bottle, with what could be viewed as liquid in it, to the checkpoint.

When I approached the screeners, they said, “You can't take that bottle.”

I replied, “This is my bottle, and I like it and don't want to throw it away.”

They took it, so I said, “Give it to me,” and opened it up. “It's not even a water bottle,” I remarked as I exposed the compartment to them.

They saw it and responded, “That's even worse. Give it to us.” Then they took it and threw it in a recycling bin and let me pass through security.

I boarded my flight and returned to Atlanta. But evidently, because of my odd behavior, they went back and got the bottle from the bin to inspect it. Upon inspection, they thought it smelled funny, and they saw a black substance in the compartment, which led to a police report being filed against me on suspicion of possession of an illegal substance and drug paraphernalia.

When they confiscated the bottle, though, there was nothing in it, and that was proven by the Metro-Dade crime lab. No charges
were filed, and the incident was dropped, but only after causing more heartache for the Falcons, the league, and my sponsors.

I was thinking that 2007 was going to be the year of my life—and for that incident to happen three weeks into the year—it was really like a blinking light saying, “Your wings are coming unglued.”

The water-bottle incident and the Falcons' publicly stated disapproval still didn't cause me to stop and think about what I was doing.

On April 24, 2007, I skipped a scheduled appearance on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC, at which I was supposed to lobby before Congress for after-school programs. I had spent the previous day participating in Warrick Dunn's charity golf tournament in Tampa, Florida. My AirTran flight from Tampa to Atlanta was delayed, causing me to miss my connecting flight to Washington. Even though there was a later flight to Washington that I could have taken, I inexplicably decided against it. To this day, I really don't know why I didn't take it.

I ended up being a no-show in DC.

Of course, it became a public matter.

I gave my publicist, Susan Bass, incorrect information—blaming the airline—which made her account of the circumstances conflict with the statement AirTran released. I feel bad that, because of me, my publicist looked like she was being untruthful in the press release she issued on my behalf. She believed what I
was telling her, so that's what she wrote. She asked me numerous times if it was the truth, and I told her yes. Obviously, it wasn't.

The situation was key to the breakdown in my business relationship with the airline, eventually leading the company—which once had my image adorning its billboards—to end its endorsement contract with me. It had been a sweetheart deal for me; among the perks was that I got to fly for free.

It was very immature of me to blame missing the event in Washington on the airline when it was entirely my fault. Even on my ride home from Atlanta-Hartsfield, my friend Adam Harris said, “You need to get your butt in the car and drive to DC and be there in the morning.”

I said, “You know what? It's really not that big of a deal.” I talked to him for about fifteen minutes about why I shouldn't go, and finally he just said, “You know what? Forget it.”

I should have taken the responsibility and shown everyone that I could be accountable for important meetings and events. It was just another situation where I let my pride get ahead of me. Things that mattered to me once, like helping others and being involved in the community, no longer mattered. I thought I was bigger than it all. I could have been very instrumental in helping out a group of kids. I just didn't want the hassle, nor did I really care at the time. The only person I cared about was me. And though my teammates and those around me didn't really see it, I'd become something I never wanted to be: I had become a “me” guy. Truth is, I just cared about my own time and not much else.

The DC incident was the last warning sign. The lifestyle I was leading, my lies, my entourage, and the illusion I had constructed would soon be revealed to the world.

I changed when I arrived in the NFL. I started to decay.

Chapter Six

Dog Days

“One phone call on April 25, 2007, changed my life forever.”

 

O
ne phone call on April 25, 2007, changed my life forever. I was out playing golf with D. J. Shockley—a backup quarterback for the Falcons—at Sugarloaf Country Club, near my home in the Atlanta suburb of Duluth, Georgia, when my cell phone rang.

My cousin and longtime friend Davon Boddie, who was part of my posse that concerned the Falcons, had been arrested by police five days earlier outside a nightclub in Hampton, Virginia, on charges of possession and distribution of marijuana. He told authorities that his home address was 1915 Moonlight Road in Smithfield, Virginia—a home I owned.

The caller informed me that police had raided the property, discovering evidence of dogfighting and mistreatment of animals, which might potentially lead to felony charges for me and my friends. Suddenly, “dirty birds,” water bottles, and missed congressional appearances paled in comparison.

I sensed at the time that this was way bigger than me. In the
days that followed, my lawyer asked numerous times if I had any involvement, and I told him no. But I knew I was lying and, at any given moment, it could backfire in my face.

The subject matter I'm about to discuss is highly controversial and sensitive—and understandably so. I want to make it clear from the outset that in no way do I mean to glorify dogfighting or my involvement in it. But I do want to be candid about what happened, and my background with it, to answer any lingering questions that might exist. It needs to be shared because it is part of my story. And I will make it clear that such activity and behavior should be strictly avoided and not tolerated.