Manhood: How to Be a Better Man-or Just Live with One (16 page)

We cheered, and celebrated, and cheered some more. IT WAS SO GOOD. I hadn’t been drafted until almost the lowest round. There were only twelve rounds at the time, and they don’t even have that many now. These days, they only go to eight. But I didn’t care. All that mattered was it had happened.

Just like I’d gotten my scholarship, in the nick of time, I’d slid into the NFL right at the last moment. But in both cases, they’d let me in, and as far as I was concerned, that’s all I needed. They had given me just enough recognition and encouragement, and I was going to hold on to it. This is where being extreme has actually always worked in my favor. The lows are low, yes, but all I need is the littlest yes, and I will take it all the way. That’s how I’ve always been.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much for shaking me out of that.”

“Aw, I knew you could do it, Boo Boo,” Rebecca said.

We hugged and hugged, while my mom and sister cheered. After everything we’d already been through in our short marriage, we were more than ready for a little good news and the hope of an even better tomorrow. After the devastation of the miscarriage, and the money problems, and the stress, to then experience the joy of having another baby and seeing my career take off like this made me feel like I had a chance after all.

The next day, I got on a plane for Orange County. I signed a contract with the Los Angeles Rams for $75,000, which seemed like big money. But what many people don’t know is that NFL player contracts are game-to-game. There’s no guaranteed salary. Once again, my money could be taken away from me at any time, if I got cut.

Because I’d been putting off paying our bills until I got signed, and I still couldn’t handle my finances, we had all new money problems now. For starters, my paycheck wasn’t as big as I’d thought it would be. And I still didn’t spend the money we did have on paying the bills. I was all about looking good. I was all about feeling good. I was all about indulging. I was all about avoiding any type of pain. If I felt stressed or unhappy, my solution was to go buy something.

Rebecca was much smarter than I was about this stuff, but she tended to go along with me. I was the kind of type A force of nature that wouldn’t take no for an answer. I had learned that I could get what I wanted if I kept pushing. And by this point, I could talk a really good game about how our life was going to be, and how we were going to be so much richer. In the meantime, we just barely kept ourselves afloat.

I’D BEEN SHOCKED TO LEARN THAT RIGHT AFTER YOU’RE
drafted you report to the team immediately, and now I was on a flight bound for John Wayne Airport in Orange County, after a connecting flight to Chicago. I could barely contain my excitement.
I made it. I am on an NFL football team
. The team’s first-round draft pick, Todd Lyght, had been a cornerback at Notre Dame, but in a strange coincidence, he’d attended high school at Flint’s Powers Catholic. I noticed him on my flight, but I was pretty sure he didn’t have any idea who I was. I thought back to how I’d written all of those letters to different powerhouse football programs, and Notre Dame was definitely on the list. I looked at him as he sat in front of me, sizing him up after every air bump, wondering what exactly made him worth millions of dollars more than me. I scanned the back of his head for any sign of weakness, or any noticeable chink in his armor, so I could somehow increase my value in my
own mind. It didn’t matter that we didn’t play the same position, that we both played defense, or that we were on the same team. To me, he was a threat. I knew I had to make an impact immediately if I was going to stay in the NFL. I wanted no one to impress the team more than I did. I’d finally gotten my foot in the door of my dream, and I was going to do whatever it took to remain there. He fell asleep, and so I finally looked away, realizing I’d have to wait to find out what he was made of. My nerves were on edge as I thought about every possible scenario before we’d even landed.
What if they don’t like me? What if I’m not good enough? What will I do if this doesn’t work out?

A van with a driver picked me up at the airport, but Todd was whisked away by someone else. By mid-afternoon, I arrived at Ram Park in Anaheim. The three-hour time difference from Michigan to California was significant, because it seemed like almost no time had passed during my flight. The facility looked like an old, converted elementary school. Everything was immaculate and orderly. I met the team’s equipment manager, Don Hewitt, who greeted me like an old friend. He knew how special the moment was for every new draftee who walked through the door.

I actually gasped when I walked into the locker room for the first time. The Rams’ blue and gold team colors were everywhere: a Los Angeles Rams logo was emblazoned on the blue carpet, and the wide gold lockers doubled as seats when players turned to face the center of the room. A bag was waiting for me, containing my practice grays, shorts, and a gray shirt—“LA Rams” printed on the front of each—as well as my turf shoes. My locker had been marked with a piece of athletic tape, with “Crews” written on it in Magic Marker. As I surveyed the empty room, I saw the names of superstars written on the other
lockers: #91 Kevin Greene, #83 Flipper Anderson, and #11 Jim Everett. Also a member of the team at that time was future wrestling superstar Bill Goldberg.

I went out for a look at the practice field: acres and acres of beautifully manicured grass, with white chalk lines signifying yard markers. As I passed outside to the field, I noticed players working out in the covered outdoor weight room. I tried my best not to stare as I sized up each and every one of them, quickly looking away when they caught my eye. It was so much to take in, and I was exhausted. When I was dropped off at my new home, an Oakwood temporary apartment near Buena Park, I collapsed with relief.

I was just in heaven. I’d made it to Orange County, and as far as I was concerned, that was Hollywood. While we were still in mini-camp, our team’s superstar player, Todd Lyght, and his friend, Pat Terrell, decided to go up to LA for Queen Latifah’s birthday party. I wanted to go so badly, and when they invited me to join them, that was it for me.

We got in the car, and we started driving, and driving, and driving. Now, I’d joined the LA Rams thinking there would be movies shooting right down the street, not realizing that we were actually based in Orange County. I was in shock when we drove for two hours before we finally rolled up to the Palladium in Hollywood.

Todd and Pat were dressed up, but I couldn’t afford nice clothes, so I was wearing these denim overalls, which was the cool look back in the day. I still had my high-top fade, and I was feeling all right. Only there was a dress code, and the bodyguard wouldn’t let me into the club. Todd was the first-round pick for the Rams that year, and everyone knew him, so he decided he was going to play on that.

“Please, man, just let my guy in,” Todd said.

Meanwhile, I pulled out my NFL Players Association card, and held it up, as if that was going to do something for me. The bouncer actually laughed at me.

Okay, so that’s not how it’s done
, I thought.

The bouncer finally let us in, no thanks to me, but I was floating.
This is LA
, I thought.
This is the real deal
. It was packed. And then I looked around, and it got even better: Queen Latifah, Kid ’n Play, Kadeem Hardison from
A Different World
.

We were able to go into the VIP section, and I saw none other than Prince sitting there with a bodyguard on either side of him.
I’ve got to meet Prince. I’ve just got to meet him. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance, and there’s no way I’m going to be in LA and not make it happen
. I approached his table, and his bodyguards stood up and gave me a warning look. I was big, but they were bigger than me.

“Hey, guys, how you doing?” I said. “Terry Crews, LA Rams.”

They looked at me like:
Who is this joker?
I mean, it was just terrible.

“Excuse me, excuse me, Prince, how you doing?” I said, sticking my hand out. “I’m Terry Crews with the Los Angeles Rams.”

“Hey, nice to meet you,” he said, taking my hand. “Good to see you.”

And then I didn’t know what else to do. I just stood there and looked at him. “You’re Prince,” I said.

I mean, I was that idiot. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Yes, yes, good to see you,” he said.

“All right, see you later,” I said.

I flashed two thumbs up to the bodyguards and then turned and walked away. At first I felt like I’d messed it up, but then I
was like:
I met Prince
. And then I met Wesley Snipes, who was just coming off
New Jack City
.

“Man, you are awesome,” I said, shaking his hand.

Yes, I was that guy, telling everyone how great they were. I’m sure they all looked at me like:
Yeah, who is this guy? What planet is he from?
But nothing could bring me down.
This is Hollywood. This is so cool. It’s the best thing ever
.

I was on a high the whole drive back to Orange County. The people I’d listened to back in Flint, and the stars I’d seen when I went to the movies in college, they were real. I’d met them. It was so surreal.

Back in my apartment, I lay in bed and picked up the phone.

“Becky, I’m in LA,” I said. “We are doing it. We are doing it.”

“Okay, that’s cool, honey,” she said. “That’s cool.”

It was cool. I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited.

By the time camp finally rolled around, I was ready to hit something and somebody. We checked into the University of California, Irvine. I was placed in a dormitory with three other roommates and one mission: Don’t get cut. I was given a playbook the size of the phonebook. It was so full of jargon and obscure terminology, it might as well have been written in Spanish.

My first few days in camp, I knew I had to get noticed, and fast, or else I would fade into the sea of overripe Rams jerseys just waiting to be plucked and thrown out. My strategy was to fight. I perceived any slight—mistaken or intentional—as war. A small shove after the whistle, a running back who got up after a tackle with a kick, even any little bit of trash talk, was a reason to start something. Not that I was actually angry, but I proved I was a pretty capable actor back then, what with the way I hammed it up in my altercations.

I was soon known as a scrapper. Head Coach John Robinson yelled at me to cut it out every time I started swinging on my teammates, but when he walked away, I caught the faintest smirk on his face. He liked it, and he liked me. That’s all I needed to know. Things were off to a good start, and it was a huge relief.

The reality of life on the team still took some getting used to, though. One of the strangest sights I can remember ever seeing happened during our lunch between practices on one of our two-a-days, when we had practice twice in one day. The police showed up in the cafeteria with one of the biggest men I’d ever seen, handcuffed and looking sullen. The officers brought him over to the food line, uncuffed him, and let him go. I asked someone what all this was about, and he told me the guy was accused of sexually assaulting a woman who’d been babysitting his kids. I had no idea whether this was true or not, but having seen those cuffs come off, I decided my little fight strategy was not going to involve this guy.

One of my roommates was cut, but I made it through camp. I received encouraging words from some of the executives and coaches, and I felt like I was going to make it. I moved back into Oakwood and waited the week for the season to start, keeping Rebecca up on what was happening by phone. Amazingly, my habit of acting out with pornography disappeared during this time because I didn’t want any guilt to get in the way of me making the team. I even got to have my college number—#94—and I felt things were on track. I was going to make it.

Then the coach wanted to see me. This was never good.

He called me into his office and told me they were going to cut me. I couldn’t believe it. This had to be a joke. I had been the victim of tons of hazing during the camp—singing in the cafeteria, being taped to a goalpost, and having food smeared in my
high-top fade—and the veterans on the team had even snuck into my dorm room and sprayed a fire extinguisher all over my clothes and me in the middle of the night. Surely I couldn’t have gone this far just to be sent home.

The reality was, yes, he had to cut me. But. He was bringing me back as part of the practice squad. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was much less money, but I wasn’t going home. I was still a member of the team. The coach even took the unprecedented step of letting me travel with the squad as a practice squad player. I was honored, and happy, and I quickly relieved Rebecca with the (mostly) good news. Two weeks into my stint on the practice squad, a player was hurt, and I was activated to the active roster. Rebecca and the kids immediately came out to Anaheim to be with me. My dream had come true.

At first, every moment in the NFL was magic:
I can’t believe I’m in camp! I can’t believe I’m in the Rams locker room! I can’t believe I’m in a football stadium!
If I’d spent my youth wondering what a man was, and when I would be one, there was no doubt I was among men now. These were the men, of the men, of the men.