Chapter 6: Seeing Red

Saturday September 17
Morning came way too soon. This was our second trip, and Oklahoma wasn’t all that far from home. I hated to think about our upcoming trips to Southern Cal or Clemson.

The problem with official visits was you only had 48 hours to be on campus. If we flew in the morning after a game, we might be able to work it out to have a Saturday-to-Monday trip. I didn’t have to ask how my mom would feel about me missing school. For now, the plan was to rush to the airport after a game and get in late.

When we arrived last night, there had been a representative from the football program waiting at the airport for us. He made sure we got onto an airport shuttle bus that included two other families here for the weekend. Our group was the last one to show up.

When we finally made it to the hotel, they had packets for us with information on their football program and the tentative schedule for our visit. This was a big weekend, football-wise. I admit we picked this weekend because we wanted to see number 3 Ohio State play number 14 Oklahoma. This game would go a long way toward determining who would get a chance to play for the National Championship.

I remembered looking at the schedule with Tim and Wolf and marking this one on the calendar. We honestly thought we would be watching a game of unbeatens, but Oklahoma had stubbed its toe in the first game of the season and lost to a good Houston team.

Back in the day, Oklahoma had been in the National Championship conversation every year. I think I was two or three the last time they’d won one. With Nebraska leaving for the Big Ten, Texas’s unexplainable fall to mediocrity, and Baylor firing their head coach in the wake of a sexual assault scandal, you would think that would open the door for Oklahoma to step in and fill the void. Somehow, they found a way to not live up to their fans’ expectations. You don’t tag yourself #ChampU on social media for no reason—clearly, Oklahoma’s fans expected more.

Oklahoma was one of those programs that intrigued me. They had almost everything in place to return to their former glory. This would be one of those situations, like at Florida or USC, where if you helped them win a National Championship, you would be a hero. In football, no one player could do it by himself. That was why I always made it a point to share my teammates’ contributions to victories. I just felt that Oklahoma was close, and I could see Wolf, Tim, and me possibly getting them there.

In the morning, everyone met in the hotel lobby. We’d drawn both Paul and Chuck for security this weekend because my mom had joined us as well as my dad. We had to all squeeze into a corner of the lobby because there were 22 other families here for the weekend.

“Tami called me last night and said Alan had enrolled at Wesleyan. I can just imagine the trouble he and Mike might come up with,” Tim announced.

“I would never have guessed he would do some of the things he’s done,” Mom said, shaking her head.

“Seriously?” I asked in disbelief. “This is the same Alan who about burned our house down. He’s the kid who took one of Tami’s bras and brought it to school. He’s the kid you threatened to kill on more than one occasion.”

“He never did seem to have much impulse control,” Dad added.

“I guess. I just didn’t think he was really that bad a kid,” Mom said.

Alan really wasn’t a bad kid. He just got bad ideas. In the past, we—usually Jeff—could talk him out of them without too much trouble. If all else failed, Tami would smack him in the forehead. It was sort of like smacking a puppy on the nose if he were bad. The only problem was the puppy learned from the experience; Alan ... not so much.

On the other hand, Alan was fiercely loyal. He really bought into the four-Musketeer thing when we were younger. It was Alan, Jeff, Tami, and me against the world. He was also incredibly smart and a little bulldog. Whenever we would get a new video game, he was the first one to figure it out. He taught himself how to code when he was ten, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to hack a game in his favor.

The problem with Alan was he was a total spaz. He was one of those kids who were too smart for their own good. When he got bored, his mind drifted off towards mischief. Left unchecked, he did things like steal Lisa’s private blog or accidentally set our house on fire.

My mom had been super-pissed at that one. I remember it was right before my birthday because we had a supply of fireworks one of our parents had bought us. We were at my house because both my parents worked. Tami was smart enough to tell us we couldn’t go to her home to set them off. It’s a wonder no one ever blew a finger off.

Jeff had talked me into getting my old plastic army men out. We built battle scenes and then used the firecrackers to blow them up. Of course, that got boring, and we wanted bigger and better explosions. At some point, Alan got the bright idea to get duct tape and combine a bunch of bottle rockets and firecrackers together. He reasoned that we needed to figure out how long the fuses should be so that everything would explode at the same time.

I think my mom had some kind of sixth sense that told her when the four of us were about to do something incredibly stupid. She pulled into the drive just as Alan struck the match. Our homemade rocket shot up and took a ninety-degree turn. Alan would later explain he’d miscalculated the wind drag. Of course, he was full of it. Only half the rockets had gone off at first, and when the others ignited, they’d changed the direction.

We all watched in horror as the rocket crashed through the kitchen window. Everything might have been okay, but it got caught in the curtain, which burst into flames when all the firecrackers went off. The ‘four dumbasses,’ as my mom called us from that day forward, stood and watched in terror. Thankfully, Mom rushed in and used the sprayer from the kitchen sink to put the fire out.

“I don’t know why he went to Wesleyan. It’s not like Mike will be his evil butt-buddy in crime. Mike can’t stand Alan,” Wolf said.

That put a smile on my face. While I hadn’t had any contact with Mike since the Michigan football camp during the summer, I didn’t want to continue our feud. I figured if he was out of sight, out of mind; there was no need to worry about him at Wesleyan. Only Harper had been fooled. I couldn’t blame her. Mike was a good-looking guy and could be charming when he worked at it. I predicted he would cheat on her soon and she would be heartbroken. If she asked, I would gladly kick his butt when he did that.

I saw the buses pull up, and an older man got out and came in to greet us.

“Welcome to the University of Oklahoma. I’m John Mercer, the Director of Football Operations. One of the things I’m responsible for is the coordination of on-campus recruiting. Coach Michaels wanted to be here to greet you but had to take care of something that pulled him away.”

Coach Michaels was Oklahoma’s head coach. He’d been there for the last fifteen years. His brother was their defensive coordinator.

“I’m sure you’re all hungry. We’re going to go to Headington Hall so you can see where you’ll be staying once you come to campus.”

We got on the buses, and you could feel the excitement of many of the recruits and their families. Oklahoma has a gorgeous campus, and Headington Hall was no exception. It was located across the street from Gaylord Family - Oklahoma Memorial Stadium. It would be convenient for game day. We all got off the bus and gathered around the front entrance.

“Headington Hall was recently built at a cost of $75 million. It holds 380 students, with no more than 180 of them student-athletes. We consider this a game changer. For the first time in school history, all our student-athletes that live in dorms are under one roof. Nowhere else in the country will you find better accommodation. It boasts apartment-style accommodations in two- and four-bedroom units.

“I know you’re all ready to eat, so let’s all go to the Sam Bradford Training Table, a state-of-the-art dining facility,” Mr. Mercer said.

As we went in, they broke us up into the groups we would be with all day. My parents and I were joined by Tomas Rios, another quarterback recruit from Western Park in the Southwest/Redbird, Oak Cliff area of Dallas, Texas, and his parents Carlos and Elena. Our tour guide was Jordan Murphy, who was a sophomore and Oklahoma’s third-string quarterback.

The Rios family was a study in contrasts. Carlos, the father, was a hulking man. He looked like an over-muscled fire hydrant. His wife, Elena, was a thin, waspish Latina who was almost as tall as her husband. Tomas was a couple of inches taller than his dad and seemed to be the body compromise between his two parents. He was a bit more substantial than you’d expect of a pro-style quarterback, but his frame was probably pretty good for a dual-threat quarterback.

Jordan took us through the food line and found us a table.

“How do you like living here?” Tomas asked Jordan.

“I love it. My older brother went to another college to play ball, and when he saw where we live, he was jealous. He complained that his bed was too small and he had to share his room with someone. I love that it’s convenient to practice and workouts,” Jordan said to sell us.

“What do you not like about it?” Elena asked.

“It can be a hike to get to classes. I also don’t like that I have to eat all my meals here. When I’m on campus, it would be nice to be able to grab lunch at one of the other dorms or student center. If we eat there, we have to use meal points.

“Another issue is the elevators are a pain. You can have one waiting on your floor, but for some reason, you have to wait for the other one. I end up using the stairs most days,” Jordan shared.

“How come we’re the only ones eating?” Tomas asked.

“This is closed over the weekend.”

“What do you do over weekends?” I asked.

“We have a kitchenette in our dorm rooms with a refrigerator and microwave. I normally will eat in for breakfast and then either go out for lunch and dinner or order in.”

After we ate, Jordan gave us a tour of the main floor. They had a nice setup. There was a TV and game room with pool tables. They balanced that out with reading, group project, and computer rooms where we saw students studying or typing papers. They also had a theater room where you could watch movies.

He then took us to his dorm room. It was apparent they’d cleaned up their apartment. Jordan was in one of the four-bedroom units. Each bedroom had its own bathroom. I hadn’t heard of any dorms where they had that feature. I could see the advantage of not having to wait to use a shower.

When we were done, Chuck stopped us at the door.

“I think half the floor is in the hall,” he told us.

“Oh, man! That’s my fault. I told them I drew you to show around,” Jordan said to me.

“That’s fine. Let me go first,” I suggested.

Oklahoma was football-crazy. The local newspaper had run an article about all the recruits that were coming today. Megan had sent me a link to their local fan message board, and there were instructions there to make me feel wanted. They’d flooded my social media accounts with welcomes and reasons why I should commit this weekend.

When I stepped out into the hall, there were probably about thirty students waiting. I think they were surprised when I didn’t just push through but stopped to greet each one of them and sign autographs. My mom followed me, and we streamed the video online. Frank, my publicist, was working overtime to make sure I looked like the All-American boy. That meant I couldn’t be a dick to people that stopped me on the street.

What I found was the college students I met were grounded. They reminded me of people in my hometown. While they were excited about me possibly coming to Oklahoma, they were considerate. I’d been in situations where people would push to get to me first. Here everyone took their turn and then let me go once they either had gotten a picture with me, had me sign something, or just encouraged me to come here to play football.

We walked across the street to the football stadium, and Jordan took us out on the field so that we would get the spectacular view of the stadium. We then headed into the player’s area and a hall that on one side had been painted red and had life-sized cutouts of former coaches and All-American players. On the other side were stacks of lockers.

“This is where they leave us game loops of each day’s practice and also where we pick up our laundry every day. Oklahoma has a tremendous support staff that takes care of us.”

Jordan then took us into the locker room. It had to be in the top five I’d been in. There were leather couches and TVs on the walls. Jordan explained that if he wasn’t in class or watching game or practice film, he and his teammates could generally be found there, hanging out.

The lockers were each an open alcove that had the player’s football picture displayed. All their game gear was already in the lockers, waiting for the players when they arrived later today. Each locker had a bench you could sit on to get dressed. If you lifted the seat, there was more storage. Jordan had extra gear packed away. The lockers reminded me of the ones we’d seen when we played our game against King High School in Indianapolis. That locker room was for the NFL’s Colts.

We were able to see their complete setup, including meeting rooms, weight and conditioning rooms, training rooms, and practice facilities. It checked all the boxes for what you were looking for in a top-flight football program. I didn’t see anything that was missing, and it was apparent why Oklahoma was a ranked football team year in and year out. This was one of the historically top football programs in the country.

Next, we toured the campus. I was used to being recognized and had the head nod and smile down pat. We were stopped a couple of times and invited to tailgate or to go to postgame parties. Jordan seemed to know a lot of the people, and you could tell that being a football player was a big deal here.

I could see that the attention I attracted wasn’t sitting well with Tomas and his family. All the recruits had been sent a list of who was attending this weekend, so I’d looked up Tomas. He had offers from most of the Texas schools, Oklahoma, and Colorado. From watching his highlight film, you could tell he was a good athlete who was a superior runner.

Where he was lacking was his ability to throw the ball. If I were recruiting him, I would be thinking in terms of him switching to either a wide receiver or running back in college. If he remained at quarterback, he would be a redshirt candidate who you would need to develop.

Tomas’s dad, in particular, was sending me measured looks. I’d seen sports parents before. They’re the kind who will do anything and everything to promote their kid’s sports careers, including moving to different school districts and even trying to intervene with coaches on their son’s behalf.

The problem was, that kind of intervention can easily backfire. You could be labeled and be considered a problem. No one wanted drama in their locker room.

In a way, I felt terrible for Tomas for drawing me as his partner on this trip. Then again, it made sense to keep the quarterback recruits together. I think his problem was he’d never had anyone else receive all the attention before. Where he came from, he was the man.

After the tour, we were taken back to the football facilities where we were to meet with the coaching staff. Jordan was cut loose so he could have time to get ready for the game. I was happy to see the coaches had sub trays to feed us.

Coach Michaels went straight to Tomas’s dad Carlos and shook his hand.

“We all thought you were going to be the next Earl Campbell,” he said with a smile, and then explained. “Carlos played ball at the University of Texas, the same place Earl Campbell played.”

“Sorry, who?” I asked.

“Earl Campbell was probably the most feared running back in college ball in the mid-1970s. He was one of the rare running backs that had both size and speed. When he picked Texas, they thought he was going to follow in Campbell’s footsteps. Carlos was a man among boys his freshman year, and then there was the unfortunate incident,” Coach Michaels explained.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I went to jail,” Mr. Rios said, and from his even tone and stone-faced look, I didn’t ask why.

I later did an Internet search of him and found his story. Mr. Rios had grown up in a rough neighborhood. He was the youngest of three brothers. They’d watched their father get gunned down in their front yard in a drive-by shooting when Carlos was ten. His oldest brother joined the Army and was killed in a training accident. His other brother shot a drug dealer when the dealer tried to rip him off. He was currently doing time for that.

Carlos had escaped via his athletic ability and signed to play at the University of Texas. His freshman year he’d played in 11 games and rushed for 1,025 yards and scored 11 touchdowns. He was assumed to be the starting tailback for next year’s team.

The reason for the comparison to Earl Campbell was that Carlos was a big hard-running tailback who liked contact. He was six feet even and 232 pounds his freshman year. I watched some film, and tacklers would merely bounce off him. His only lack was speed, which didn’t matter if people were afraid to tackle him.

Over Christmas break, he went home. Carlos was at a party and pulled a knife and robbed a woman. He got five years. While he was in jail, he had a son, Tomas. When he got out, he turned his life around and married Elena, his high school sweetheart and the mother of his son. He’d gotten a job at a tire store and now owned one in the same neighborhood he grew up in.

“Tomas, I want to welcome you to Oklahoma. I was a little surprised you would want to come to your dad’s biggest rival to play football,” Coach Michaels said without missing a beat.

“I want a chance to move out of my dad’s shadow. When I visited Texas, all they wanted to talk about was Dad and how I could finish what he started.” Tomas shared.

“You couldn’t have picked a better place than here,” Coach Michaels said with a smile, and then turned to me. “We could hardly wait for this weekend when we heard you’d scheduled your first official visit here.”

We all sat down and grabbed some food. I liked that it was more informal than what I’d seen at places like Alabama and Ohio State. There it felt as if you were already playing professional ball. This felt more relaxed.

Over the next hour and a half, the conversation centered on me and how Oklahoma felt they could get me to the pros. I met most of the coaching staff and had a long talk with Coach Tom Michaels, Head Coach Michaels’ brother and defensive coordinator. They were open to me playing defense, but only in extraordinary circumstances. They had plans for me being their starting quarterback and were worried I might get hurt.

I frankly felt like they were paying me lip service about playing defense. I understood that when I went to college, I wouldn’t play both ways.

The conversation then switched to their goal of winning National Championships. Coach Michaels made a compelling case that what they lacked was a quarterback that could both run and pass the ball at my level.

I saw Tomas and his dad flinch when he said that. Coach Michaels saw it too.

“I hope you realize that if David comes to Oklahoma, you might not get much playing time at quarterback. We think you’re an athlete that could help us in other ways if quarterback doesn’t work out.”

I think that went over about as well as when the Wisconsin coach told my dad that I wouldn’t have time for a fraternity. For some reason, both Tomas and his dad gave me dirty looks. It wasn’t me that was telling them he might not play quarterback. I kept that opinion to myself.

After we were done, I needed a bathroom break. It seemed Mr. Rios had the same idea. I was finishing up at the urinal when I heard the distinct ‘snick’ of a switchblade opening. Mr. Rios stood between me and the door and looked like a different man.

For a second, I just stood there in shock. A parent on a football visit had just pulled a knife on me?

My reaction was automatic. Cassidy had drilled me enough that I didn’t even have to think about getting into a defensive posture.

“I would suggest you put that away,” I said in a monotone.

“I think we need to get a couple of things clear before I do that. First, you’re not accepting a scholarship here.”

“Why is that?”

“Tomas isn’t going to be passed over for some hijos de las mil puta.”

“Did you just call my mom a whore?” I asked, seeing red.

The look that came over my face made him take a step back.

“I didn’t expect you would have a backbone. I think I need to mark up that pretty face of yours, so you remember this day,” he said, lunging at me with his knife.

I knew he wasn’t just playing with me. I’d just read about him using a knife to rob a woman when he was just a little older than I was now. I bet it was his weapon of choice, and if I weren’t cautious, he would slice me up. I felt myself drop down into the zone—the place where I performed at my best. This was a life-or-death situation, and there was no question I needed to treat it as such.

Cassidy and Fritz had schooled me on how to disarm someone with a knife. What seemed so simple on the practice mats didn’t seem quite so easy anymore. I watched as he made some jabs with his knife. He was a lot quicker than I first thought.

I waited for him to make another feint and then grabbed his right hand. I planned to turn under his reach and either disarm or toss him. He jerked his hand back, and I found out he had old-man strength. Since I had hold of his wrist, he pulled me towards him. I was off-balance, but my training kicked in, and I brought my elbow up and struck him in the face. Blood began to flow out of his nose. He threw a punch that caught me over the right eye.

I bounced back to see if he was going to back off.

He stood tall, closed his knife and put it in his pocket. He had a crazy look in his eyes.

“I’m going to beat you to death!” he bellowed and charged me.

I caught him with a hard jab to his eye that he walked right through. I saw a huge right hook coming for my head and ducked my chin and turned into it, so he hit my forehead. I heard bones break and staggered back. He stepped back and shook his hand. I took that opportunity to kick him right above the knee and then followed that up with a kick to his chin. I heard his jaw snap closed and I would bet he chipped some teeth.

I will hand it to him, he wasn’t out of the fight. He waded back in, and I hit him with another jab to his other eye. That one I got just right, and it rocked his head back. He tried the same bull tactic he’d used before, but this time I was ready for him. It looked like when he got inside, he planned to hammer my ribs. I used my elbows to wallop him in the head with a right and left. He staggered back, and I used his momentum to put him on his back.

This time I wasn’t going to see if he would wave the white flag and surrender. I hit him in the throat, hard. His eyes got big as he tried to breathe. At that moment both Chuck and Paul came crashing into the room. They’d heard Mr. Rios yell.

“Shit!” Paul yelled. “We need help in here!”

“Carlos! Carlos ... Oh, My God! Carlos!” Elena screamed when she saw her husband clawing at his throat.

“Dad!” Tomas yelled. “We need help!”

Two men with University of Oklahoma polo shirts rushed in and took charge.

“We have to clear his airway.”

A woman who was with them came in, opened a bag and pulled out a scalpel and tube. I about threw up when she poured iodine on his neck, cut him open and pushed the tube into his throat. You could hear his lungs suck in much-needed air.

An ambulance crew was on site for the upcoming game. They rushed in and checked the training staff’s work before hauling off Mr. Rios.

Mom waded through the crowd.

“You’re bleeding.”

That caught the attention of the training staff. They put a bandage on my eyebrow and declared I needed stitches. I was taken to the training room where I got four stitches.

When I was done, I had to deal with the police. I silently thanked Fritz and his team for their foresight in having me wear a body cam because the cops didn’t buy my story at first. It seemed that no knife was found. The police later found it in Mrs. Rios’s handbag. Her husband had given it to her at the hospital.

Coach Michaels found us after I’d been stitched up and talked to the police.

“I have to say that was a first. I’ve never had the father of a recruit attack someone before. I’m not quite sure how I should handle this.”

“It wasn’t Tomas’s fault his dad did what he did. If you’re interested in him, don’t stop recruiting him because of what happened. That is unless he knew what was planned,” Dad said.

“What do you think about that?” Coach Michaels asked me.

“Do whatever you think’s best.”

I was still a little shook-up and probably would feel differently after I’d put some time behind this. Right now, I would rather never see the kid or his family ever again. I would probably ban the father from ever stepping on campus. I could just imagine him roughing up the starting quarterback so his son could get playing time.

I was glad when they let us go back to the hotel to take a break.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Mom said when we were finally alone.

I just looked out the window of their hotel room.

“Are you okay?” Dad asked.

“I almost killed a man, which has me thinking about quitting the dojo. I didn’t even think about it. I just punched him in the throat to finish the fight like I’ve been trained.”

Mom came over and hugged me.

“Things like this scare me to death. I probably overreact when people attack you, and you resort to violence. I’m not so naïve as to think that violence is never the solution. I just get afraid that you might not come out on top someday. If you hadn’t had your training, he might have killed you,” she said as she stroked my hair.

“I understand your concerns and support you if you want to stop going to the dojo,” Dad said. “I think today was another reminder that even with security, you’ll be a target. I hate that you have to have security with you, but for now, I think we have to live with it.”

“I’m grateful that Cassidy taught me to defend myself, and I plan to keep sharp, but I think I can do that without going to the dojo four times a week for training. I’m just learning new ways to hurt people, and watching Tomas’s dad unable to breathe because of what I did scares me. I know this is going to sound dumb, but it was almost too easy. How dangerous do I really have to be?” I asked.

“Dangerous enough to defend yourself,” Mom said.

I gave her my one-eyebrow look. I’d expected her to read me the riot act.

“Don’t give me that look.”

That made Dad chuckle, and the chuckling broke up our stare-down.

“I just read something about the military. They aren’t training their regular soldiers in hand-to-hand combat like they used to. The whole concept now is you can reach out and take care of the enemy from a distance.

“I guess what I’m more worried about is someone with a gun. I talked to Fritz about what happened in Mexico, and you’re lucky you weren’t shot. Today he had a knife. What if he’d had a gun?” Dad asked.

If I could get close enough, I might have a chance, but Dad was right. He could have shot me from the door, and there would have been nothing I could do about it.

I received a text from Wolf asking where I was. It seemed all the recruits were going to grab some food before the game at a pizza place. I showed it to my parents, and we got ready to go.

“Whoa! What happened to you?” Tim asked.

“Had a disagreement with Tomas’s dad. He tried to convince me that I shouldn’t interfere in his son’s plan to play quarterback here,” I said.

“Tell me you have video,” Wolf said.

“Sorry, no video,” I lied.

I’d decided after the last fight, that if I could do it over again, I wouldn’t show anyone video of me being attacked. I didn’t need people thinking that if they fought me, they could make a name for themselves.

“I call bullshit. You always have a bodycam on,” Tim reasoned.

I pulled them away from everyone else because we were attracting eavesdroppers.

“It’s not something I’m proud of. I almost killed the man. They had to take him to the ER in an ambulance,” I explained.

“So, you do have video?” Tim asked.

“Where’s Tami when I need her?” I asked.

“Why, what would she do?” Tim asked.

“Smack you in the head like she used to do to Alan. No one sees the video. I gave it to the police,” I tried.

Both Wolf and Tim rolled their eyes at that but didn’t press it.