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Weirdly Depressing
Ricky Williams always struck me as a depressed weirdo.
I didn't know him, obviously (it seems these days that very few people did), but whenever I saw an interview with him, whenever I read an article about him, there was a distinct "depressed weirdo" vibe that emanated from the core of his being. At least from where I was standing.
Since everybody's piling on Ricky Williams for quitting on the Dolphins (or applauding him for his individuality and courage, which is an even stranger and more worrisome way of looking at the situation), I want to be clear. When I call him a "depressed weirdo," the first thing to remember is that I might well be completely wrong. He may be well-adjusted and normal. His behavior this weekend suggests that the opposite is true, but I've got no concrete proof either way. But, if we're going to get through this column, we'll have to take for granted the idea that Ricky Williams is a depressed weirdo. If he isn't, then he (or anyone else who happens to know that he isn't) is welcome to disregard the following.
The second thing to consider is that I don't necessarily mean "depressed weirdo" as a terrible insult. I use the it a) because it's easy, and b) it's a quick way to label a guy who's probably complex enough that he can't be adequately summed up in a few paragraphs by some random dude who's probably never even met anybody who's met him.
First of all, I mean "weirdo" is its most generic, anthropological sense; he was, and is, weird. There is no subjective judgment implied, just an objective observation. He is (in my mind, at least), empirically, a weirdo. That's not necessarily a good or bad thing; Gonzo from the Muppets was a weirdo (which is not to say that he was merely weird -- "weirdo" was the specific sort of creature he was, just as Fozzie was a bear and Kermit was a frog) and he seems to have done fine.
As for "depressed," that's more or less a clinical, psychological sort of thing and, to a certain extent, if you're depressed you're just depressed, and there's little you can do about it without some serious help.
But from the first interviews of his NFL career, conducted (for quite a while) exclusively with his helmet on, to that crazy article in Sports Illustrated that should have prompted any right-thinking Saints front office worker to place him on suicide watch immediately, with some failed drug tests in between, Ricky has always seemed a little "off." Which is different than "different," and much different than "not your typical dumb jock." I think Ricky might have gotten a bit more leeway because he was "not your typical dumb jock," as if that in and of itself were a credit to a person. It isn't, really.
It seems that Ricky Williams had the misfortune of being born good at something he didn't like. This surely is not unique in human history; one assumes medieval Europe was rife with serfs who excelled at plowing the master's field, doing in a single day's work what three ordinary men could not. Still, odds are that this serf, had he had his druthers, would have been hanging around with a flagon of mead and a saucy wench or two. Well, fast-forward six centuries and substitute "weed" for "mead," and the only difference between Serfy Serfersen and Ricky Williams is that Ricky had the option to walk away, and he took it.
And what it all boils down to, of course, is that he screwed the Dolphins by walking away a week before training camp was to begin, leaving the Dolphins in the lurch. The team certainly would have appreciated having the entire off-season to look for a new running back; as it is, they'll likely be scrambling and using stopgap measures all year. If Williams had retired after the 2003 season, you'd have seen a few semi-incredulous, "Well, that's Ricky" stories, and after a few years he'd be largely forgotten, free to hang around the beach and smoke pot all he wants (which, to hear him tell it, seems to be all he wants).
As it is, he's left having to justify the unjustifiable. And in trying to do so, he employs a defense similar to that used by complete assholes to justify their complete asshole behavior: "hey, I'm just being me. That's the way I am, and if you can't handle that, it's your problem." And this is where the depressed weirdo -- who deserves a degree of sympathy because that's what he IS -- becomes the uncaring narcissist, who deserves contempt because that's what he's CHOSEN to be.
"I don't feel like I have to explain myself to anyone," Williams told the Miami Herald's Dan LeBatard. "All I end up doing is giving rebuttals, and it is boring. I don't want to do it anymore. That's it. I don't want to do this anymore. If people really care about me, that would be enough for them."
See? A classic example of "anything I say/do/feel is valid, regardless of its effects on other people, simply because I say/do/feel it; furthermore, if you have problems with negative consequences my actions bring to you, that just proves that you're not as good a person as I am."
Ricky Williams claims that he was never "strong enough not to play football," but that he's "strong enough now." Why he wasn't strong enough five months ago (or two weeks ago, when Eddie George was still on the market) is anybody's guess. Once you pass a certain point on the calendar, you've made an implicit commitment to your teammates, and pulling out of that commitment is, pardon my French, a shitty thing to do. It smacks of rampant egotism (bad), disguised as fierce individuality (um, good? In and of itself? For some reason?). Ricky's indifference toward almost everyone else in the world is apparent: "The only people I'm accountable to are my three children [not their mom(s)? Interesting], and they love me anyway," he told LeBatard.
You don't want to play NFL football, even though you're very good at it, and even though most guys would trade the low-hanger to be in your position? Fine. I understand. I do, too; I'm not just saying that. You've finally summoned the nerve to overcome all of the pressure that's been put on you to play in the NFL, even though you never wanted to? Okay.
But the way Ricky Williams went about his retirement was patently unfair to his teammates and the Dolphins organization, and the way he subsequently justified his decision was shameful. Walking away in late July and telling anyone who felt slighted to kiss his ass took little courage and personal character. Walking away in late July and giving those affected the profuse, humble apology they richly deserved would have taken a considerable amount.
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