Enigmatic Running Back's Retirement Fits Him
By JIM ARMSTRONG, AOL Exclusive
Not that Ricky Williams is a little flaky, but he spent the entire offseason in South Florida running gassers in 95-degree heat so he could be in shape for his retirement ceremony.
Actually, the ceremony will have to wait. Williams, at the ripe old age of 27, has bolted the country with no immediate plans to return. Knowing Ricky, he may not even be on the planet anymore. Not that he ever was, if you get my drift.
He always was a little off center, but by our standards, not his. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why the NFL frowned on smoking dope. It was, he maintained, just a harmless plant. You know, a head of lettuce with an attitude.
The man has a point. I suppose next they're going to prohibit players from growing geraniums. I mean, how are the Packers players supposed to pass the time in Green Bay, the night-life capital of the league, if they can't tend to their tomatoes on Friday nights?
Famous athletes have been known to make their way onto magazine covers. But how many can say they've been on the cover of a national magazine while wearing a wedding dress, like my man Ricky was a few years ago? I'm telling you, the dude makes Dennis Rodman seem like Pat Boone.
After being traded to the Dolphins by the Saints, Ricky showed up in Miami sporting dreadlocks that Bob Marley would have been proud of. Nothing wrong with that, of course, except that he's a running back and NFL defensive players will grab anything they can to make a tackle.
Williams hasn't said much since shocking the Dolphins' front office by quitting, but I can understand why somebody would quit a $4 million-a-year job. Of course, I first had to slosh down a couple of quick martinis.
If you're out there thinking it doesn't make any sense, then you don't know the real Ricky. None of us do, I suspect, including him. He's a born non-conformist who, strange as it may seem, never particularly liked football. It wasn't his fault God gave him all that talent. What was he supposed to do? Run a 4.4 40 at 240 pounds and be an accountant?
I know one thing. Somewhere this morning, Ricky Williams is laughing. He's gone and, if you don't like it, you're the one who'll have to get over it. Truth is, he doesn't really care what you think. He always liked his dog more than people.
Williams lets the wind, not his offensive line, carry him through life. And you know what? I kind of envy him for it. He said he felt free when some reporter finally caught up to him over the weekend. Free, as opposed to those 28 years remaining on my 30-year mortgage.
You're no doubt thinking this is all a whim, that Ricky didn't sit down and think things out before making such a drastic decision. And you know what? You're right. That's the beauty of the guy. He may be a flake, but he's my flake.
