begat Michael Irvin of the Dallas Cowboys, who, prior to one of his frequent cocaine-sex bacchanals a few years back, cavity-searched one of his girls a little too hard for the liking of her cop boyfriend, who then took out a hit on Irvin.

J., the second-greatest running back, who, at this writing, continues to seek out Nicole's true killers. Brown, who has never been convicted of a single charge, begat O. This has been the case since Jim Brown, the greatest running back ever to play the game, garnered the first of a half-dozen charges of violence against women, ranging from spousal battery to rape to the sexual molestation of two teenage girls *. Take even a cursory look at how Rae Carruth went from first-round NFL draft pick to ward of the state of North Carolina, serving a quarter century of hard time for conspiring to commit the most horrific crime in the history of professional sports, and the question is not how it could happen but when is it going to happen again.įootball is a violent sport, growing far more violent and mean and attitudinal every year, and it has been played by men who have traditionally been violent against their women. As if the whole episode were an aberration. He's in prison up in Nash County, where he won't have to worry about women and women won't have to worry about him, and as his crime swiftly seeps into the background noise of the culture, we're already starting to act as if we didn't have to worry about Rae Carruth anymore. Well, he was until recently, anyway Rae doesn't play football anymore.

And because he was making a living in a league in which a man and his basest instincts are encouraged to run wild.

(He liked to fuck them, and he liked their attention, and he liked the idea of them, but he didn't like them.) And because he was accustomed to violence. Well, because he really didn't like women at all. No, the question I kept asking myself was this: If Rae Carruth loved women so much, why did he keep threatening to have them killed? How, if he gathered women around him like a cocoon, if he thrived on them and fed on them and drew sustenance from them, could a man get to a point in his life where he routinely considered disposing of them? And how could such a man wind up finding a home-even flourishing-in the National Football League? Girls loved to take care of Rae even before he became a millionaire. Not what they all saw in him the first look at Rae explained that: this baby face, the contours all smooth and rounded, the outward downslant of his eyebrows giving him this puppy-dog-swatted-with-a-newspaper look. The final count stopped short of thirty-that was the number of photographs of women Rae was said to keep in a box at home-but there were more than enough of them to make each and every morning worth my springing out of bed for, worth walking down to the courthouse for, worth getting frisked at the doorway for: in the hope that a new one might illuminate the somber courtroom with its smoked-glass view of the jailhouse across the street.Īnd sure enough, in the middle of a gray day of testimony filled with the babble of a psychologist or the grunt of a jail guard or the platitudes of a coach, out of the blue Rae's attorney would suddenly say, 'The defense calls Dawnyle Willard,' and next to me the TV guy would arch an eyebrow at the local columnist-who's this one? what's the angle? lover? friend? cleaned his apartment? helped him jump bail?-and they'd both shrug, because no one had heard of Dawnyle Willard.Īnd so, day in, day out, I'd ask myself a question. Mike Tyson will hospitalize Jake Paul on Netflix

Strangeland 1998 full movie