By Teresa Varley
For
Steelers Digest
Story was originally published in Steelers
Digest.
"If I got in trouble
people would push it aside because I was a good athlete. That was a downfall for
me. I never had to be accountable for my actions. Someone always cleaned it up
for me. I always thought someone would bail me out." – Bam
Morris
* *
*
It was 1994, and
life was good for Bam Morris.
He was a running
back drafted by the Steelers, which gave him the chance to fulfill his dream of
playing pro football, and his rugged style got him onto the field quickly while
his engaging personality quickly endeared him to Steelers
fans.
"It was the exciting
part of my life," said Morris, who went from winning the Doak Walker Award at
Texas Tech to the NFL spotlight seemingly instantaneously. "When you come into
the league you see all of the guys you watched on television. You never thought
you would get the chance to play with them. When it was going good, you couldn't
do anything wrong in the city of Pittsburgh. Everybody loved
you, you were a winner and on a great team. I loved every minute of
it."
The problem was he
loved some of the wrong things a bit too much.
Morris' life away
from football was a train wreck waiting to happen. It was all about partying,
going to clubs, drinking, staying out all night, and
drugs.
Football offered the
financial means for this lifestyle, and friends from home whom he brought with
him were the enablers. They were living the high life on his dime, all the while
encouraging him to enjoy it right along with them.
"I definitely regret
bringing those cats to Pittsburgh," Morris said about
his friends from Lubbock. "You always say if
you make it in the NFL, you're going to keep it real in the hood. You aren't
going to turn your back on them because you're making money. Looking back,
that's what I wish I would have done. You're an NFL player and have to take it
to the next level, and so you can't bring your boys from the hood with a thug
mentality along with you. Those don't mix. They don't go
together."
A pattern began to
develop. Morris would be late for meetings. He would be tired and inattentive
when he showed up. He wasn't giving the extra effort. He didn't like putting in
time in the weight room. And none of it went unnoticed.
"There were times
when Coach (Bill) Cowher called me in the office," said Morris. "Coach told me
the way I was living my life, I wouldn't last five years in the league. He was
close to right, I lasted six. Everything I was doing, Coach Cowher saw it. But
when you're 22 you think they don't know what they're talking about. It was
going in one ear and out the other."
His teammates also
noticed the direction Morris' life was taking. Kevin Greene tried to talk to
him. John L. Williams tried.
But he didn't listen. Even when he got an offer of help from an unexpected
source, he didn't take advantage of it.
"After my rookie
year, Neil O'Donnell tried to get me to move in with him," said Morris. "He told
me I would just have to watch the dogs. I told him I wasn't moving in with him.
It was obvious
I was in that
lifestyle of partying and having a good time. The people around me saw it. I had
people trying to help me, but when you're in the life and you're partying and
the people you grew up with are in Pittsburgh with you 24/7, you
don't think about help."
After two seasons of
feeling invincible, the reality of his lifestyle started to catch up to Morris.
During a traffic stop in Rockwell,
Texas, just months after
Morris was the leading rusher in the
Super Bowl, pounds
of marijuana were found in the trunk of his car. A first-time offender, Morris
was cut some slack by the courts; he got probation. Stay out of trouble, stay
away from drugs, no alcohol.
It seemed easy
enough. It wasn't.
* * *
"To see it now, I
had to be one of the dumbest players of all time. Football is fun, but it's also
a business. If you don't come to practice or are late, you don't play. I respect
the game now." – Bam Morris
* *
*
The Steelers waived
Morris, and he signed with the Baltimore Ravens. His friends went with him, and
it was more of the same thing in a different city. Morris tested positive for
alcohol in January 1997, a probation violation that got him jail
time.
"That didn't scare
me at all. I wasn't scared," said Morris. "I didn't fear anything then. I was
still doing the same things. My same friends were still around me. You never
need those types of guys around you, the male groupies, the ones who tell you
how great things are going."
His football career
continued to spiral downhill. The Ravens let him go, and he had a brief stint
with the Bears, and then with the Kansas City Chiefs.
"Football wasn't the
same once I left Pittsburgh," admitted Morris.
"I was playing just to get money. When I left Pittsburgh, I lost the love
for football. It was never the same. I wasn't enjoying playing ball
anymore."
His problems finally
came to a head in 2000 when Morris pleaded guilty to a marijuana smuggling
scheme. This time, it wasn't jail. It was prison.
* *
*
"I always blamed
everybody for my mistakes, I always had an excuse. When I look in the mirror I
now know I was the fool. It was my fault. I had to come to terms with that. That
helped me become a different person." – Bam Morris
* *
*
Morris went to
the federal prisons in Leavenworth,
Kan., and then
Beaumont,
Texas, for two years. It
was a wake-up call, but not quite the kick in the pants he would
need.
"The federal is like
a Cadillac where you have televisions, phones, air conditioning," said Morris.
"You watch movies on the weekends. The only thing you are missing is your
freedom. You have longer visiting hours."
But another fact of
life in prison was that Morris was a target because he was a
celebrity.
"I had guys wanting
to fight me. I had to fight," said Morris. "People wanted to fight me because I
was an ex-football player. They told me I lost them money in the Super Bowl.
They were fighting me over that. Others told me how stupid I was. I always had
to defend myself."
After his bit in
federal prison, Morris was transferred to the state prison in
Huntsville,
Texas. This was hell on
earth.
"The situation I was
in then really got my attention," said Morris, who spent his first 30-plus days
in the Byrd Diagnostic Unit. "When you're at Byrd you're in the cell 22 hours a
day. There was no air. It was so hot. I would take everything but my boxers off,
I had a little fan and I would wet my sheets in the sink, put it on the floor,
put water on me and have the fan blow on me to stay cool.
"That was the
toughest time. I didn't think I would make it out of there. I thought I was
going to lose my mind. My mom always said God only gives us what we can bear.
She told me to keep praying."
He then spent the
next 21.2 years in the Wynne Unit where he started to make changes in his life.
He was beyond out of shape, once tipping the scales at 342. He played handball,
worked out and got down to 227 pounds. He also made a promise to his mother,
Marie, that he would make something positive come from his time
there.
"I was determined
when I came home I wouldn't be the same person," said Morris. "I was determined
to make a change for the better. I knew I couldn't put my parents in that
situation again. I could never put my family through the heartache and
disappointment I did before."
Morris was released
from prison on July 31, 2004. He is living a new life, staying clean, staying in
shape, steering clear of those "old friends." He is talking to junior high and
high school kids, sharing his mistakes with them. He wrote a book while he was
in prison and is hoping to get a book deal. He wants to become a personal
trainer. And for the first time, he is doing things for himself, the simple
things he never did before.
"I do a lot of
things for myself," said Morris. "I clean, I wash dishes. I never did those
things. When I was in the state prison I did everything from hauling hay to
shoveling hog manure, to picking chicken eggs. That was a humbling experience,
but it made me realize I can't depend on people doing things for me. I had to be
a man and do it myself." "When I
left
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