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Retired NFL Player
June 8, 2022
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Retired NFL Player
June 8, 2022
JaMarcus Russell
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JaMarcus Russell
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JaMarcus Russell
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by JAMARCUS RUSSELL
PHOTOS BY TAYLOR BAUCOM/THE PLAYERS' TRIBUNE
irst time I drank some codeine I was 14 years old.
It was just a normal day at the park. In Mobile, Alabama, football is jumping. You go to the park by my grandma’s house and there’s always some kids playing, and some older guys shooting dice or whatever, just sitting around with a cooler. Normally, they were always drinking beers. But more and more, I started seeing all these grown men drinking sodas.
I’m not thinking anything of it. I know everybody. I’m chillin’.
“JaMarcus, get you something from the cooler.”
So I go over and grab me a drink.
But shit — I must’ve grabbed some drank instead.
No, ain’t no musta. I hadda grabbed some drank. Because a couple minutes later, this Pineapple Orange Faygo got me faded. And then my boy — I’m not going to say his name — he realizes what’s going on and he starts panicking. He’s like, “Yo, don’t tell nobody in your family about this. You’re gonna be straight, but you better go lie down for a minute.”
He knew my momma would’ve tore his ass up if she found out. My uncles, my daddy — everybody would’ve been looking for him. Man, I never even smoked weed growing up, because I was so scared of coming back home to a house full of my aunts and uncles smelling some loud on me. They’d have taken turns whupping my ass. The first time I smoked weed was when I got released by the Raiders. My family had me locked in.
So my boy was stressing. He actually gave me the keys to the hotel where he was staying, because he knew in about 20 minutes that drank was gonna have my ass sleep.
He was more scared of my momma than my daddy.
“I know you’re not gonna say nothing to Zina, right??? She’s crazy.”
Hahahah for real.
My head hit that pillow and boy I was out.
That was my first time drinking syrup. Wasn’t the last time. A lot of people up North — even Black folks at that time — they didn’t really understand it. It was just different down here. Some syrup, for us, that’s like you might drink some wine or something. I’m not glorifying it, but back then, that was the cheapest way for them boys to sip on something. You grow up in poverty, you’re going to figure out a way to cope with it, you feel me?
JaMarcus Russell
Psshhh. Man, my story is so much deeper than some drank. It’s so much deeper than the Raiders, or the NFL, or football. I’ve endured 10-plus years of people slandering my name, and I’ve never said a word.
It’s my turn to speak on it. If you wanna judge me, then judge me. But at least know where I come from first.
I got some stories that’ll make your head spin.
I’mma give Hollywood the script for the realest movie of all time. Let’s start with the supporting cast. You come down to Mobile and you're gonna meet some of the greatest characters on earth — characters they ain’t never put on a screen.
Legendary hooper. Name rang out in every neighborhood. They talked about him like he was Jordan before Jordan. “Man, your daddy used to break backboards in the ’80s. He was gonna win the game or he was gonna win the fight after.”
I never believed it. Ol’ Heads bullshitting like always. Then one day we were in Lenox Mall in Atlanta — and everybody knows those big escalators they have there. Me and my daddy are going up, and this tall dude coming down. I see the dude do a double take at my daddy. He’s pointing and shit, like he’s a fan. He says, “Bobby Lloyd?”
My daddy just looks at him and nods.
Dude says, “Goddamn!!!! Bobby Lloyd!!! Been a long time, brother!!!”
It was Dominique Wilkins.
My daddy just turns to me and says, “See? I told y’all. I been bustin’ ass for a long time.”
Real shit. On everything. That’s my daddy.
Radio DJ in Mobile. Like a second father to me, for real. He was on the morning show, and he used to start every show, six o’clock in the morning: “WAKE UP, IT’S RAY RAY!!!!” Everybody in Mobile knows that line. Man, I knew people who got locked up who said that when the female guards came around to do a cell check, all the prisoners would be yelling out, “WAKE UP, IT’S RAY RAY!!!!”
Ray was a comedian. He was on ComicView back in the day. I remember he used to always come up to the little kids in the family if they had something good to eat, and he’d say, “You forgot to feed the dog, boy.”
But he the dog. He be cocking his head at you, like a puppy. Looking at your mac ’n’ cheese, sniffin’. It was so damn funny, but when you were done feeding the dog, ain’t no food left on your plate.
That’s Ray Ray.
My namesake. More like a big brother to me, honestly. He was the guy who got me into football at four years old. I wasn’t even supposed to be able to play yet, but one day he had his homeboy Wesley distract my momma while he went into her purse and snatched my birth certificate so he could sign the waiver for me to play. They were doing some Ocean’s Eleven shit. My momma was always working, so she didn’t even know I was playing football for a minute. Sorry, momma.
My momma’s side of the family got doctors, professors, Ph.D.’s. I got nieces getting 28 on the ACT in the eighth grade. My Uncle Al got degrees on degrees. My momma’s smart as hell, too, but when she got pregnant with me at 20, her whole life changed. Shit, I almost wasn’t here to tell you this story. My momma was sitting in the waiting room at the abortion clinic, with the weight of the world on her shoulders, agonizing over the thought of raising a child in the middle of nothing but poverty. Five minutes before the doctor came out to see her, she ran out the door.
When I was born, she was going to community college, and she used to carry me to class with her. Books in one hand, carseat in the other. (Shout out to Miss Theresa and Miss Bettye for watching me while she was in class). My mom was a hardworking, amazing woman. But if I ever acted up around her? I’m getting my ass tore up. You think I’m being funny?
I’ll never forget, I was nine years old, playing against House of Hope. I think they were a sorry-ass church team or something. We blasted they ass. At the end of the game, as I’m walking off the field, I took my helmet off, and the other team’s coach smacked the back of my head, like, “Good job.” Back then, I always went bald-headed, like my daddy, and I felt like this man slapped me a little bit too hard, you feel me?
It went CRACK on the back of my head.
Mannnn, I reached up, nine years old, and slapped the SHIT outta this man.
He was shocked.
I start walking off the field, talking to my boys or whatever, and then … like I don’t know how it feels when a shark attacks you, but — BOP!!!!!!!! Right in my side. I’m on the ground and my momma is tearing my ass UP, boy. She stripped me by my football pants. “Pull them pants down!!! You think you can act up???”
She’s whupping my ass in front of everybody, man.
My daddy comes running.
“Heyyy!!! Zina!!!! You saw what the coach did to him. What was he supposed to do?”
My momma jumps up and starts going at my daddy now.
“Excuse me? Excuse me?? You got something to say? Well FUCK YOU TOO THEN.”
There was an old man standing there with a cane, and my momma snatched the cane and started going at my daddy with it.
“Say something. I’m fixin’ to get your ass, too!!!”
Yo — I’m serious. On everything.
That’s my momma. And where do you think she got it from?
Church lady, for real. Seventh-day Adventist. (Grandma, I’m sorry for all the cussin’ but I gotta be real with these folks.)
My grandma couldn’t even watch my football games because she was so worried about me. She used to call my uncles, “How’s JaMarcus doing? They losing? Is he getting hit?”
She used to drop to her knees and just pray for me.
Call my uncle back, “How they doing now? They winning? Alright. I’ll get up off the floor in a minute.”
Man, when I was at LSU and I got hurt in the SEC Championship Game, my grandma was at a wake at the time, and she heard about it from somebody. She was so upset she had to go straight home and have a prayer session. A week later, the whole team was signing autographs somewhere, and my grandma shows up, and she just marching straight up to all my offensive linemen, talking about, “You let my baby get hurt!!!”
She comes up to my left guard, Terrell McGill: “Boy, why you let JaMarcus get hit?”
He’s like, “Grandma, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She’s shaking her head on some church-lady shit, all disappointed in him, like “Y’all need to keep my boy safe.”
Hahahahah!! Yo!! For real. That’s Grandma.
Y’all got the characters? We straight now? We gonna make this movie?
ACTION. I’m 13 years old. My Aunt Terry gets a call from the football coach, “Hey, you need to get JaMarcus’s ass in the weight room immediately.”
She said, “Why???”
He said, “We need him to play quarterback.”
She said, “What??? He a freshman.”
Aunt Terry always used to call me “Lil Boy.” Even now, I’m 36 years old, and she’s still saying, “What you doing, Lil Boy?” So she was thinking the coach had lost his damn mind.
See, so many guys had got locked up for street shit the summer before my freshman year, they needed me to play varsity. QB1.
My grandma was screamin’ when they told her the news.
“He too little!!!!! He’s just a baby!!!!!! Ohhhhh Lawwwwd!!!!!”
I’m so skinny, I get into the weight room and I can’t even lift a plate, bro. I’m supposed to be playing against grown-ass men. This ain’t no Friday Night Lights. It’s different down here. In Mobile, these boys might be sippin’ on some Thunderbird before the game. Types of dudes that might drink a pint of gin, then go out and make 30 tackles, for real. My one teammate used to hit guys so hard he’d have a lump coming out of his own head like a cartoon character. Like gotdamn Looney Tune or something. (Ask Cadillac Williams!!! He’ll tell you!!!!)
That’s who I’m practicing against. And guess who my first game was against?
BLOUNT HIGH.
See, you don’t even understand, if you’re not from down here. These are some Prichard boys. Won the state championship three years straight. They’re grown men, for real. You think I’m being funny? Man, they ended up getting their whole season suspended for playing over-age players. I’m out there, skinny-ass kid, running for my damn life against guys who are supposed to be in college.
My grandma calling my uncles after every game, on her knees: “He O.K.?? He breathing????”
I was with the wolves, bro. But for some reason, whenever I had that football in my hand … I can’t explain it. It was magic. And shit — I didn’t even know I was a Black quarterback. The only white people I saw growing up was a couple of teachers. I was just a quarterback, man. All I know is, whenever I have that football in my hands, I’m gonna throw that motherfucker ’til the THREAD comes off that bitch.
All of a sudden, my name starts ringing out. I was somebody, at least in the neighborhood.
After my freshman year, I remember grandma sitting me down in the den and saying, “You need to be careful, JaMarcus. Because the way I see it, you’re gonna be as big as Michael Jackson. They’re gonna be following you everywhere.”
I had my little Kobe Bryant Afro back then, and I remember people around Mobile starting to show up to games rocking their Afro wigs for me. (Shout-out to the Fence Clique.) We had that stadium packed out, every weekend. I had dope boys coming up to me, making sure I was straight. I never was in the streets, because I never had to be. I got uncles in every neighborhood who aren’t even my blood, you feel me?
By 10th grade, I was getting so many letters, man — LSU, Florida State, Florida, Alabama, USC, everybody. I had a scholarship waiting from every college there was, for real. And the cool part about it was that I had Bobby Bowden, Nick Saban, all these big-time coaches, coming down to Mobile. They’re riding around the neighborhood, hitting the corners, spending time at my grandma's house.
I’m sitting there in class, 10th grade, just pinching myself, like, “Damn, Bobby Bowden really knows my grandma. My momma used to work at Spencer’s Gifts in the mall, and now I got these famous motherfuckers coming down here and calling her ma’am.”
Hell yeah.
That was the illest shit ever.
This is how fast life came at me when I was at LSU: My redshirt junior season, I’m chilling with my boy Dwayne Bowe — D-Bowe. We’re about to play Notre Dame in the Sugar Bowl, and I’m killing it. D-Bowe was on the phone with somebody, and I didn’t know who it was. I found out later it was a runner for an agent.
D-Bowe’s talking to him, and he says, “Yo, this guy wants to holler at you.”
He hands me the phone, and the guy says, “So what you trying to do next year?”
I said, “The hell you talking about? I got school.”
“What? You not leaving?”
“You trippin? I got school.”
“Man, listen, you need to call your family right now and give them my number. You’re ranked grade A.”
“What that mean?”
“You’re the No. 1 or 2 QB in the nation right now.”
“Word?”
“Yeah, get your uncle or your momma to holler at me.”
Man, I wasn’t even thinking about the NFL at that point. So I got my Uncle Ray to check into it, and he said it was the truth.
I said, “So what that mean?”
He said, “About 60, 70 million.”
After we beat the brakes off Notre Dame, I was getting interviewed on the field, and all the fans were chanting “One more year, one more year.” It really put it in perspective. Like, shit — this is real.
I called my momma up.
“Momma, they’re saying I’m about to make a whole lotta money if I leave school.”
She said, “Well … what do you think?”
I said, “Motherfuck school, momma.”
Hahahahhaha. Yo — listen, man. You can take whatever you want from my story — good and bad. But I was a young Black kid from Mobile and they’re talking about millions??? I had a chance to change my family’s life by playing the game I love. And I really did that shit. I’ll never forget, when I declared for the draft, my uncle got on the radio and quit his job live on 92.9 WBLX.
“WAKE UP!!! IT’S RAY RAY!!!”
Twenty years on the radio, and he just up and quit.
“It’s been a pleasure, everybody, but my nephew about to go to the League!!! God bless — I’m out!!!!”
Hahahahah. My momma was so mad when she heard that. He had a party set up and everything!!! She called him up: “What you talking about??? You think you’re gonna be his business manager? We ain’t talk about this!!!!”
But he was always my right hand for everything. He was the one who took me out the neighborhood. That was my road dog, for real. He drove me all the way from Mobile to Los Angeles when I was 14 just for a damn football camp. Without somebody like that behind you, you can’t really make it out, no matter how good you are.
So if I was going to the league, Uncle Ray was coming with me. Uncle Marcus, too.
I mean, they’re talking No. 1 or 2? In the gotdamn nation?
It was everything I dreamed about, man.
So what the hell happened then?
In retrospect, I understand why people were confused. They didn’t know what was going on with me. That was one of my problems in the NFL. I could never put on the act. I could never fake it.
My first two seasons in Oakland, I was still learning how to be a professional. But then right before the 2009 season, the wheels really came off. It’s one thing to lose football games, it’s another thing to lose your people.
I lost two of my uncles in the span of three months.
April 2009, my Uncle Ray died.
July 2009, my Uncle Mike died.
Heart failure. Heart attack. Out of the blue.
My Uncle Marcus was still going through his thing, so he couldn’t even go to the funerals.
Other than my daddy, these were the men who’d had my back my whole life. Uncle Ray was with me every step of the way. This man had the genius idea to put a little Nike pin on my suit when I declared for the draft, even though I wasn’t signed with anybody yet. Nike called us up a couple of weeks later, talking about a shoe deal. He was my right hand, from Day One. Gone.
My Uncle Mike worked at the Mead Paper Company, and he always used to come home with a bag full of school supplies for me — a whole bunch of those black, composite notebooks. He was always on the grill at the cookout. Coolest dude in the world. Gone.
Uncle Marcus, at least as I knew him, gone.
My heart was hurting so damn bad, bro. Felt like everybody was leaving me.
I remember that whole summer was just a blur. We buried Mike on July 25, and I was supposed to be at training camp three days later. I love football with all the life I ever breathed, but at that point, I was just lost. I’m not trying to be out there running no gotdamn 40s. I’m not trying to lift weights. I’m trying to pour up and forget everything.
I’m not gonna lie to you. I was staying up late, drinking, getting tattoos and shit. I didn’t have any time to grieve. I remember getting to training camp and warming up out on the field before practice and just crying and crying. Tears just falling out of my face, like — gotdamn man. In front of everybody.
Anybody come to check on me?
Anybody ask me if I was O.K.?
Alright……………………
Damn, you about to make a n**** cry with this part.
It was the day after my pro day. We were all in New Orleans. My whole family. I was there to get the Manning Award. Night before, we’re planning to go out and chill. My Uncle Marcus had been having some problems with alcohol, but we thought he had everything under control. At the award ceremony, I asked him if he was coming out with us. He said, “Nah, you go ahead. I’m gonna stay here with the wife.”
So we all go out to celebrate — woo-woo. Next morning, I hear somebody beating on my door — whomp, whomp, whomp. It’s my momma. I open the door, and she’s standing there in a bra and jeans. So I knew something was wrong.
I said, “What’s going on?”
She said, “It’s Marcus!!! He not breathing!!!! He not breathing!!!!”
I run into his room, and he just slumped on the floor. He looked like he was gone, for real. Momma crying, Grandma crying, aunties crying. All of a sudden, my uncle starts to move. He stands up, and he’s just staring into the distance. His hands are trembling, like he’s trying to cast a spell on somebody. Then he just starts screaming out, “I rebuke you, Satan!!!! I rebuke you, Satan!!!! In the name of Jesus!!!!”
We found out later he was having some kind of breakdown. It’s like he didn’t even recognize us. He’s screaming, “You won’t take me, Satan!!!! You ain’t gonna get me like that!!! Noooooooooooooo!!!!”
We hear the police sirens outside the hotel, and now I’m thinking to myself … New Orleans Police about to bust into a room full of Black folks with my uncle losing his goddamn mind. Please God, don’t let them kill nobody in this hotel room, today. Please protect this family.
The police came in, and it was just a wild scene. My uncle didn’t want anybody to touch him. They were trying to get him to sign a paper so they could put him on a gurney to go to the hospital, and he was screaming, “I’m not gonna sign my life over to you, Satan!!!!”
Somehow, they got him on the gurney, and when he arrived at the hospital, he wouldn’t calm down. Then it was like a miracle happened. This older Black lady nurse touched his arm real gently, and it was like he just melted. I don’t know why, but he trusted her. She gave him a shot, and then he settled down.
But I’ll never forget … They still had him handcuffed to the table, and his hand was in those cuffs, just shaking and shaking. That image is burned into my brain.
After that, he was a shell of himself for a long time. He couldn’t even come to the draft with us. Everybody was there, except for him. I mean … this was the man who used to take me to the park to play football. This was my Big Brother. I carried that hurt with me for a long time. Even my Draft Night wasn’t a happy moment, to be honest. If you look at pictures from that night, I wasn’t cheesin’. I don’t think I smiled one time, not even when the commissioner called my name.
In the league, if you’re hurting, the only thing they got for you is pills.
I had been prescribed Ambien for my sleep apnea, and remember I took two of them bitches, and I still couldn’t sleep. Mind was racing. Heart hurting. I called up the coach at like four o’clock in the morning, like, “Coach, I know we got practice tomorrow but I ain’t even slept yet.”
Before you know it, it’s 6:30 a.m. and I’m suited up.
I’ll never forget, after practice, I went to talk to the team doctor and as we’re discussing everything, I’m falling asleep mid-cry. Tears falling out my eyes, and I’m dozing off. For real.
But do you think anybody really cares? All they care about is winning. And I wasn’t winning.
None of those coaches wanted me in the first place. Only Al Davis wanted me. That’s on record. Those coaches didn’t give a damn about me — not as a player, and damn sure not as a person. That whole 2009 season was a mess. Finally, it got to a breaking point. We’re sitting in the QB room one day going over film after a loss, and my quarterback coach starts up. He’s motherfucking me, calling me a son of a bitch and whatnot.
“Look at this motherfucker.”
Now, let’s get it straight. I’ve been cussed out before. I got cussed out by Jimbo Fisher at LSU a thousand times, and I’d still run through a wall for that man, because Jimbo really took his time and coached me. I got to really get to know him, as a man. In the NFL, it’s not like that. I never even had this coach’s phone number. Outside the facility, we didn’t speak. There was no relationship.
So I’m sitting there with two white quarterbacks and a white coach, and I know what I’m hearing. You’re not talking to me like I’m your quarterback. You’re not talking to me like a human being.
“Son of a bitch. Motherfucker.”
I can tell when somebody is saying it with that little extra. There’s motherfucking somebody and there’s motherfucking somebody, you feel me?
That “motherfucker” sounding like a different word to me.
I said, “Excuse me, sir. I’m not trying to be funny or anything, but watch how you’re talking to me. My mom and dad don’t even talk to me like that. I never lost this much in my life. I’m just as mad as anybody. Either you can talk to me with respect, like I know a player and a coach should, or we can sit here and bitch and motherfuck each other all day. It doesn’t make a difference to me.”
He didn’t say shit.
He starts playing the film again, and now he got a little smirk on his face, and he’s talking like, “Alright, J-Rock, I like your footwork here….”
I’m sitting there for five or 10 minutes, not saying a word. You could’ve heard a pin drop in there. Then, I don’t know why, but I couldn’t take it anymore. Everybody got a breaking point. I stood straight up and —
I hit that gotdamn table like Tyson or some shit.
Like a bomb went off.
I pointed at him, and I said, “Now, bitch, that’s how you talk to me from now on.”
I haven’t started a football game since.
After that, they sent their people for me. You know how it works. They start leaking all kinds of stories. The media was talking crazy about me every day, and it took a toll on my family. I had Stephen A. Smith calling me a fat slob on national television, saying I don’t deserve a second chance. I still feel some type of way about that shit.
But the worst was TNT. I took my father to an NBA game, and when the cameras cut to us sitting courtside, the commentators were saying the wildest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.
“JaMarcus Russell. God. Look at those necklaces. If he spent as much time in the film room as he did in the jewelry store, he’d be a much better quarterback.”
National television, bro. My grandma hearing that.
When you’re down, it’s like everybody wants to pile on. Honestly, it just got to the point where I felt alone in the world. Like every time I went out on the field, I was by myself. Me vs. everybody. The whole stadium. The whole world. Even me telling my story now, I almost didn’t do it, because I kept asking myself, “Why the hell would anybody want to hear from me?”
You know what’s so crazy? When the Raiders released me, Al Davis didn’t even look me in the eye one time. He talked straight at my agent. At that point, it was almost like a relief. I was just lost. I never really grieved the deaths in my family, and I needed some time away from football.
I didn’t think it would be forever.
At the end of the day, I know I gotta own my part.
Was I perfect? As a player? As a person? Hell no. I shouldn’t have been sippin’ like that, in the NFL. I should’ve stayed in better shape. I should’ve been more of a student of the game. I got to live with my mistakes. I’d do it 10 times differently today, if I was coming up in a different era. But when these media guys are always asking me, “What do you regret?” that’s how I know they ain’t never been to my neighborhood.
Everything I did, and how I did it … it got me to the NFL.
I’m me, bro. I can’t be nobody else for you.
Ask my grandma. She’ll tell you. I never had no filter, ever since I was a little-ass kid. Four years old — she took me over to her neighbor’s house for Christmas and I took one look at the sad little tree they had in the living room and I said, “What you doing with that Charlie Brown tree up in here?”
Hahahah. Neighbor lady was about to whup my ass.
I could just never fake it. It was never an option. I wouldn’t have made it past 14. I wouldn’t have got up off the grass the first time Blount High starfished my ass. They’da chewed me up, if I was any different. I was with the wolves, bruh.
But when I got into that NFL environment, they didn’t want to accept somebody like me at the quarterback position. They took one look at me, and they didn’t see the face of the franchise.
They saw all the jewelry, the way I talked, the way I dressed, my grammar — and they only saw one thing.
To them, I was always just a n****.
But if I have one legacy — let it be that I refused to bow down to any man who treated me like I was beneath them, no matter who they were.
Some things are bigger than football.
Whenever I hear somebody say my name now — my full name — I pretend I’m not him.
“Are you JaMarcus Russell?”
They say it like it’s one word.
“JaMarcusRussell, JaMarcusRussell, JaMarcusRussell. Hey yo, man, are you JaMarcusRussell?”
I always say, “Nah, bro, I’m Trenell. I get that all the time. Dude must look like me, for real.”
And then I just keep it moving. I know when I hear JaMarcusRussell, you don’t really know me. If you rock with me, then you know me as Scooter or Lil Lloyd, or J-Rock, or Zina’s son, or a bunch of other names.
I could never even fathom being a famous person. I don’t like cameras. I don’t do this shit, and maybe that’s why I feel so misunderstood. The only thing I ever wanted to do was throw the football and get that paper for my family.
In the years after I was released, I kind of lost myself for a minute. I ended up coming back home, and I started coaching up the kids at the same parks I used to play at back in the day, and that’s what made me find my love for the game again.
It’s funny, man. These kids … you know the No. 1 question they ask me?
They just wanna know, “How do I get some money?”
Period. They’re just trying to get that paper. They want to provide. They want better for their family. Everything I ever did — and me telling this story — hopefully it’s like a blueprint for them, the good and the bad.
They don’t look at me like a bust.
They look at me like a miracle.
Jamarcus russell
by JAMARCUS RUSSELL
PHOTOS BY TAYLOR BAUCOM/THE PLAYERS' TRIBUNE
Psshhh. Man, my story is so much deeper than some drank. It’s so much deeper than the Raiders, or the NFL, or football. I’ve endured 10-plus years of people slandering my name, and I’ve never
said a word.
It’s my turn to speak on it. If you wanna judge me, then judge me. But at least know where I come from first.
I got some stories that’ll make your
head spin.
The funny thing is, I never liked painkillers. In college and the NFL, they were handing that shit out like Skittles. But I didn’t like the way they made me feel. So I handled it my way. When I was at LSU and I dislocated my shoulder against Georgia in the SEC Championship Game, I still had to go to my classes. I actually had shredded ligaments in my throwing hand, too. So I’m sitting in them hard-ass school chairs, and I can’t even concentrate. I was in so much pain that one morning I just said fuck it and took some drank with me to class. Had my little Styrofoam cup and everything. Looked just like a soda from the cafeteria. I don’t know how the hell the teacher even found out, but somebody in class snitched on me.
You know what’s crazy to me? If I had three or four pills in my pocket, nobody would’ve batted an eye.
I mean, it’s 10 o’clock in the morning. It ain't for fun, you feel me? I’m in pain, and that’s just how I knew to deal with it. I was honest with the coaches about what was going on, and they knew me as a person, so they handled it quietly. I did my punishment, which was not attending the bowl game, and we kept it movin’.
I ain’t no saint, but come on, man. They shoot your ass up with the strongest painkillers on earth just to get you out on the field. But you’re drinking some cough syrup and now you’re a criminal?
Do you even know the kind of pain you’re in week-to-week playing football? I played a whole season in the NFL with broken bones in my ankle. We all got ways to cope. Some taking pills, some sippin’ syrup, some drinking heavy, some smoking weed. Shit, some even snorting cocaine. One way or another, you’re gonna numb the pain.
But as long as you getting your fix from the team, it’s all good, right? I’m just being honest. And they don’t like you being honest.
Listen, I know you heard all the rumors about me. What’d they say?
“JaMarcus Russell was a bust because he was drinking syrup.”
“He was on some thug shit.”
“He didn’t love the game.”
irst time I drank some codeine I
was 14 years old.
It was just a normal day at the park. In Mobile, Alabama, football is jumping. You go to the park by my grandma’s house and there’s always some kids playing, and some older guys shooting dice or whatever, just sitting around with a cooler. Normally, they were always drinking beers. But more and more, I started seeing all these grown men drinking sodas.
I’m not thinking anything of it. I know everybody. I’m chillin’.
“JaMarcus, get you something from the cooler.”
So I go over and grab me a drink.
But shit — I must’ve grabbed some drank instead.
No, ain’t no musta. I hadda grabbed some drank. Because a couple minutes later, this Pineapple Orange Faygo got me faded. And then my boy — I’m not going to say his name — he realizes what’s going on and he starts panicking. He’s like, “Yo, don’t tell nobody in your family about this. You’re gonna be straight, but you better go lie down for a minute.”
He knew my momma would’ve tore his ass up if she found out. My uncles, my daddy — everybody would’ve been looking for him. Man, I never even smoked weed growing up, because I was so scared of coming back home to a house full of my aunts and uncles smelling some loud on me. They’d have taken turns whupping my ass. The first time I smoked weed was when I got released by the Raiders. My family had me locked in.
So my boy was stressing. He actually gave me the keys to the hotel where he was staying, because he knew in about 20 minutes that drank was gonna have my ass sleep.
He was more scared of my momma than my daddy.
“I know you’re not gonna say nothing to Zina, right??? She’s crazy.”
Hahahah for real.
My head hit that pillow and boy I was out.
That was my first time drinking syrup. Wasn’t the last time. A lot of people up North — even Black folks at that time — they didn’t really understand it. It was just different down here. Some syrup, for us, that’s like you might drink some wine or something. I’m not glorifying it, but back then, that was the cheapest way for them boys to sip on something. You grow up in poverty, you’re going to figure out a way to cope with it, you feel me?
I’mma give Hollywood the script for the realest movie of all time. Let’s start with the supporting cast. You come down to Mobile and you're gonna meet some of the greatest characters on earth — characters they ain’t never put on a screen.
Legendary hooper. Name rang out in every neighborhood. They talked about him like he was Jordan before Jordan. “Man, your daddy used to break backboards in the ’80s. He was gonna win the game or he was gonna win the fight after.”
I never believed it. Ol’ Heads bullshitting like always. Then one day we were in Lenox Mall in Atlanta — and everybody knows those big escalators they have there. Me and my daddy are going up, and this tall dude coming down. I see the dude do a double take at my daddy. He’s pointing and shit, like he’s a fan. He says, “Bobby Lloyd?”
My daddy just looks at him and nods.
Dude says, “Goddamn!!!! Bobby Lloyd!!! Been a long time, brother!!!”
It was Dominique Wilkins.
My daddy just turns to me and says, “See? I told y’all. I been bustin’ ass for a long time.”
Real shit. On everything. That’s my daddy.
Radio DJ in Mobile. Like a second father to me, for real. He was on the morning show, and he used to start every show, six o’clock in the morning: “WAKE UP, IT’S RAY RAY!!!!” Everybody in Mobile knows that line. Man, I knew people who got locked up who said that when the female guards came around to do a cell check, all the prisoners would be yelling out, “WAKE UP, IT’S RAY RAY!!!!”
Ray was a comedian. He was on ComicView back in the day. I remember he used to always come up to the little kids in the family if they had something good to eat, and he’d say, “You forgot to feed the dog, boy.”
But he the dog. He be cocking his head at you, like a puppy. Looking at your mac ’n’ cheese, sniffin’. It was so damn funny, but when you were done feeding the dog, ain’t no food left on your plate.
That’s Ray Ray.
My namesake. More like a big brother to me, honestly. He was the guy who got me into football at four years old. I wasn’t even supposed to be able to play yet, but one day he had his homeboy Wesley distract my momma while he went into her purse and snatched my birth certificate so he could sign the waiver for me to play. They were doing some Ocean’s Eleven shit. My momma was always working, so she didn’t even know I was playing football for a minute.
Sorry, momma.
My momma’s side of the family got doctors, professors, Ph.D.’s. I got nieces getting 28 on the ACT in the eighth grade. My Uncle Al got degrees on degrees. My momma’s smart as hell, too, but when she got pregnant with me at 20, her whole life changed. Shit, I almost wasn’t here to tell you this story. My momma was sitting in the waiting room at the abortion clinic, with the weight of the world on her shoulders, agonizing over the thought of raising a child in the middle of nothing but poverty. Five minutes before the doctor came out to see her, she ran out the door.
When I was born, she was going to community college, and she used to carry me to class with her. Books in one hand, carseat in the other. (Shout out to Miss Theresa and Miss Bettye for watching me while she was in class). My mom was a hardworking, amazing woman. But if I ever acted up around her? I’m getting my ass tore up. You think I’m being funny?
I’ll never forget, I was nine years old, playing against House of Hope. I think they were a sorry-ass church team or something. We blasted they ass. At the end of the game, as I’m walking off the field, I took my helmet off, and the other team’s coach smacked the back of my head, like, “Good job.” Back then, I always went bald-headed, like my daddy, and I felt like this man slapped me a little bit too hard, you feel me?
It went CRACK on the back of my head.
Mannnn, I reached up, nine years old, and slapped the SHIT outta this man.
He was shocked.
I start walking off the field, talking to my boys or whatever, and then … like I don’t know how it feels when a shark attacks you, but — BOP!!!!!!!! Right in my side. I’m on the ground and my momma is tearing my ass UP, boy. She stripped me by my football pants. “Pull them pants down!!! You think you can act up???”
She’s whupping my ass in front of everybody, man.
My daddy comes running.
“Heyyy!!! Zina!!!! You saw what the coach did to him. What was he supposed to do?”
My momma jumps up and starts going at my daddy now.
“Excuse me? Excuse me?? You got something to say? Well FUCK YOU TOO THEN.”
There was an old man standing there with a cane, and my momma snatched the cane and started going at my daddy with it.
“Say something. I’m fixin’ to get your ass, too!!!”
Yo — I’m serious. On everything.
That’s my momma. And where do you think she got it from?
This is how fast life came at me when I was at LSU: My redshirt junior season, I’m chilling with my boy Dwayne Bowe — D-Bowe. We’re about to play Notre Dame in the Sugar Bowl, and I’m killing it. D-Bowe was on the phone with somebody, and I didn’t know who it was. I found out later it was a runner for an agent.
D-Bowe’s talking to him, and he says, “Yo, this guy wants to holler at you.”
He hands me the phone, and the guy says, “So what you trying to do next year?”
I said, “The hell you talking about? I got school.”
“What? You not leaving?”
“You trippin? I got school.”
“Man, listen, you need to call your family right now and give them my number. You’re ranked grade A.”
“What that mean?”
“You’re the No. 1 or 2 QB in the nation right now.”
“Word?”
“Yeah, get your uncle or your momma to holler at me.”
Man, I wasn’t even thinking about the NFL at that point. So I got my Uncle Ray to check into it, and he said it was the truth.
I said, “So what that mean?”
ACTION. I’m 13 years old. My Aunt Terry gets a call from the football coach, “Hey, you need to get JaMarcus’s ass in the weight room immediately.”
She said, “Why???”
He said, “We need him to play quarterback.”
She said, “What??? He a freshman.”
Aunt Terry always used to call me “Lil Boy.” Even now, I’m 36 years old, and she’s still saying, “What you doing, Lil Boy?” So she was thinking the coach had lost his damn mind.
See, so many guys had got locked up for street shit the summer before my freshman year, they needed me to play varsity. QB1.
My grandma was screamin’ when they told her the news.
“He too little!!!!! He’s just a baby!!!!!! Ohhhhh Lawwwwd!!!!!”
I’m so skinny, I get into the weight room and I can’t even lift a plate, bro. I’m supposed to be playing against grown-ass men. This ain’t no Friday Night Lights. It’s different down here. In Mobile, these boys might be sippin’ on some Thunderbird before the game. Types of dudes that might drink a pint of gin, then go out and make 30 tackles, for real. My one teammate used to hit guys so hard he’d have a lump coming out of his own head like a cartoon character. Like gotdamn Looney Tune or something. (Ask Cadillac Williams!!! He’ll tell you!!!!)
That’s who I’m practicing against. And guess who my first game was against?
BLOUNT HIGH.
See, you don’t even understand, if you’re not from down here. These are some Prichard boys. Won the state championship three years straight. They’re grown men, for real. You think I’m being funny? Man, they ended up getting their whole season suspended for playing over-age players. I’m out there, skinny-ass kid, running for my damn life against guys who are supposed to be in college.
My grandma calling my uncles after every game, on her knees: “He O.K.?? He breathing????”
I was with the wolves, bro. But for some reason, whenever I had that football in my hand … I can’t explain it. It was magic. And shit — I didn’t even know I was a Black quarterback. The only white people I saw growing up was a couple of teachers. I was just a quarterback, man. All I know is, whenever I have that football in my hands, I’m gonna throw that motherfucker ’til the THREAD comes off that bitch.
All of a sudden, my name starts ringing out. I was somebody, at least in the neighborhood.
After my freshman year, I remember grandma sitting me down in the den and saying, “You need to be careful, JaMarcus. Because the way I see it, you’re gonna be as big as Michael Jackson. They’re gonna be following you everywhere.”
I had my little Kobe Bryant Afro back then, and I remember people around Mobile starting to show up to games rocking their Afro wigs for me. (Shout-out to the Fence Clique.) We had that stadium packed out, every weekend. I had dope boys coming up to me, making sure I was straight. I never was in the streets, because I never had to be. I got uncles in every neighborhood who aren’t even my blood, you feel me?
By 10th grade, I was getting so many letters, man — LSU, Florida State, Florida, Alabama, USC, everybody. I had a scholarship waiting from every college there was, for real. And the cool part about it was that I had Bobby Bowden, Nick Saban, all these big-time coaches, coming down to Mobile. They’re riding around the neighborhood, hitting the corners, spending time at my grandma's house.
I’m sitting there in class, 10th grade, just pinching myself, like, “Damn, Bobby Bowden really knows my grandma. My momma used to work at Spencer’s Gifts in the mall, and now I got these famous motherfuckers coming down here and calling her ma’am.”
Hell yeah.
That was the illest shit ever.
He said, “About 60, 70 million.”
After we beat the brakes off Notre Dame, I was getting interviewed on the field, and all the fans were chanting “One more year, one more year.” It really put it in perspective. Like, shit — this is real.
I called my momma up.
“Momma, they’re saying I’m about to make a whole lotta money if I leave school.”
She said, “Well … what do you think?”
I said, “Motherfuck school, momma.”
Hahahahhaha. Yo — listen, man. You can take whatever you want from my story — good and bad. But I was a young Black kid from Mobile and they’re talking about millions??? I had a chance to change my family’s life by playing the game I love. And I really did that shit. I’ll never forget, when I declared for the draft, my uncle got on the radio and quit his job live on 92.9 WBLX.
“WAKE UP!!! IT’S RAY RAY!!!”
Twenty years on the radio, and he just up and quit.
“It’s been a pleasure, everybody, but my nephew about to go to the League!!! God bless — I’m out!!!!”
Hahahahah. My momma was so mad when she heard that. He had a party set up and everything!!! She called him up: “What you talking about??? You think you’re gonna be his business manager? We ain’t talk about this!!!!”
But he was always my right hand for everything. He was the one who took me out the neighborhood. That was my road dog, for real. He drove me all the way from Mobile to Los Angeles when I was 14 just for a damn football camp. Without somebody like that behind you, you can’t really make it out, no matter how good you are.
So if I was going to the league, Uncle Ray was coming with me. Uncle Marcus, too.
I mean, they’re talking No. 1 or 2? In the gotdamn nation?
It was everything I dreamed about, man.
So what the hell happened then?
Alright…………………….
Damn, you about to make a n**** cry with this part.
It was the day after my pro day. We were all in New Orleans. My whole family. I was there to get the Manning Award. Night before, we’re planning to go out and chill. My Uncle Marcus had been having some problems with alcohol, but we thought he had everything under control. At the award ceremony, I asked him if he was coming out with us. He said, “Nah, you go ahead. I’m gonna stay here with the wife.”
So we all go out to celebrate — woo-woo. Next morning, I hear somebody beating on my door — whomp, whomp, whomp. It’s my momma. I open the door, and she’s standing there in a bra and jeans. So I knew something was wrong.
I said, “What’s going on?”
She said, “It’s Marcus!!! He not breathing!!!! He not breathing!!!!”
I run into his room, and he just slumped on the floor. He looked like he was gone, for real. Momma crying, Grandma crying, aunties crying. All of a sudden, my uncle starts to move. He stands up, and he’s just staring into the distance. His hands are trembling, like he’s trying to cast a spell on somebody. Then he just starts screaming out, “I rebuke you, Satan!!!! I rebuke you, Satan!!!! In the name of Jesus!!!!”
We found out later he was having some kind of breakdown. It’s like he didn’t even recognize us. He’s screaming, “You won’t take me, Satan!!!! You ain’t gonna get me like that!!! Noooooooooooooo!!!!”
We hear the police sirens outside the hotel, and now I’m thinking to myself … New Orleans Police about to bust into a room full of Black folks with my uncle losing his goddamn mind. Please God, don’t let them kill nobody in this hotel room, today. Please protect this family.
The police came in, and it was just a wild scene. My uncle didn’t want anybody to touch him. They were trying to get him to sign a paper so they could put him on a gurney to go to the hospital, and he was screaming, “I’m not gonna sign my life over to you, Satan!!!!”
Somehow, they got him on the gurney, and when he arrived at the hospital, he wouldn’t calm down. Then it was like a miracle happened. This older Black lady nurse touched his arm real gently, and it was like he just melted. I don’t know why, but he trusted her. She gave him a shot, and then he settled down.
But I’ll never forget … They still had him handcuffed to the table, and his hand was in those cuffs, just shaking and shaking. That image is burned into my brain.
After that, he was a shell of himself for a long time. He couldn’t even come to the draft with us. Everybody was there, except for him. I mean … this was the man who used to take me to the park to play football. This was my Big Brother. I carried that hurt with me for a long time. Even my Draft Night wasn’t a happy moment, to be honest. If you look at pictures from that night, I wasn’t cheesin’. I don’t think I smiled one time, not even when the commissioner called my name.
In retrospect, I understand why people were confused. They didn’t know what was going on with me. That was one of my problems in the NFL. I could never put on the act. I could never fake it.
My first two seasons in Oakland, I was still learning how to be a professional. But then right before the 2009 season, the wheels really came off. It’s one thing to lose football games, it’s another thing to lose your people.
I lost two of my uncles in the span of three months.
April 2009, my Uncle Ray died.
July 2009, my Uncle Mike died.
Heart failure. Heart attack. Out of the blue.
My Uncle Marcus was still going through his thing, so he couldn’t even go to the funerals.
Other than my daddy, these were the men who’d had my back my whole life. Uncle Ray was with me every step of the way. This man had the genius idea to put a little Nike pin on my suit when I declared for the draft, even though I wasn’t signed with anybody yet. Nike called us up a couple of weeks later, talking about a shoe deal. He was my right hand, from Day One. Gone.
My Uncle Mike worked at the Mead Paper Company, and he always used to come home with a bag full of school supplies for me — a whole bunch of those black, composite notebooks. He was always on the grill at the cookout. Coolest dude in the world. Gone.
Uncle Marcus, at least as I knew him, gone.
My heart was hurting so damn bad, bro. Felt like everybody was leaving me.
I remember that whole summer was just a blur. We buried Mike on July 25, and I was supposed to be at training camp three days later. I love football with all the life I ever breathed, but at that point, I was just lost. I’m not trying to be out there running no gotdamn 40s. I’m not trying to lift weights. I’m trying to pour up and forget everything.
I’m not gonna lie to you. I was staying up late, drinking, getting tattoos and shit. I didn’t have any time to grieve. I remember getting to training camp and warming up out on the field before practice and just crying and crying. Tears just falling out of my face, like — gotdamn man. In front of everybody.
Anybody come to check on me?
Anybody ask me if I was O.K.?
JaMarcus Russell
In the league, if you’re hurting, the only thing they got for you is pills.
I had been prescribed Ambien for my sleep apnea, and remember I took two of them bitches, and I still couldn’t sleep. Mind was racing. Heart hurting. I called up the coach at like four o’clock in the morning, like, “Coach, I know we got practice tomorrow but I ain’t even slept yet.”
Before you know it, it’s 6:30 a.m. and I’m suited up.
I’ll never forget, after practice, I went to talk to the team doctor and as we’re discussing everything, I’m falling asleep mid-cry. Tears falling out my eyes, and I’m dozing off. For real.
But do you think anybody really cares? All they care about is winning. And I wasn’t winning.
None of those coaches wanted me in the first place. Only Al Davis wanted me. That’s on record. Those coaches didn’t give a damn about me — not as a player, and damn sure not as a person. That whole 2009 season was a mess. Finally, it got to a breaking point. We’re sitting in the QB room one day going over film after a loss, and my quarterback coach starts up. He’s motherfucking me, calling me a son of a bitch and whatnot.
“Look at this motherfucker.”
Now, let’s get it straight. I’ve been cussed out before. I got cussed out by Jimbo Fisher at LSU a thousand times, and I’d still run through a wall for that man, because Jimbo really took his time and coached me. I got to really get to know him, as a man. In the NFL, it’s not like that. I never even had this coach’s phone number. Outside the facility, we didn’t speak. There was no relationship.
So I’m sitting there with two white quarterbacks and a white coach, and I know what I’m hearing. You’re not talking to me like I’m your quarterback. You’re not talking to me like a human being.
“Son of a bitch. Motherfucker.”
I can tell when somebody is saying it with that little extra. There’s motherfucking somebody and there’s motherfucking somebody, you feel me?
That “motherfucker” sounding like a different word to me.
I said, “Excuse me, sir. I’m not trying to be funny or anything, but watch how you’re talking to me. My mom and dad don’t even talk to me like that. I never lost this much in my life. I’m just as mad as anybody. Either you can talk to me with respect, like I know a player and a coach should, or we can sit here and bitch and motherfuck each other all day. It doesn’t make a difference to me.”
He didn’t say shit.
He starts playing the film again, and now he got a little smirk on his face, and he’s talking like, “Alright, J-Rock, I like your footwork here….”
I’m sitting there for five or 10 minutes, not saying a word. You could’ve heard a pin drop in there. Then, I don’t know why, but I couldn’t take it anymore. Everybody got a breaking point. I stood straight up and —
I hit that gotdamn table like Tyson or some shit.
Like a bomb went off.
I pointed at him, and I said, “Now, bitch, that’s how you talk to me from now on.”
I haven’t started a football game since.
After that, they sent their people for me. You know how it works. They start leaking all kinds of stories. The media was talking crazy about me every day, and it took a toll on my family. I had Stephen A. Smith calling me a fat slob on national television, saying I don’t deserve a second chance. I still feel some type of way about that shit.
But the worst was TNT. I took my father to an NBA game, and when the cameras cut to us sitting courtside, the commentators were saying the wildest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.
“JaMarcus Russell. God. Look at those necklaces. If he spent as much time in the film room as he did in the jewelry store, he’d be a much better quarterback.”
National television, bro. My grandma hearing that.
When you’re down, it’s like everybody wants to pile on. Honestly, it just got to the point where I felt alone in the world. Like every time I went out on the field, I was by myself. Me vs. everybody. The whole stadium. The whole world. Even me telling my story now, I almost didn’t do it, because I kept asking myself, “Why the hell would anybody want to hear from me?”
You know what’s so crazy? When the Raiders released me, Al Davis didn’t even look me in the eye one time. He talked straight at my agent. At that point, it was almost like a relief. I was just lost. I never really grieved the deaths in my family, and I needed some time away from football.
I didn’t think it would be forever.
At the end of the day, I know I gotta own my part.
Was I perfect? As a player? As a person? Hell no. I shouldn’t have been sippin’ like that, in the NFL. I should’ve stayed in better shape. I should’ve been more of a student of the game. I got to live with my mistakes. I’d do it 10 times differently today, if I was coming up in a different era. But when these media guys are always asking me, “What do you regret?” that’s how I know they ain’t never been to my neighborhood.
Everything I did, and how I did it … it got me to the NFL.
I’m me, bro. I can’t be nobody else for you.
Ask my grandma. She’ll tell you. I never had no filter, ever since I was a little-ass kid. Four years old — she took me over to her neighbor’s house for Christmas and I took one look at the sad little tree they had in the living room and I said, “What you doing with that Charlie Brown tree up in here?”
Hahahah. Neighbor lady was about to whup my ass.
I could just never fake it. It was never an option. I wouldn’t have made it past 14. I wouldn’t have got up off the grass the first time Blount High starfished my ass. They’da chewed me up, if I was any different. I was with the wolves, bruh.
But when I got into that NFL environment, they didn’t want to accept somebody like me at the quarterback position. They took one look at me, and they didn’t see the face of the franchise.
They saw all the jewelry, the way I talked, the way I dressed, my grammar — and they only saw one thing.
To them, I was always just a n****.
But if I have one legacy — let it be that I refused to bow down to any man who treated me like I was beneath them, no matter who they were.
Some things are bigger than football.
Whenever I hear somebody say my name now — my full name — I pretend I’m not him.
“Are you JaMarcus Russell?”
They say it like it’s one word.
“JaMarcusRussell, JaMarcusRussell, JaMarcusRussell. Hey yo, man, are you JaMarcusRussell?”
I always say, “Nah, bro, I’m Trenell. I get that all the time. Dude must look like me, for real.”
And then I just keep it moving. I know when I hear JaMarcusRussell, you don’t really know me. If you rock with me, then you know me as Scooter or Lil Lloyd, or J-Rock, or Zina’s son, or a bunch of other names.
I could never even fathom being a famous person. I don’t like cameras. I don’t do this shit, and maybe that’s why I feel so misunderstood. The only thing I ever wanted to do was throw the football and get that paper for my family.
In the years after I was released, I kind of lost myself for a minute. I ended up coming back home, and I started coaching up the kids at the same parks I used to play at back in the day, and that’s what made me find my love for the game again.
It’s funny, man. These kids … you know the No. 1 question they ask me?
They just wanna know, “How do I get some money?”
Period. They’re just trying to get that paper. They want to provide. They want better for their family. Everything I ever did — and me telling this story — hopefully it’s like a blueprint for them, the good and the bad.
They don’t look at me like a bust.
They look at me like a miracle.
I went to LSU. I went No. 1. I got paper. I had coaches coming down here, eating my grandma’s cooking. I changed my family’s circumstances forever. Everything else is gravy, for real.
Yeah, I only played for three years in the league. But those three years cover a lifetime. Man, you know what I think about all the time?
I was out in Las Vegas one off-season, and I’m at the craps table, shooting some dice, and the biggest gotdamn security guard I’ve ever seen in my life comes walking through. Looking like he’s protecting Obama or some shit.
Nah, it’s bigger than the President. It’s Beyoncé and Jay-Z.
I’m looking like, Damn. Normally, I’m not a starstruck person. But shit, it’s Jigga. All of a sudden, Jay recognizes me as he’s walking past, and he takes the time to say what’s up to me. B kept it moving! Hahahah. She kept it pushing, man. But Jay came over and acknowledged me.
After he left, I remember just sitting there shooting dice and it really hit me, like….
Damn … that n**** Jigga really knows me.
He knows the kid from Mobile. You know what I’m saying? You can say whatever the hell you want about JaMarcusRussell, JaMarcusRussell, JaMarcusRussell.
Maybe you look at me and you see a failure. That’s cool. I see something a hell of a lot different.
I’m from Mobile, Alabama. My daddy was a project n****. My momma worked at the shipyard. She worked every kind of job. All around us — nothing but poverty.
I wasn’t supposed to be shit. Man, I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I’m talking here here. I shattered every expectation for my life.
I was Mr. Football for the whole state of Alabama.
I brought Nick Saban to the neighborhood.
I got millions to wear some Nike shoes. And to play the game I love.
I was the second Black quarterback to go No. 1, after Mike Vick.
I ain’t no failure.
I’m a King.
I’m still.
Jamarcus russell
The funny thing is, I never liked painkillers. In college and the NFL, they were handing that shit out like Skittles. But I didn’t like the way they made me feel. So I handled it my way. When I was at LSU and I dislocated my shoulder against Georgia in the SEC Championship Game, I still had to go to my classes. I actually had shredded ligaments in my throwing hand, too. So I’m sitting in them hard-ass school chairs, and I can’t even concentrate. I was in so much pain that one morning I just said fuck it and took some drank with me to class. Had my little Styrofoam cup and everything. Looked just like a soda from the cafeteria. I don’t know how the hell the teacher even found out, but somebody in class snitched on me.
You know what’s crazy to me? If I had three or four pills in my pocket, nobody would’ve batted an eye.
I mean, it’s 10 o’clock in the morning. It ain't for fun, you feel me? I’m in pain, and that’s just how I knew to deal with it. I was honest with the coaches about what was going on, and they knew me as a person, so they handled it quietly. I did my punishment, which was not attending the bowl game, and we kept it movin’.
I ain’t no saint, but come on, man. They shoot your ass up with the strongest painkillers on earth just to get you out on the field. But you’re drinking some cough syrup and now you’re a criminal?
Do you even know the kind of pain you’re in week-to-week playing football? I played a whole season in the NFL with broken bones in my ankle. We all got ways to cope. Some taking pills, some sippin’ syrup, some drinking heavy, some smoking weed. Shit, some even snorting cocaine. One way or another, you’re gonna numb the pain.
But as long as you getting your fix from the team, it’s all good, right? I’m just being honest. And they don’t like you being honest.
Listen, I know you heard all the rumors about me. What’d they say?
“JaMarcus Russell was a bust because he was drinking syrup.”
“He was on some thug shit.”
“He didn’t love the game.”
The funny thing is, I never liked painkillers. In college and the NFL, they were handing that shit out like Skittles. But I didn’t like the way they made me feel. So I handled it my way. When I was at LSU and I dislocated my shoulder against Georgia in the SEC Championship Game, I still had to go to my classes. I actually had shredded ligaments in my throwing hand, too. So I’m sitting in them hard-ass school chairs, and I can’t even concentrate. I was in so much pain that one morning I just said fuck it and took some drank with me to class. Had my little Styrofoam cup and everything. Looked just like a soda from the cafeteria. I don’t know how the hell the teacher even found out, but somebody in class snitched on me.
You know what’s crazy to me? If I had three or four pills in my pocket, nobody would’ve batted an eye.
I mean, it’s 10 o’clock in the morning. It ain't for fun, you feel me? I’m in pain, and that’s just how I knew to deal with it. I was honest with the coaches about what was going on, and they knew me as a person, so they handled it quietly. I did my punishment, which was not attending the bowl game, and we kept it movin’.
I ain’t no saint, but come on, man. They shoot your ass up with the strongest painkillers on earth just to get you out on the field. But you’re drinking some cough syrup and now you’re a criminal?
Do you even know the kind of pain you’re in week-to-week playing football? I played a whole season in the NFL with broken bones in my ankle. We all got ways to cope. Some taking pills, some sippin’ syrup, some drinking heavy, some smoking weed. Shit, some even snorting cocaine. One way or another, you’re gonna numb the pain.
But as long as you getting your fix from the team, it’s all good, right? I’m just being honest. And they don’t like you being honest.
Listen, I know you heard all the rumors about me. What’d they say?
“JaMarcus Russell was a bust because he was drinking syrup.”
“He was on some thug shit.”
“He didn’t love the game.”
I went to LSU. I went No. 1. I got paper. I had coaches coming down here, eating my grandma’s cooking. I changed my family’s circumstances forever. Everything else is gravy, for real.
Yeah, I only played for three years in the league. But those three years cover a lifetime. Man, you know what I think about all the time?
I was out in Las Vegas one off-season, and I’m at the craps table, shooting some dice, and the biggest gotdamn security guard I’ve ever seen in my life comes walking through. Looking like he’s protecting Obama or some shit.
Nah, it’s bigger than the President. It’s Beyoncé and Jay-Z.
I’m looking like, Damn. Normally, I’m not a starstruck person. But shit, it’s Jigga. All of a sudden, Jay recognizes me as he’s walking past, and he takes the time to say what’s up to me. B kept it moving! Hahahah. She kept it pushing, man. But Jay came over and acknowledged me.
After he left, I remember just sitting there shooting dice and it really hit me, like….
Damn … that n**** Jigga really knows me.
He knows the kid from Mobile. You know what I’m saying? You can say whatever the hell you want about JaMarcusRussell, JaMarcusRussell, JaMarcusRussell.
Maybe you look at me and you see a failure. That’s cool. I see something a hell of a lot different.
I’m from Mobile, Alabama. My daddy was a project n****. My momma worked at the shipyard. She worked every kind of job. All around us — nothing but poverty.
I wasn’t supposed to be shit. Man, I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I’m talking here here. I shattered every expectation for my life.
I was Mr. Football for the whole state of Alabama.
I brought Nick Saban to the neighborhood.
I got millions to wear some Nike shoes. And to play the game I love.
I was the second Black quarterback to go No. 1, after Mike Vick.
I ain’t no failure.
I’m a King.
I’m still.
Church lady, for real. Seventh-day Adventist. (Grandma, I’m sorry for all the cussin’ but I gotta be real with these folks.)
My grandma couldn’t even watch my football games because she was so worried about me. She used to call my uncles, “How’s JaMarcus doing? They losing? Is he getting hit?”
She used to drop to her knees and just pray for me.
Call my uncle back, “How they doing now? They winning? Alright. I’ll get up off the floor in a minute.”
Man, when I was at LSU and I got hurt in the SEC Championship Game, my grandma was at a wake at the time, and she heard about it from somebody. She was so upset she had to go straight home and have a prayer session. A week later, the whole team was signing autographs somewhere, and my grandma shows up, and she just marching straight up to all my offensive linemen, talking about, “You let my baby get hurt!!!”
She comes up to my left guard, Terrell McGill: “Boy, why you let JaMarcus get hit?”
He’s like, “Grandma, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She’s shaking her head on some church-lady shit, all disappointed in him, like “Y’all need to keep my boy safe.”
Hahahahah!! Yo!! For real. That’s Grandma.
Y’all got the characters? We straight now? We gonna make this movie?