A Different Take on Maurice Clarett

This feels familiar, doesn't it? Here we are, a week removed from the NFL draft combine, and Maurice Clarett is once again in the news for something he has done, or rather, something he has not done. After running a sub-par 40 yard dash in the NFL Draft Combine, Clarett pulled his practice jersey over his head, tossed it to the ground, and uttered two words that made every sports journalist in the country salivate.

"I quit."

People familiar with his story were, for the most part, expecting something like this. The vast majority of them even seemed to enjoy it when it happened. Jokes were written on message boards all over the Internet. Pictures were created of him racing an old man (and losing) with the caption "Slow Mo" emblazoned across the bottom. I've also read reports from nearly every sports news service about his negative attitude and poor work ethic, but that is not the real Maurice Clarett. At least not the Maurice Clarett I like to remember.

Tom Friend recently wrote an article for ESPN.com defending Clarett. He says: "Clarett ... appeared rock solid, (but) his body mass had increased too much. His work ethic was commendable and his body fat was plummeting, but his weight was exorbitant and there had to be some doubt about what it would do to his speed."

He goes on to say, "The problem was, his body might have been sapped from losing a lot of weight in a short period of time. And he was also way too nervous, skittish that his entire future was coming down to a three-day period in Indianapolis."

But it goes deeper than that, much deeper. The combine was not just about his future. It was about hope.

Maurice Clarett grew up on the streets of Youngstown, Ohio and saw many of his childhood friends end up either dead or in jail. Football was his way out, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Football was going to carry him away to a distant land where he would not have to glance over his shoulder when walking down the street. Football would enable him to move those closest to him out of the slums and into a gated community in Florida or California. Football would ensure that he would not have to worry about his children (when he has them) at school. Football represented one thing for Maurice Clarett: hope

People do not know the real Maurice Clarett. They see what he has done off the field in the last few years. They see the attitude he has displayed and label him a typical, arrogant athlete who cares about nothing and no one but himself. In a 2002 interview with ESPN.com's Wayne Drehs, a time when he was still playing the role of media darling, Clarett addressed this:

"Every day I strap on the pads, I'm not playing for myself. I'm playing for the kids who have a dream. I'm playing for the guy who had more talent than I did, but didn't make it. I'm playing for the guy who works 9 to 5 everyday so he can pay $50 to watch us play. I want him to get his money's worth, to leave the stadium thinking, 'That was one of the best football players I've ever seen.'"

Does that sound like someone who cares only about himself? Does that sound like a typical athlete?

Another assumption (helped along by the media) is that Clarett is "lazy" and "unmotivated." The facts say something else entirely.

Clarett graduated high school in December of 2001 and enrolled early at Ohio State. While his high school classmates went to the prom and enjoyed the last few months of their high school careers, Clarett was in Columbus preparing for the upcoming season. In the time he spent in Columbus, he would typically be the first person on and the last person off the practice field. His coaches and fellow teammates raved about his effort and desire to be The Best.

People have since labeled Clarett a prima donna. They say the argument he had with (former running backs coach) Tim Spencer during the 2002 game at Northwestern (and subsequent pouting on the sidelines after being benched) proves this. What people do not understand is that Clarett is a perfectionist. His pouting was not necessarily a reaction to being benched, it was more a reaction to his poor play. He was upset with himself not only because he was not able to help his team, but because he had, for the briefest of moments, failed. Failure, even for a moment, is not acceptable for The Best.

Many of his critics say he is not good enough to play in the NFL and any team who takes a chance on him is wasting their time. Are we even talking about the same player? People seem to overlook the fact that he broke Robert Smith's freshman rushing record despite missing several games with injuries. They forget how he, at 18 years of age, stepped onto the field of Ohio Stadium as the first true freshman to ever start a season opener for the Buckeyes. It slips their mind that when he was in the lineup, he brought a spark and enthusiasm to the field that no one could match.

His love for, and understanding of, the game of football is unmatched. Clarett legitimately enjoyed playing for Ohio State and his football knowledge was a key to their success. He not only called the pass play that set up the winning touchdown to give the Buckeyes a lead (and eventual win) over arch-rival Michigan, he also caught the pass and reacted by pointing to the sidelines, a huge grin spread over his face, then celebrating with his teammates as the crowd of over 100,000 fans chanted his name. Then, when the Wolverines drove down the field on the ensuing possession, Clarett lead the cheers for the defense by waving a towel and urging the crowd to get on their feet and make noise.

A year later, it was all gone. There would be no more games against Michigan. There would be no more national championships. There would be no more Heisman talk.

Imagine the thing you loved the most, your dreams, your hope, all taken away because of one bad decision. Imagine receiving hundred of letters from people telling you how much you had let them down. Imagine receiving death threats from people who had the audacity to call themselves "fans." These were the people he had sacrificed for. These were the people who had once chanted his name when he lined up in the backfield. These people loved him for the briefest of moments, then turned their backs when he needed them the most.

To say it would be difficult to play for people who have insulted you and threatened your life would be like saying it took the Red Sox a few years to win another World Series after the 1918 season. Clarett couldn't go back to Ohio State. Suiting up in the scarlet and gray and stepping on the field was not an option after the fans had turned on him. Instead, he challenged the National Football League's early-entry rule, lost, and spent a year training for one day. The Draft Combine.

The combine was his chance for salvation. His chance to prove the critics wrong. His chance to offer a collective "Shut your mouth" to the national sports media without uttering a single word. If he performed well, it would be as if the last year and a half had never happened. Deleted like a typo in an essay and replaced with the correct letter. All he had to do was produce, but disaster struck.

4.72 and 4.82...on live television.

(To put that into perspective, Aaron Rodgers, a quarterback, ran a 4.71.)

After running a total of 80 yards, his combine was over. Everything he had worked so hard for was once again gone. His chance at redemption whisked away like a feather in the wind. His dreams quickly fading. His hope all but lost.

He quit, but that doesn't make him a villain. It makes him a human being with faults like you or me.

As it stands today, Clarett is a "wild-card." A "project." A player who will likely be drafted on the second day and receive the minimum salary available when he eventually signs a contract. He knows it could have been different and that eats away at him. Hasn't he suffered enough?

His dream was to give the people of Youngstown something to be proud of, to prove that it is possible for anyone to improve their situation in life with hard work and dedication, to provide hope for people like him. Although he has faltered, I still believe in that dream, and so shoud he.

Fear not Maurice, hope is not lost.