“What happened?” I asked.
“I went to jail,” Mr. Rios said, and from his even tone and stone-faced look, I didn’t ask why.
Later, I did an Internet search on him and found his story. Mr. Rios had grown up in a rough neighborhood. He was the youngest of three brothers. They’d watched their father get gunned down in their front yard in a drive-by shooting when Carlos was ten. His oldest brother joined the Army and was killed in a training accident. His other brother shot a drug dealer when the dealer tried to rip him off. He was currently doing time for that.
Carlos had escaped via his athletic ability and signed to play at the University of Texas. His freshman year, he’d played in 11 games and rushed for 1,025 yards and scored 11 touchdowns. He was assumed to be the starting tailback for next year’s team.
The reason for the comparison to Earl Campbell was that Carlos was a big, hard-running tailback who liked contact. He was six feet even and 232 pounds his freshman year. I watched some film, and tacklers would merely bounce off him. His only lack was speed, which didn’t matter if people were afraid to tackle him.
Over Christmas break, he’d gone home. Carlos was at a party, pulled a knife, and robbed a woman. He got five years. While he was in jail, he had a son, Tomas. When Carlos got out, he turned his life around and married Elena, his high school sweetheart and the mother of his son. He’d gotten a job at a tire store and now owned one in the same neighborhood he grew up in.
“Tomas, I want to welcome you to Oklahoma. I’m a little surprised you would want to come to your dad’s biggest rival to play football,” Coach Michaels said without missing a beat.
“I want a chance to move out of my dad’s shadow. When I visited Texas, all they wanted to talk about was Dad and how I could finish what he started.” Tomas shared.
“You couldn’t have picked a better place than here,” Coach Michaels said with a smile, and then turned to me. “We could hardly wait for this weekend when we heard you’d scheduled your first official visit.”
We all sat down and grabbed some food. I liked that it was more informal than what I’d seen at places like Alabama and Ohio State. There it felt as if you were already playing professional ball. This felt more relaxed.
Over the next hour and a half, the conversation centered on me and how Oklahoma felt they could get me to the pros. I met most of the coaching staff and had a long talk with Coach Tom Michaels, Head Coach Michaels’ brother and defensive coordinator. They were open to me playing defense, but only in extraordinary circumstances. They had plans for me being their starting quarterback and were worried I might get hurt.
I frankly felt like they were paying me lip service about playing defense. I understood that when I went to college, I wouldn’t play both ways.
The conversation then switched to their goal of winning National Championships. Coach Michaels made a compelling case that what they lacked was a quarterback who could both run and pass the ball at my level.
I saw Tomas and his dad flinch when he said that. Coach Michaels saw it too.
“I hope you realize that if David comes to Oklahoma, you might not get much playing time at quarterback. We think you’re an athlete who can help us in other ways if quarterback doesn’t work out.”
I think that went over about as well as when the Wisconsin coach told my dad that I wouldn’t have time for a fraternity. For some reason, both Tomas and his dad gave me dirty looks. It wasn’t me telling them he might not play quarterback. I kept that opinion to myself.
◊◊◊
After we were done, I needed a bathroom break. It seemed Mr. Rios had the same idea. I was finishing up at the urinal when I heard the distinct ‘snick’ of a switchblade opening. Mr. Rios stood between me and the door and looked like a different man.
For a second, I just stood there in shock. A parent on a football visit had just pulled a knife on me?
My reaction was automatic. Cassidy had drilled me enough that I didn’t even have to think about getting into a defensive posture.
“I suggest you put that away,” I said in a monotone.
“We need to get a couple of things clear before I do that. First, you’re not accepting a scholarship here.”
“Why is that?”
“Tomas isn’t going to be passed over for some hijo de las mil putas.”
“Did you just call my mom a whore?” I asked, seeing red.
The look that came over my face made him take a step back.
“I didn’t expect you would have a backbone. I think I need to mark up that pretty face of yours so you remember this day,” he said.
Then he lunged at me with his knife.
I knew he wasn’t just playing with me. After all, I’d just read about him using a knife to rob a woman when he was just a little older than I was now. I bet it was his weapon of choice, and if I weren’t cautious, he would slice me up. I felt myself drop down into the zone—the place where I performed at my best. This was a life-or-death situation, and there was no question I needed to treat it as such.
Cassidy and Fritz had schooled me on how to disarm someone with a knife. What seemed so simple on the practice mats didn’t seem quite so easy anymore. I watched as he made some jabs with his knife. He was a lot quicker than I first thought.
I waited for him to make another feint and then grabbed his right hand. I planned to turn under his reach and either disarm or toss him. He jerked his hand back, and I found out he had old-man strength. Since I had hold of his wrist, he pulled me towards him. I was off-balance, but my training kicked in, and I brought my elbow up and struck him in the face. Blood began to flow out of his nose. He threw a punch that caught me over the right eye.
I bounced back to see if he was going to back off.
He stood tall, closed his knife, and put it in his pocket. He had a crazed look in his eyes.
“I’m going to beat you to death!” he bellowed and charged me.
He walked right through my hard jab to his eye. I saw a huge right hook coming for my head and ducked my chin and turned into it, so he hit my forehead. I heard bones break and staggered back. He stepped back and shook his hand, so I took that opportunity to kick him right above the knee. Then I followed that up with a kick to his chin. His jaw snapped closed with an audible crack, and I would bet he chipped some teeth.
I will hand it to him, he wasn’t out of the fight. He waded back in, and I hit him with another jab to his other eye. That one I got just right, and it rocked his head back. He tried the same bull tactic he’d used before, but I was ready for him this time. It looked like when he got inside, he planned to hammer my ribs. I used my elbows to wallop him in the head with a right and left. He staggered back, and I used his momentum to put him on his back.
This time, I wasn’t going to see if he would wave the white flag and surrender. I hit him in the throat, hard. His eyes got big as he tried to breathe. At that moment, both Chuck and Paul came crashing into the room. They’d heard Mr. Rios yell.
“Shit!” Paul yelled. “We need help in here!”
“Carlos! Carlos … Oh, My God! Carlos!” Elena screamed when she saw her husband clawing at his throat.
“Dad!” Tomas yelled. “We need help!”
Two men with University of Oklahoma polo shirts rushed in and took charge.
“We have to clear his airway.”
A woman who was with them came in, opened a bag, and pulled out a scalpel and tube. I about threw up when she poured iodine on his neck, cut him open, and pushed the tube into his throat. You could hear his lungs suck in much-needed air.