Upstairs in Ashburn, the
pageantry for the well-coiffed man in the suit was
about to begin. Downstairs, away from the Jason
Taylor Show, beneath the steps that lead to the
weight room and out to the practice field, Clinton
Portis slung a green terry-cloth towel over his
sweaty head.
He understands the void Joe Gibbs, the franchise's most
recognizable mug, has left. What if Taylor morphs into
that guy, taking the spotlight away from the player who
leads with his shoulder and, occasionally, his mouth?
"That don't bother me at all," Portis said, shrugging.
"Jason Taylor is someone who is going to come in and
help the Redskins out tremendously. I would love for
him to come here and be the star power. I don't care
about the star power.
"I want wins in the playoffs, that's what I care about.
I want to get a ring put on my hand. I want to hold up
a trophy with my teammates and say, 'We did it.' That's
what I care about. If Jason Taylor can bring me that,
yes, Jason Taylor is my favorite player. Let him be the
face of the organization."
At 26, four years after his first Washington training
camp, lessons have been consumed and digested. Gibbs's
bumpin'-helmet offense, for instance, painfully showed
Portis his body isn't indestructible.
Sean Taylor's death made him take personal and
spiritual stock of his life. Portis also found out that
the extrovert in him -- the locker room prankster whose
alter egos change costumes and moods -- is okay
coexisting with Portis the adult.
Especially since Sheriff Gonna Getcha now has a little
deputy who needs Pampers.
"It's exciting to be a father, to have that luxury,"
Portis said of his infant son, born this offseason.
"You never think a child will change you or you can get
that much appreciation out of a child. But you look
over and see a baby smiling, waking up in the middle of
the night, you have to get up and change diapers and
all that, it makes you appreciate being a father so
much more.
"It makes you understand what your parents went through
or the people who kept you went through, how many
requirements it takes to maintain a child and let you
know it's really not about you anymore. You have a
mouth to feed now."
Portis declined to release the baby boy's name or the
mother's name, citing privacy concerns. "Just put I
enjoy being a father, you don't have to put nothing
about the child's name out there. Then people are going
to be searching for the child's name all of a sudden."
Thoughts of Taylor still tumble through his head daily,
Portis said. He can't get away from the memory of his
slain teammate; Portis's locker here in Ashburn still
sits next to No. 21's encased cubicle. He doesn't mind,
he said.
"You goin' always think about Sean," Portis said. "And
now being a father, you realize what changed him. You
realized what he saw, how his passion all of a sudden
became lovable, it became enjoyable, it became a
delight to go home and check on his child."
Portis had a list of injuries that ruined his 2006
season. Entering last year, he had somehow become
viewed as a brittle superstar who could break down at
anytime. In a league where explosive, young backs with
big contracts have become disposable (see Shaun
Alexander), Portis was a monstrous question mark. But
he played all 16 games last season, rushing for nearly
1,300 yards and 11 touchdowns. Just as he predicted
midway through an awful stretch of losses, he put the
Redskins on his back and moved the pile forward.
Surprising, no? Another 1,300-yard season, and John
Riggins will be the only running back in franchise
history with more yards than Portis.
He's not done; he never was.
"They write me off every year, thinkin' there's a new
hope," Portis said. "Adrian Peterson got more hype than
anybody in the NFL right now after a rookie year where
he had 1,300 yards.
"He ran hard," he said of the Vikings' rookie last
year. "He played great. But my rookie year I had 1,500
yards. My stats was way better than Adrian Peterson's.
Adrian Peterson is playing behind the best line in the
NFL right now. But it's what the outside world thinks.
Reggie Bush had all the hype in the world. He probably
still got all the hype in the world."
Portis said he has no career regrets, adding that the
injuries to his shoulder and a broken hand two seasons
ago were "the best things that could have possibly
happened to me."
"At the time I was tired of football," he added. "The
passion for football really wasn't there. The energy
for football really wasn't there. So it took me being
away from the game to get that appreciation and realize
what it meant."
He's been talking up his new teammates and Jim Zorn's
offense since training camp began, sounding like a
player who was liberated from counter-trey captivity.
"Over the past five years I have been playing tough-man
football and probably knocked six years off my career,"
he said.
"I don't think people really watch football," Portis
added. "Because what we did as a football team was
tough. It was tough on all of us. People don't
understand how it beats up on your body. They
understand the yardage total. They understand how it
look. I did what I was asked to do.
"They asked me run into a brick wall with 11 people
standing there, I ran into a brick wall with 11 people
standing there. Now I got the opportunity to change the
scheme. I feel good, I look good and I'm excited about
it."
The sacrifice to play in Gibbs's offense, he said, also
helped him understand something about himself.
"What Coach Gibbs did for me was to make me grow up and
understand everything in life ain't goin' be fine and
dandy," Portis said. "There's going to be hard times,
there's going to be battles and you got to fight
through them. You not going to win every battle, but
you going to fight every battle. What that instilled in
me is the confidence to know I never gave up and I
never would give up.
"I think my tougher years are behind me," he added. "I
really do think that, because every week it was, 'We're
going to battle, this is a war.' It's not a tactic to
shoot over their heads and out. It's, 'We goin' line
up, you goin' buckle your helmet, put your mouthpiece
in, get your chin strap fixed and we goin' mano y
mano.' I did that."
He also dismisses the notion that Gibbs and the
organization catered to the wishes of a prominent
skill-position athlete. "I do abide by the rules of
this team," Portis said. "I never thought I was bigger
than the Washington Redskins and tried to make myself a
coach's pet . . . and be Mr. Snyder's friend or Vinny's
friend," he said. "You know, I sit down and talk to Mr.
Snyder and say something to Vinny. I respect them as
men and I think they respect me as a man. It's really
just living life.
"A lot of people live life on the edge, scared about
tomorrow. I don't know if I'm going to be here
tomorrow, so I'm going to get my enjoyment out of
today."
"I go to church and pray," he said. "I'm not the best
Christian. I'm not a James Thrash or Antwaan Randle El.
I still do wrong. I don't go out to strip clubs and
chase women and be out drinking and driving out in
public.
"But at the same time, I live as a 26-year-old. I'm not
married. I'm not disrespectful. I live my life as a
young guy who don't know what tomorrow will bring. I
would hate to offend anybody or rub anybody the wrong
way. I have a girlfriend. I do. I love her dearly. But
at the same, at 26 -- I mean, I'm livin'."
Portis also said he's more "accepting and knowing."
"Now most of the time I think about things: 'Is this me
playing around, playing a practical joke? Or is this me
hurting somebody's feelings? Should I say this?' I
think about my actions. I don't want to affect the
person next to me. I don't ever want the person next to
me feeling like I'm putting them down or belittling
them."
Taylor's passing, the years under Gibbs and fatherhood
have undeniably changed Portis. But in other ways he
remains the same kid whose father would drive from his
native Mississippi home to take his son to Jackson
State or Mississippi Valley State. Or Saints games in
New Orleans, where Dalton Hilliard became his first
athletic hero.
Before he went to a Pro Bowl and the NFL playoffs and
rushed for 7,715 yards, he was the child of Rhonnel
Hearn, the ultra-supportive mother who came to see him
play as a kid, the mother who still comes to see him
play.
"After every game, whether I got 30 yards or 200 yards,
I'm going to get the same hug, I'm going to get the
same speech, I'm going to get the same love and I'm
going to have the same meal that I want her to cook
when I go home," Clinton Portis said. "And it's going
to be that. It's going to be no more C.P. the football
player. It's going to be, 'Clinton, my son.' "
(washingtonpost.com)