Former UM, NFL star Leon Searcy finds peace after downfall

The Saturday sun is postcard perfect. A band, in colorful uniforms, is playing its happy music in the stands. Down below, the University of Miami football team grunts and collides, reminding all those limping old ghosts on the sideline of their treasured youth. Away from the action, white towel on his shoulder and sweat on his forehead, a wounded giant is talking about the day he fell upon his knees sobbing, apologizing to God and begging for help.

``I made some very poor choices,'' Leon Searcy says.

The contract the Pittsburgh Steelers gave him after selecting him 11th overall in 1992? He blew that. The one worth $17 million Jacksonville paid to make him the league's highest-paid offensive lineman ever at the time? Spent that, too. He shakes his head at what a cliché he used to be, dabbing that towel at the sweat on his temples.

``I spent all my time wanting to be a celebrity,'' Searcy says. ``You know the Rick James character behind the bar in the Dave Chapelle Show? That was me.''

Offensive linemen tend to be pretty anonymous, so Searcy went about buying attention and friends.

``Dinner and champagne? On me,'' he says. ``Strip club? On me. I was popping bottles and making it rain. I was supporting uncles and cousins. I was paying mortgages and first-class vacations. I had an entourage of leeches. Everything was suit, limo, flash and dash. What the hell was the matter with me?''

His 11-year NFL career ended with a $60,000 injury settlement from the Miami Dolphins. He went straight to the Aventura car dealership upon getting it and bought a Hummer in cash. Some of the things that got him atop of sports -- ego, fearlessness, the reckless belief that consequences were for other people -- swallowed him at career's end, when faced with all that silence that inevitably comes after the gladiator applause.

``I was delusional and in denial, but there was hell to pay,'' he says. ``Creditors banging on the door. Ex-wives beating me on the head. Child support. You know those giant mallets in the cartoons? I kept getting hit with those. I felt like I was in a small canoe, and I could see the waterfall I was about to go over, and I didn't have a paddle. Deep end, here I come.''

He took a job earning $30,000 a year and working 16-hour days as an assistant coach at Florida International University. By that time, he didn't even have a car. In the kind of relationship you find a lot in the UM huddle, but not in a lot of other places, former UM teammate Hurlie Brown drove Searcy everywhere.

``My soldier,'' Searcy says, and here you can see the giant's eyes get a little of that good sting.

Such a unique bond so many of these Hurricanes have, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health. You can see it on the sideline during this spring scrimmage, as the sun shines and the band plays and Warren Sapp and Clinton Portis and Edgerrin James and Dan Morgan and dozens of others hug and laugh and remember. Searcy avoided all these little reunions in recent years. Would get the invitation and immediately throw it away as if afraid to look to closely at his past.

``Shamed away,'' he says. ``Didn't want everyone whispering about how I was broke.''

He is happy to be here today, though, as he begins to get up off those busted knees. NFL benefits are coming now that he has just reached his 40s, and he has erased his debt. He works with a software company and a worker's comp attorney and does some radio and TV. A daughter is headed to Colombia. And he says he is happier than he has ever been.

``I was empty and never had satisfaction before,'' he says. ``I was like an addict always looking for that new fix. The NFL lifestyle is very addictive, and when it is over, you are a fiend. There's no rehab or rest home for bad habits. I've been humbled, and it has made me cherish the little things and what is really important. I've got joy now. I talk to my kids every day. This has brought me to a better place. I'm so much happier with myself. I prayed my way out of it after I succumbed to the mess that I had made.''

Oh, there is still so much hurt. The violent game's highs come with impossible lows.

``Back. Shoulders. Hips. Neck. Hands. Feet. It is a challenge to get out of bed most mornings,'' he says. ``Painkillers every day. Struggle to function every day. But I'm better off than a lot of guys. I can't jog, but I'm not in a wheelchair. I don't take that for granted. I don't take anything for granted anymore.''

He has this great deep voice and this great deep laugh.

``Don't get me wrong now,'' he says. ``I have perspective, but I'd still like to have the money back, too.''

Click here to order Leon Searcy's proCane Rookie Card.



(miamiherald.com)