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)