Nobody I know cares about sports. I don't even care about sports, particularly, except for, as with so many things, the business and marketing and whatnot. But Ricky Williams
? The story keeps getting better (and note that I'm just hitting the highlights. I'm skipping, for example, the way that new Saints coach (and penis
) Mike Ditka
sold the farm to get Williams
in the NFL draft).
First he signed to Master P
's No Limit
sports agency (currently, as best I can tell, defunct). Then he signed a ludicrous contract
, literally negotiated on the golf course, with the New Orleans Saints
. This contract
consisted of, basically, an $8.8 million signing bonus, the NFL's minimum annual salary and a whole bunch of incentives, tied to things like touchdowns, 100-yard games and averaging 1600 yards/game over his first four seasons. Very few of these things happened (the last has only happened twice in NFL history, and not to anybody who keeps a weblog or chills with Ziggy Marley
). Williams got a different (read: competent) agent, and, eventually, signed a deal with the Miami Dolphins
. He was on the cover on NFL Street
. Then, well, not much of interest, to football fans or anyone else, happened, until just recently. After failing an NFL-mandated drug test for the third time, he decided to retire
, seemingly after having decided that he'd rather get high and hang out
with Lenny Kravitz
than play football. Dare I live out the American dream? Anyway, the definitive Ricky Williams story has yet to be written. I, for one, am hoping for a decent ghostwriter.
Also, here's a paleoclimatologist's review
of 'The Day After Tomorrow.'