Game Changer

There they were. Same place, same kids. Every day. Young toughs hanging out on a basketball court in Houston’s gang-ridden southwest side. Purposeless. Just waiting for an excuse to start trouble. I have to tell you, it took me back.

I nudged my friend Mike, a middle-school teacher, braked and rolled down the window of my Toyota Land Cruiser. “Hey,” I called, “I want to talk to you.” The boys scattered. One of the kids shouted, “5-0,” street slang for cop.

I had to laugh. Me, Roynell Young, a onetime wannabe delinquent from the mean streets of New Orleans, mistaken for the law. That’s certainly not how most folks know me.

For nine seasons I was an All-Pro cornerback for the Philadelphia Eagles and a model citizen. But I’ve never been one to run from my past.

Looking back on it, my making it to the NFL—making it at all—was something very close to a miracle. An act of faith from a line of people who went out of their way to rescue me from myself. And maybe that’s why Mike and I were cruising Houston’s tough streets today.

I grew up in New Orleans’s Uptown section, the third of six kids in a solid home. It wasn’t my parents’ fault I started hanging out on the street. In my neighborhood this was a boy’s rite of passage.

I was about 12 the first time a guy from the neighborhood tried to turn me around. My friend T. C. and I had sold some illegal fireworks, and we got caught. All the neighbors gathered as the cops tossed us in a squad car. I was pretty scared.

But looking at the stunned faces of the people on the street, I puffed up, wanting to give the appearance of being arrogant, in control. I’m one bad dude, I thought, and they all know it.

Till one really tough cat named Smooth stuck his head in the window. Smooth was a community leader, a guy we all knew and respected. He was tall and imposing, definitely not a man to be trifled with.

Smooth gave me a hard look. “I’ll be responsible for these boys,” he told the cops. “I guarantee they won’t get into anymore trouble.” I climbed out of the patrol car, still feeling the episode had been good for my rep—till I felt someone grab my ear. “Ow,” I howled. Smooth had turned me over to my grandma.

You’d think that would have cured me of being a tough guy. It didn’t. By high school I was a star on the football team. Livin’ large. Senior year, I was named a team captain. Worst thing that could have happened to me. My head swelled up bigger than my helmet.