What will Ricky be when he grows up?

A few questions for Ricky.

Athletic greatness is molded around a limited range of buzzwords. From passion and dedication to work ethic and perseverance, athletes are heralded for overcoming human shortfall and weakness, even if just momentarily.

As Ricky Williams packs up his locker in Miami and says goodbye to the world of football in favor of foreign soil and exploration, he’s openly defied the expectation.
A celebrated talent from his Heisman days at Texas to the night (senatorial candidate?) Mike Ditka sold the Saints’ future to draft him, Williams has forged a place in the NFL by carrying the ball 50 times a game and never tiring.

For his rare ability, Williams is supposed to follow the lead of those before him, those who scratched and clawed in order to maximize their natural gifts. From the guy who sits on the bench through an 82-game NBA season to stars like Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds, athletes are supposed to repay their debt, the price tag for God-given gifts and overinflated salaries.

Being a professional athlete is a privilege, a dream fulfilled. Every kid tossing free throws at his driveway hoop and every kid who hour after hour shags grounders with his father, wants to be you and would trade his/her entire baseball card collection just to live in your shoes or your body for just one day.

All that’s asked for this admiration is hard work and a love for what you do.

But how do most athletes end up where they are? Is it because they were the ones who shot free throws well past the sunset?

While no professional athlete tasted success without hard work, many had their path mapped before they ever laced up their first cleat. Whether it’s an overbearing father or uncommon talent, not all athletes made the choice to be where they are.

From the time he first played pee-wee football, Williams was probably always the best player on the field. Then after shining in high school, a coach showed up at his door and promised four years of free college. He excelled, won the most prestigious award a college athlete can be given and suddenly an NFL team is willing to toss millions of dollars at him to be its savior.

At no time in Williams’ football career would a sudden departure from the game have gone unnoticed and without disappointment. For a kid of 12 or 15 or even 23, that’s a heavy burden to bear, enough obligation to ignore doubt.
Professional athletes give up a lot to be where they are, whether it’s a stable family life or privacy. Maybe most significant though, they give up choice.

From the time they show signs of athletic talent, they are expected to dedicate themselves to maximizing that talent. When they don’t (see Ryan Leaf), they are publicly maligned for wasting what other wish so much they had.

Williams will pay a hefty price for his decision, whether it’s the $8 million the Dolphins are threatening to take back or his reputation.

He’s always been a bit of an enigma, not forgetting the first months of his NFL career when he did his interviews with his helmet on, and many are turning to his failed drug tests as the motivation for his departure, believing he’d rather spend his days in a smoky haze in Amsterdam than on the field seeking immortality. But maybe as a 26-year-old who’s never had much choice, he just wants options.

Out of the thousands of professional athletes who work day after to day to be the best, most must love what they do because shooting baskets is undeniably more fun than sitting for eight-hours in the soft glow of a computer screen. But for some, being a professional athlete is a destiny they never signed on for.