Kori Ellis
01-07-2007, 03:59 AM
Mike Monroe: NBA Beat: Wrong place, time
Web Posted: 01/06/2007 10:28 PM CST
San Antonio Express-News
http://www.mysanantonio.com/sports/basketball/nba/spurs/stories/MYSA010707.08C.COL.BKNmonroe.williams.2c2e094.html
The news of Denver Broncos cornerback Darrent Williams' violent death flashed across Eric Williams' TV screen New Year's Day and dragged him back to a time and place that left him with scars he dare not ignore.
A gnarled round knot sits on his right knee, just below the arcing scar from the surgery that repaired a torn anterior cruciate ligament in 1997. There is a second, similarly round knot of skin on his left arm.
They are permanent reminders of a hard past on the mean streets of Newark, N.J. They are gunshot wounds that have been on his 34-year-old body for 22 years.
"Wrong place at the wrong time," Williams said as he dressed for Friday's game against the Dallas Mavericks. "Just walking, man. Somebody shooting. Stuff happens like that. I'm just happy I'm where I'm at now."
The memory brought forth a flood of emotions for the Spurs forward. Williams made it clear he wanted to share his story.
"I got shot when I was 12 years old," he said. "You know what grade that is? That's not even eighth grade, man. Not even high school. I was in a different life then."
Darrent Williams was shot to death early Monday morning in the back of a stretch limousine after leaving a Denver night club hours after the Broncos lost their final game of the season. The loss knocked them out of the playoffs.
Witnesses have described an altercation at the club. Denver police continue to investigate and recently arrested a person of interest. Funeral services were held Saturday at Great Commission Baptist Church in Fort Worth, where Williams grew up.
Eric Williams took the news of Darrent Williams' murder differently than most.
"It shined some light on me," he said. "Even now, that shined some light on me. Ain't no escaping, man. It's a bigger planet. It's unfortunate."
That it happened to a Denver athlete named Williams did not seem like mere coincidence to Eric Williams, who played two seasons for the Denver Nuggets.
"That's too close," he said. "I look at all the signs: Same last name as me. I played in Denver before, too. His name starts with 'D,' my name starts with 'E.'
"I looked at it like that, from a universal standpoint. Everything sends a universal message. Everybody's got a place to fill. It's just what's going on. It ain't nothing but a sign of the times."
Is there a message for other athletes in this latest incidence of violence involving a player?
"The stories need to get out there," Williams said. "People need to understand. Guys aren't out there trying to carry guns because they're trying to be gangsters. It's a sign of the times, man. It's our environment. It's messed up. ... It's messed up."
The environment often can turn dangerous around athletes who have no malicious intent. Spurs forward Robert Horry had his own scary moment in a club in the recent past. While attending a party at a Los Angeles club, shots rang out in a crowded room. A friend tackled him to the floor and draped himself atop Horry to protect him.
"It was my friend Ron Finley, who makes my clothes," Horry said, "and that is a friend, a good friend."
From the floor, Horry spotted an exit sign. He and Finley made a dash to get out.
"We didn't know what was going on," Horry said, "and as we were getting in our car we saw some guys going in the trunk of their car, getting more guns. We just said, 'Let's get up out of this joint.'"
Horry's advice for is fellow athletes: Don't roll too deep.
"Rolling deep" means hanging out with a large group. Horry believes it a practice fraught with peril.
"A lot of athletes roll deep a lot," said Horry. "When they roll deep, people bring people the athletes don't know, and you don't know how they're going to be acting. Sometimes people don't act responsibly in that group. A lot of people don't care. When you're in that group, you're guilty by association.
"That was probably a situation where that guy (Darrent Williams) was guilty by association. He was with a group, and somebody was acting stupid and then somebody acted stupider."
And then Darrent Williams was dead.
There was a time a preteen Eric Williams made sure he had his "piece" when he hit the streets of Newark, just as surely as he had a hat on his head to ward off the winter chill.
"You do what you got to do," Williams said. "It was like you had a whole bunch of guns, but where I was growing up, nobody had any bullets. Bullets were hard to get."
Williams laughed at the memory of hard young men with unloaded guns, but it was a nervous laugh, his mood still somber.
Williams doesn't carry a gun anymore. Hasn't for years. But he understands why some athletes do.
"Those who carry," Williams said, "they feel they got to carry it. That's because they understand their story better than anybody else."
Avoiding violence, he said, is not about being armed.
"I'm more of a spiritual person now," he said. "I learned not to try to control nothing. I ain't trying to control by having a gun on me. I'm trying to control the situation. I'm not trying to be that man."
Always, the scars from the bullets remind him to be that spiritual man he has become.
Web Posted: 01/06/2007 10:28 PM CST
San Antonio Express-News
http://www.mysanantonio.com/sports/basketball/nba/spurs/stories/MYSA010707.08C.COL.BKNmonroe.williams.2c2e094.html
The news of Denver Broncos cornerback Darrent Williams' violent death flashed across Eric Williams' TV screen New Year's Day and dragged him back to a time and place that left him with scars he dare not ignore.
A gnarled round knot sits on his right knee, just below the arcing scar from the surgery that repaired a torn anterior cruciate ligament in 1997. There is a second, similarly round knot of skin on his left arm.
They are permanent reminders of a hard past on the mean streets of Newark, N.J. They are gunshot wounds that have been on his 34-year-old body for 22 years.
"Wrong place at the wrong time," Williams said as he dressed for Friday's game against the Dallas Mavericks. "Just walking, man. Somebody shooting. Stuff happens like that. I'm just happy I'm where I'm at now."
The memory brought forth a flood of emotions for the Spurs forward. Williams made it clear he wanted to share his story.
"I got shot when I was 12 years old," he said. "You know what grade that is? That's not even eighth grade, man. Not even high school. I was in a different life then."
Darrent Williams was shot to death early Monday morning in the back of a stretch limousine after leaving a Denver night club hours after the Broncos lost their final game of the season. The loss knocked them out of the playoffs.
Witnesses have described an altercation at the club. Denver police continue to investigate and recently arrested a person of interest. Funeral services were held Saturday at Great Commission Baptist Church in Fort Worth, where Williams grew up.
Eric Williams took the news of Darrent Williams' murder differently than most.
"It shined some light on me," he said. "Even now, that shined some light on me. Ain't no escaping, man. It's a bigger planet. It's unfortunate."
That it happened to a Denver athlete named Williams did not seem like mere coincidence to Eric Williams, who played two seasons for the Denver Nuggets.
"That's too close," he said. "I look at all the signs: Same last name as me. I played in Denver before, too. His name starts with 'D,' my name starts with 'E.'
"I looked at it like that, from a universal standpoint. Everything sends a universal message. Everybody's got a place to fill. It's just what's going on. It ain't nothing but a sign of the times."
Is there a message for other athletes in this latest incidence of violence involving a player?
"The stories need to get out there," Williams said. "People need to understand. Guys aren't out there trying to carry guns because they're trying to be gangsters. It's a sign of the times, man. It's our environment. It's messed up. ... It's messed up."
The environment often can turn dangerous around athletes who have no malicious intent. Spurs forward Robert Horry had his own scary moment in a club in the recent past. While attending a party at a Los Angeles club, shots rang out in a crowded room. A friend tackled him to the floor and draped himself atop Horry to protect him.
"It was my friend Ron Finley, who makes my clothes," Horry said, "and that is a friend, a good friend."
From the floor, Horry spotted an exit sign. He and Finley made a dash to get out.
"We didn't know what was going on," Horry said, "and as we were getting in our car we saw some guys going in the trunk of their car, getting more guns. We just said, 'Let's get up out of this joint.'"
Horry's advice for is fellow athletes: Don't roll too deep.
"Rolling deep" means hanging out with a large group. Horry believes it a practice fraught with peril.
"A lot of athletes roll deep a lot," said Horry. "When they roll deep, people bring people the athletes don't know, and you don't know how they're going to be acting. Sometimes people don't act responsibly in that group. A lot of people don't care. When you're in that group, you're guilty by association.
"That was probably a situation where that guy (Darrent Williams) was guilty by association. He was with a group, and somebody was acting stupid and then somebody acted stupider."
And then Darrent Williams was dead.
There was a time a preteen Eric Williams made sure he had his "piece" when he hit the streets of Newark, just as surely as he had a hat on his head to ward off the winter chill.
"You do what you got to do," Williams said. "It was like you had a whole bunch of guns, but where I was growing up, nobody had any bullets. Bullets were hard to get."
Williams laughed at the memory of hard young men with unloaded guns, but it was a nervous laugh, his mood still somber.
Williams doesn't carry a gun anymore. Hasn't for years. But he understands why some athletes do.
"Those who carry," Williams said, "they feel they got to carry it. That's because they understand their story better than anybody else."
Avoiding violence, he said, is not about being armed.
"I'm more of a spiritual person now," he said. "I learned not to try to control nothing. I ain't trying to control by having a gun on me. I'm trying to control the situation. I'm not trying to be that man."
Always, the scars from the bullets remind him to be that spiritual man he has become.