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Lone Star
John Ed Bradley
March 20, 2000
Ricky Williams was hailed as a savior when he arrived in New Orleans, but his heart's still in Texas, and his head's someplace else, far away, in a world of his own
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March 20, 2000

Lone Star

Ricky Williams was hailed as a savior when he arrived in New Orleans, but his heart's still in Texas, and his head's someplace else, far away, in a world of his own

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"I didn't talk on the phone, and I didn't do anything. I just sat there and waited for the next morning to come."

Did you cook dinner when you were home waiting?

"No."

Did you hire a cook to prepare your dinner?

"No."

So you went out for dinner?

"No."

So how did you eat, Ricky?

Williams puts down his spoon. Long ago the soup stopped steaming. This is not to say that he has. "I don't really know how I ate," he replies, carefully enunciating each word. "I ate, but I don't know how I ate. It really depended. Whatever came along, I guess I ate that."

You miserable lout. You callous, unfeeling man. If only you cared enough to get to know him for who he truly is, you'd understand that Williams, in addition to being the most prolific running back in Division I history, is a shy, sensitive person who aggressively defends his privacy. Well, some of what he considers private, anyway. Williams might be slow to discuss the game that has made him rich and famous, but it takes little prodding to get him started on other topics: how he and a girlfriend decided to name their infant daughter, Marley, after the late reggae star, Bob Marley; how in Austin he says he could get any woman he wants (but how deep-seated insecurities have kept him from chasing any but those who come on to him first); and how he could see himself as an aristocrat, though certainly not a peasant or a slave, in ancient Rome.

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