The Nightmare Of Steroids

My father came soon after that, and I went back home with him. I got out of Sibley in seven days, and after several more weeks at home, I went down to visit the team in Jacksonville, where they were beating their heads in while preparing for the Gator Bowl game against LSU.

The guys looked pretty ragged because they'd been going through two-a-days, but my friends saw me walk in and invited me to eat with them. The coaches saw me, too, but none of them came over to say hello. The players had suggested to the coaches that the Clemson game—the one right after I left—should be dedicated to me. Some of the guys wore my number on their helmets, but apparently Morrison didn't even mention it to the press. He tried to keep it quiet. He never called me in the hospital, either. And neither did Washburn.

When I returned to school the next semester and told Morrison I wanted to live off campus, he said the school wouldn't pay for it. Fortunately, my dad called and said, "Listen, if you don't pay for his housing, we'll go right to the papers about it." I got a check in the mail real fast. I don't think the coaches thought I was a bad guy. They were just scared that I'd say something about my steroid problem, and probably wanted to sweep it all under the carpet. They didn't know how to handle any of it. It just seems to me that if a guy has given himself to the team for 4½ years, they should be a little more concerned about his welfare.

People ask me if I hate Morrison and the other coaches. I feel sorry for them because they have so little compassion, but I don't hate them. I'm not out to get them—that's not the point of this article. I just want people to know that steroids change you in many ways, and that the psychological changes are the most drastic of all. I've seen so many players become brutal and mindless from steroid use. Look what happened to me.

I love football, but I am worried about the course it is on right now. Most coaches are hypocrites. They don't really care about their players. They only care about winning, and that's because of the pressures put on them—I understand that. But once you start using people as commodities, you've lost your integrity. And it's hard to get that back.

I don't know if our coaches could have stopped our steroid abuse, but they could have helped us act more rationally. They know that they're dealing with 19-year-old boys who need guidance, not pounding and brainwashing and hypocrisy.

I don't want to see another player go through the living hell I went through the last few years, and that's why I'm speaking out on this. I'm embarrassed by what I did. But if I can help someone else, maybe I can help myself, too.

I take no drugs now, not even aspirin. I still have problems with my vision, but the doctor says that should pass with time. The whooshing in my ears is probably there forever. I can't deal with physical stress the way I used to, and I can't exercise too aggressively or I get terrible headaches. My balance isn't what it used to be, and I still feel edgy. I can't work full-time, because some days I have to rest. I'm not well. Steroids screwed me up pretty good. Maybe you have to be a little crazy to play football. But you shouldn't take steroids. You can't take them.

And yet, there I was in the weight room at South Carolina last spring, and I could tell a lot of guys were still on the stuff. I saw an old teammate, a guard, a big country boy who's heavily into steroids, and I said, "Look in the mirror, man. All you're going to see is my reflection."

"I don't give a damn," he said. "It won't hurt me, Tom. It just affects you a whole lot worse than it affects other people."