That was just the beginning of my time in football. I had always loved the game of football, and so did my dad. My dad was a super standout in high school, and he was an all-star in college. He got drafted in the third round of the Draft. When he got to the NFL he had some kind of accident, and I think he told me an ankle injury.


My dad had a wall in his study where he kept his newspaper clippings, his trophies, and his awards that he won. There was always a wall with no clippings or any sort of sports memorabilia. He said that this was my wall, and that he couldn’t wait to see all my accomplishments to come. At ten years old and with six years of Pop Warner football under my belt you could say that every time I walked by that wall I felt nervous.


When I turned fourteen years old I found something out, my dad had lied to me about how he had some injury. What actually happened was he had a terrible work ethic, got in trouble in Tijuana, and he was arrested on several occasions for being drunk in public. We got into an argument, which ended with him driving off and returning the next day after he cooled off. He picked me up, and we drove over to a park where he talked to me, and explained to me about the things he had done. He told me he doesn’t want the same things happening to me.


From that day on my dad looked just a tad bit smaller in my eyes. I began high school football, and I was a standout from day one. The coach put first on the depth chart. On our first game I used my speed and my agility to score all my touchdowns, but when I would get hit I would fall every time. In the last five seconds we were on the two-yard line, the play was a pitch to the right. I saw an opening and I ran my heart out, but the other school’s all-state linebacker hit me but I kept driving with my legs. The linebacker was strong, too strong and he took me down.


After that game I wanted to get stronger so I started working out at the local gym. My dad owned the gym, so he had a free membership, I took his membership and I worked out there. The trainer there, Jose, told me that if I wanted to get stronger I should try some D-bol, an anabolic. With his help I started lifting more and I started to get stronger. I kept doing D-bol, but Jose told me about a stack. A stack, a bunch of drugs that are injected, he said would push me.





On the first game of the season I dominated the game. The next game I did the same thing. We were on the way to the state championship, but we lost by three points. I was depressed and Jose had explained to me that would happen. He said that sitting around and doing nothing was the worst possible thing I could do. So I threw the ball around with my dad.

I got suspended for an illegal hit on the opposing team. So I watched the game from the stadium. We won the game, but when I returned to practice I lost my spot on the starting team. I won the spot back by using some new stuff called XTR, an amphetamine steroid. I took the XTR before the semi-final game. I was destroying the other team, tearing apart their defenses, hitting hole in the fourth quarter at full speed, and pounded the linebackers.

That was the last time I played football, because Drew, my best friend, the quarterback got suspicious about me taking my duffel into the stall with me. Drew got hurt during the game; he looked through my bag and found the steroids. Drew called me and he said that he was going to tell coach. I pulled out my dad’s gun and pointed the cold steel weapon of destruction at him. There was no way I could shoot Drew. I shot myself. Drew took me to a hospital; I went to drug rehabilitation. I am still there now and will be here always.