SmootSmack
07-20-2004, 05:33 PM
Interesting article in Psychology Today about athletes after they retire and leave the spotlight. I especially thought you guys would be interested in the part on Dexter Manley:
“Too often, retired athletes just can’t cope with being retired athletes,” says sports psychologist John Chang, assistant professor at Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio. “Especially when their egos get in the way.”
Dexter Manley might be Exhibit A. From 1981 through 1989, one would have been hard-pressed to find a more dominant, more terrifying NFL defensive end than Dexter Manley, a.k.a. “The Secretary of Defense.” In his nine seasons with the Washington Redskins, the six-foot-three, 260-pound Manley played in three Super Bowls, winning two. His 971/2 sacks are a franchise record and rank in the top 20 on the all-time league list. “Oh, Dexter was a monster,” says former teammate Charles Mann, who started across from Manley on the defensive line. “He was as physically gifted a football player as I’ve seen.”
Yet from the time he was a young boy growing up in the Houston projects, Manley was setting himself up—and being set up—for failure. He was accepted to Oklahoma State on an athletic scholarship even though he could neither read nor write. After four years as a star, Manley entered the National Football League and the life of a big shot in a big town. He played hard and partied 100 times harder. “He was always trying to be this Hollywood superstar,” says Mann. “He’d pull up in these $12,000 suits and crocodile shoes, and I’d be wearing a cheap suit. He’d make fun, and I’d always tell him the same thing. ‘Dexter, it’s not the clothes, it’s the man.’”
Manley found himself in the psychological end zone of superstardom that sports the clothes but strips the man. Wherever he went in Washington, Manley was guaranteed a free meal, a free car, a free movie, a free show, free drugs. Addicted to the perks that come with athletic success, he developed an unhealthy dose of narcissistic entitlement: the goodies no longer were appreciated but expected. “The muscle you use to pull out your wallet goes unexercised,” says Mann. “It’s a trap, and it stunts your ability to cope with the real world.”
Mann’s wisdom rolled off Dexter Manley’s expensive sleeves. Manley began abusing cocaine in the mid-1980s and in 1991 was permanently banned from the NFL. With a growing drug habit, Manley signed with the Ottawa Rough Riders, of the Canadian Football League, where he spent two unremarkable seasons. He was officially done playing after ’93, but he carried around his expired NFL Players Association card as ID. He stayed in Marriott hotels because, back in the day, it was the chain the Redskins used. And when asked his profession, he continued to say, “football player.”
“I’m still living that dream,” he told The New York Times in 1995, shortly after his Mercedes was repossessed. “Football gave me personality. Once it was over, I had nothing to live for.” Manley has been in and out of treatment for the past decade and in 2002 was sentenced to two years in prison for cocaine possession.
“Dexter could never accept the fact that football was over,” says Mann, who retired in 1997 and now owns a credit-card processing company. “I used to tell him that nothing lasts forever, that he needed to remember humility. But some guys don’t want to hear that. Especially stars.”
http://www.psychologytoday.com/htdocs/prod/PTOArticle/pto-20040719-000002.asp
“Too often, retired athletes just can’t cope with being retired athletes,” says sports psychologist John Chang, assistant professor at Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio. “Especially when their egos get in the way.”
Dexter Manley might be Exhibit A. From 1981 through 1989, one would have been hard-pressed to find a more dominant, more terrifying NFL defensive end than Dexter Manley, a.k.a. “The Secretary of Defense.” In his nine seasons with the Washington Redskins, the six-foot-three, 260-pound Manley played in three Super Bowls, winning two. His 971/2 sacks are a franchise record and rank in the top 20 on the all-time league list. “Oh, Dexter was a monster,” says former teammate Charles Mann, who started across from Manley on the defensive line. “He was as physically gifted a football player as I’ve seen.”
Yet from the time he was a young boy growing up in the Houston projects, Manley was setting himself up—and being set up—for failure. He was accepted to Oklahoma State on an athletic scholarship even though he could neither read nor write. After four years as a star, Manley entered the National Football League and the life of a big shot in a big town. He played hard and partied 100 times harder. “He was always trying to be this Hollywood superstar,” says Mann. “He’d pull up in these $12,000 suits and crocodile shoes, and I’d be wearing a cheap suit. He’d make fun, and I’d always tell him the same thing. ‘Dexter, it’s not the clothes, it’s the man.’”
Manley found himself in the psychological end zone of superstardom that sports the clothes but strips the man. Wherever he went in Washington, Manley was guaranteed a free meal, a free car, a free movie, a free show, free drugs. Addicted to the perks that come with athletic success, he developed an unhealthy dose of narcissistic entitlement: the goodies no longer were appreciated but expected. “The muscle you use to pull out your wallet goes unexercised,” says Mann. “It’s a trap, and it stunts your ability to cope with the real world.”
Mann’s wisdom rolled off Dexter Manley’s expensive sleeves. Manley began abusing cocaine in the mid-1980s and in 1991 was permanently banned from the NFL. With a growing drug habit, Manley signed with the Ottawa Rough Riders, of the Canadian Football League, where he spent two unremarkable seasons. He was officially done playing after ’93, but he carried around his expired NFL Players Association card as ID. He stayed in Marriott hotels because, back in the day, it was the chain the Redskins used. And when asked his profession, he continued to say, “football player.”
“I’m still living that dream,” he told The New York Times in 1995, shortly after his Mercedes was repossessed. “Football gave me personality. Once it was over, I had nothing to live for.” Manley has been in and out of treatment for the past decade and in 2002 was sentenced to two years in prison for cocaine possession.
“Dexter could never accept the fact that football was over,” says Mann, who retired in 1997 and now owns a credit-card processing company. “I used to tell him that nothing lasts forever, that he needed to remember humility. But some guys don’t want to hear that. Especially stars.”
http://www.psychologytoday.com/htdocs/prod/PTOArticle/pto-20040719-000002.asp