Chasing Ricky Williams

Discussion in 'Cactus Cafe' started by Joe Fan, Jan 30, 2021.

  1. Joe Fan

    Joe Fan 10,000+ Posts

    Here is writer Chris Jones' account of what he did to find Ricky after he 'retired' from the NFL (the first time) for his Esquire piece back in the day

    Back in 2004, Ricky Williams, the American football player, left the Miami Dolphins after a third strike for smoking weed and disappeared. He’d had a notable career besides, but this was the capper: He said goodbye to his coach from Hawaii and vanished off the face of the Earth.

    I was like, I want to be the guy who finds him. My memory is a little foggy here, but I think I got Ricky’s email address from the godfather of one of Esquire’s editors. It was an AOL account, I remember. I wrote Ricky and asked him if he’d talk to me if I found him. He replied! And he said if I found him, he would tell me everything. AMAZING. But first—finding him. There were reports that he’d been in Italy, Fiji, Japan, and, most recently, Australia. A guy who’d felt trapped was now making the most of his freedom. Ricky was on THE MOVE.

    I asked Peter, my editor, if I could go searching for Ricky. I didn’t really think I would find him. But I figured I’d get some crazy travel out of it, giving chase. That’s what I was calling the story in my head: “Chasing Ricky.” I imagined I’d always be one step behind.

    I had lived in Australia when I was a teenager. I dropped out of high school and surfed and dived—quite pleasant, really, even if I’d given my parents absolute fits. I knew that Byron Bay was a pretty spectacular place to hide out and smoke weed. Might as well start there. I flew to Brisbane and drove to Byron Bay. You have to understand the strain of jet lag that follows a flight to Australia. I pulled into town and felt like I had cataracts. Also: What now? I hadn’t thought beyond getting to Byron Bay. I was like, I guess I’ll go to the beach.

    I walked along the beach for about ten minutes… hoping I’d run into Ricky Williams? But honestly also hoping I wouldn’t, because I wanted to travel some more. I looked at the ocean and breathed in the salt and tried to feel more like a human. I was in a total dream state. Eventually I ran into a leathery Australian man with long hair and a beard. He was wearing a tiny pair of shorts, and that was it. He seemed like someone who would know where someone like Ricky Williams might be. I asked him if he’d seen an extremely fast American man lately. “Yeah,” he said. Okay, sorry to bother—Wait, what? The man said that a man matching my description was staying at a campground-turned-commune in the trees outside of town. I was like, No way. But what else was I going to do? I staggered to the campground like a drunk.

    I found this hippie jungle paradise and went into the welcome hut and asked if someone named Ricky was staying there. A friendly woman said, “Yeah, he’s in the tents.” Now I thought… Is it actually possible that I’ve found Ricky Williams? In 20 minutes? No ******* way. I walked over to “the tents.” There were maybe a hundred tents pitched all over the place. I thought, Do I just stand here and monitor the tents like a weirdo? That’s when I heard a soft American voice coming out of a little kitchen hut. “Oh no, thank you,” the voice said.

    I put my head through the door and there he was: Ricky Williams in the flesh. He was turning celery into juice. I said, “Ricky?” And he turned around: “Yes?” And I said, “It’s me, Chris. From Esquire.” And Ricky said: “Wow, you found me.” And I said, “Yeah! I FOUND YOU.”

    I called Peter from the bank of pay phones outside the campground. He couldn’t believe it. “What? Found who?” Ricky and I spent eight wonderful days together. Whale watching. Playing poker. Getting super high with a Gandalf-looking guy named Mystic Steve.

    But that first night, we just went to a movie together, “The Village.” I was wiped out and fell asleep. I woke up when the lights came on, with my head on Ricky’s shoulder. I had no idea where I was. I just knew I was there with Ricky Williams, like I was always going to be.
     
  2. Driver 8

    Driver 8 Amor Fati

    Narrator: then it got weird
     
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