Mens Journal

stuff ing kids twice his size. Everyone knew
about him in the 7th Ward and big things
were expected of him at St. Augustine High
wherehewould eventuallystart both ways
at tailback-corner. But f irst he had to get
through middle school — and the worst act of
God in city annals. “August 29 2005: Katrina
took everything we owned” says Sheila
Mathieu. “There was f ive feet of water in my
living room. Furniture wedding pictures
mostofTyrann’s trophies.Webasicallyhad
to start from scratch.” They f led to Humble
Texas for six months then lived in a hotel
while Tyrone gutted the house and rebuilt it.
They were homeless almost a year and the
chaos was more than Tyrann’s nerves could
bear. Plagued by mood upheavals and sleep
disruptions he began having nightmares
about jumping off bridges or being murdered
by people he knew. “I knew he was hurting
bad but he wouldn’t open up” says Tyrone.
Adds Sheila “He’s Michael Jackson onstage
when he’s playing ball but in the house you
couldn’t get a word from him.”
Two things sustained Mathieu through
his teens. One was organized sports the
other wasmarijuana.Aroundthetimeof
the storm someone handed him a blunt.
He took his first hit and felt...better he
says. Not high or happy so much as numb
or neutral. “That’s why I wound up smok-
ingsomuchweed.Itsmoothedoutallmy
highs and lows.” He certainly wasn’t alone in
that. “Most of my team was smoking” says
Mathieu. “I mean we practiced at this park
where half the time gunshots were going off.”
This was six miles from Isidore Newman
the prep school that produced Peyton Man-
ningandhisbrotherEli.It’sprobablysafeto
assume that neither of those princelings ever
had to hit the dirt during a drive-by.

OF THE THOUSAND THINGS that set
Mathieu apart from other stars — his candor
when discussing hard subjects; his off-f ield
quest to as he says “be part of something
biggerandserve others”—oneofthemore
striking is that he faithfully answers his
phone instead of screening his calls. This
isn’t always useful. His birth mom calls
every day “asking for various things” he
says. His birth dad calls from prison osten-
sibly to talk football but really to persuade
him to use his inf luence with the governor
or the state parole board. Then there are the
unnamed others the cousins and nephews
and childhood friends who need a little
something to get by. Mathieu does what he
can when he’s able. It pains him that he can’t
save everyone.
That’s why his fall from grace in college
still stings: As a lottery pick with a big enough
bonus “to buy four or f ive McDonald’s” he’d
have been a one-man stimulus package able
to put his people to work. Instead he’s on the
last year of his four-year rookie deal at rock-
bottom NFL wages ($1.7 million including
his signing bonus). That isn’t savior money
when you support two children — Tyrann

Jr. two and Noah three — and their moth-

ers.Mourningthedistancefromhissons

who visit regularly he’s resolved to be the

kind of father Tyrone was an anchor for his

kids and extended clan. That’s a heavy bur-

den and will only get bigger when he signs

a huge deal t his year or nex t. “I’m t he ticket

and I’m talking hundreds of people” he says.

“I’m the only way they’re getting out.”

Small wonder that he still has trouble

sleeping through nights wakened by har-

rowing dreams. What keeps him up apart

from the above is the thing that’s roiled

him for years: He burns to show the world

how wrong it was to ever sell him short. He

rattles off his haters — the head coach in

high school who sat him on the bench and

played someone vastly inferior at tailback;

the college scouts and coaches who laughed

in his face when he said he hoped to play in

the SEC. “He went to all their camps locked

down every kid he covered and these people

told me ‘Nah too small’ ” says Del Lee-

Collins his defensive coordinator in high

school. Only LSU made him a D-1 offer

and “in his f irst day of practice he had f ive

interceptions” says Peterson a teammate

at LSU before the Cardinals. “From that

moment on I knew he was special and took

him under my wing.”

By his sophomore season Mathieu was

the biggest star on the LSU campus head-

lining a team that finished 13–0 and played

Alabama for the national title. With his big-

play frenzy and penchant for ripping the ball

away from wideouts (six forced fumbles two

interceptions four touchdowns) he won the

Bednarik Award as the best defender in the

country became only the third defensive

back ever to be named a f inalist for the Heis-

man and couldn’t go anywhere in the state

of Louisiana without being mobbed.

The scrutiny the pressure — it was too

much too soon. As a freshman he’d been able

to hedge his pot use smoking

only as needed to get by. But

then Peterson his buddy and

campus big brother left early

as a lottery pick and suddenly

Mathieu was alone in a foot-

ball factory. “Big-time college

ball is a business and they

work you to death” he says.

“You’re in the gym at 7AM

got classes all morning then

five hours of practice a day.

After that man I needed to

hit the blunt.”

Asasophomorehefailed

drug tests twice for synthetic

marijuana and was sus-

pended for the 2011 matchup

against Auburn. “I’ve kept

my mouth shut about this

but damn near everyone was

doingit.Iwasn’ttheonlyone

who failed two drug tests.”

(Tharold Simon a defensive

back and Spencer Ware a

tailback were also docked a game.) “But

with the type of fame I had I took the fall.”

Whatever you make of his offenses

they were forgiven by year’s end: He led the

Tigerstothenationaltitlegamein ofall

places his hometown. Everyone he knew

was at the Superdome or a sports bar — the

buildup in New Orleans was obscene. And

then LSU laid the mother of all goose eggs

mustering just 90 yards of offense barely

crossing the midf ield stripe and losing a

team-wide stinker 21–0. “It was my big

moment and I fumbled it” Mathieu says.

Inthemonthsfollowingthegamehegot

“lonely and depressed” and thought “Fuck

it I might as well smoke.” He tested dirty

that summer and was kicked off the team

though he stayed at school and attended

class with the hope of reinstatement. But

that fall there was a bust at his off-campus

place that netted baggies of pot from a for-

mer teammate. Mathieu was charged with

simple possession and spent a night in a

county cell. It was the best and worst thing

that could have happened to him his dead-

cat bounce off the bottom.

“There was this gangster in a cell yell-

ing shit at me: ‘Nigger you represent us.

You represent me. If I see you here again

I’ll murder you!’ ”

Bailedoutbyhisparentshemadeadeci-

sion: “I’m done with weed forever.” He called

“My dad was

a murderer.

My uncles were

murdered.

I thought I’d be

like them too.”

MEN’S JOURNAL 96 SEPTEMBER 2016

FROM LEFT: THE ADVOCATE/HEATHER MCCLELLAND; JOHN BIEVER/

SPORTS ILLUSTRATED/GETTY IMAGES; KEVIN TERRELL/ASSOCIATED PRESS