Pros and Cons Read Free

emergency treatment area. “Mrs. Boyd, I don’t think you’re prepared for what you’re about to see,” the nurse cautioned. “I’ve never seen a worse assault.”
    Hooked up to an IV, Bryan had oxygen tubes running into his nose. A shiny metal pan was positioned under his ear to catch the blood and fluid that was still draining from his head. Much of his upper body was covered in bandages. His face was swollen beyond twice its normal size. Seeing black tread marks resembling the imprint of a car tire across her son’s torso and back, Sara thought that her son had been run over by a car. He had not. The doctor explained that those were imprints from the soles of the shoes worn by the football players.
    The doctor left Sara alone, encouraging her to talk softly to her unconscious son. Unable to find a big enough portion of unmolested skin on which to place her hand, Sara gently clutched her son’s garment and prayed. Suddenly, a flash of light interrupted her whispers. A police photographer had entered the room and started taking pictures of Bryan from the foot of the bed.
    “Why are you taking pictures?” Sara pleaded with the officer. “This kid is dying.”
    “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the officer responded respectfully, having just come from the crime scene. “But I have to take these. I’m working this as a potential homicide.”
    U ltimately, Bryan Boyd survived, but not without paralysis, memory loss, and permanent brain damage. On June 17, 1996, all four football players were indicted for assault with a deadly weapon capable of causing death or serious bodily injury. None of the players, however, were suspended from the TCU football team. Head coach Pat Sullivan saw no reason to suspend the players “until the criminal justice process has run its course.” It was a convenient stance, given the indicted players’ importance to the team. More particularly, Sullivan’s decision saved the career of Ryan Tucker, TCU’s All-Conference center, who was able to play through the 1996 season, catching the attention of NFL scouts looking for mean and nasty linemen.
    Tucker didn’t need to worry that his criminal act would cost him a shot at the NFL. He had every reason to believe he would be welcomed into the league with open arms—at least with the arms that aren’t bound together by handcuffs. But why should Ryan Tucker worry? Although the Boyd family may find it hard to imagine, Ryan Tucker was by no means the worst character in the National Football League.
    In April of 1997, while awaiting trial for the violent felony, Tucker was selected in the fourth round by the St. Louis Rams. Reporters, aware of the Rams’ recent problems with criminally deviant players, asked the coaching staff about the decision. “He can finish a fight, that’s a positive,” head coach Dick Vermeil quipped in downplaying to reporters the seriousness of Tucker’s case. Vermeil’s portrayal of the four-on-one beating as a “fight” went unchallenged. Ironically, with the team under scrutiny for the off-field woes of running back Lawrence Phillips, reporters asked little more about the Rams’ willingness to sign a guy who could very well go to prison for his part in nearly killing a man.
    Phillips and other high-profile, criminally convicted players such as Michael Irvin not only receive an inordinate amount of attention for their behavior, they also deflect attention from countless other lesser known players with far more disturbing criminal histories. Ryan Tucker, whose past includes two additional allegations of violent assaults, is a classic example. In researching this book, the authors were repeatedly asked, tongue-in-cheek, “How many chapters do you have on the Dallas Cowboys?” The answer to this question was always the same: “None.” Although Michael Irvin is briefly mentioned in the book, the Cowboys are not the focus of a single chapter. The reasons are simple: 1) their problems have already been