Attention is Owens' oxygen; solitude his Kryptonite. But--who knew?--part of T.O.'s media presence is being polite, even engaging. He isn't conducting one-on-one interviews during camp, but during daily media gangbangs he's more than accommodating. And even more so with fans. Climaxing the team's third and final year in Oxnard (next year camp moves to San Antonio), every day Owens slowly trudges along chainlink fences, reaching over to shake hands, sign autographs and, yep, even kiss a baby. Or maybe he was signing a boob. With T.O., it's all a blur.
"They came out to see us, to see me," Owens explains of his post-practice diligence. "I need to show them some love, that I appreciate it. I really do."
Gary Leonard
Terrell Owens
Gary Leonard
Bill Parcells' advice to Drew Bledsoe (above) on how to handle T.O.: "Get a haircut. You'll look younger."
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Out of his pads, Owens becomes a delicate balance of Terrell and T.O. In each ear he wears a doorknob-size diamond earring that cost more than your Jetta but on his wrist he sports one of those cheap-ass rubber bracelets with his cutesy "Getcha Popcorn Ready!" He cruises around in a customized gold Cadillac Escalade but wears mainstream mall Crocs. He has a mansion in Atlanta with a secluded basement he calls the "Chocolate Room" but only a modest 2,000-square-foot loft in downtown Dallas. He has passions for his girlfriend (a former Phoenix Suns dancer), chain-restaurant chicken (from Boston Market) and, according to his mom, possesses a likable, even lovable, low-key disposition.
"He's really a humble man," Owens' mother, Marilyn, says as the sunny Saturday practice is momentarily interrupted by blue Powerade shooting out my nostrils. "He has God in his life, and he's taking everything like he should, one day at a time. He's going to be OK."
Fine, go ahead, trust T.O. While you're at it, have faith that the word gullibleisn't in the dictionary.
"I don't foresee any problems," Owens says for the 113th time in his kaleidoscopic career. "Don't feel like there'll be any distractions throughout the whole year."
Owens, whose outlandish celebrations included the infamous Sharpie and the hilarious pompoms, hesitantly talks about his grand re-entry into the theater of touchdown punctuations at Texas Stadium. Considering his desecration of the most sacred star in sports back in '00, his first score as a Cowboy might be a mid-field beg for mercy as much as a belated encore.
"I don't know...don't have anything planned yet," Owens says, before his eyes suddenly widen. "But some of the guys are trying to convince me to go back to the star."
Get ready to cheer. Get ready to cringe. Get ready with your popcorn.
Because booger-free and hell-bent on revenge against his critics, Owens' play will make you forget. But will his persona ever allow you to forgive?
Tick...tick...tick...
