Hammock Parties
11-04-2007, 11:10 PM
http://www.kansascity.com/180/story/346903.html
After all the years and all the stories, Priest Holmes still never fails to surprise people. Sunday afternoon, after the Chiefs lost to Green Bay and running back Larry Johnson twisted his ankle so badly he could not walk, I went up to Holmes to talk about the latest turn in his amazing comeback.
He said: “Let me show you something.” And he reached into his pocket and pulled out a Purple Heart. He handed it to me.
“This,” he said, “belonged to my biological father.”
You know, one of the strange parts of sports is that we often try to guess at an athlete’s motivations. What is it that makes an athlete go? Is it money? The cheers? Fame? The fever of competition? Is it ever so simple? Larry Johnson seems to be driven by anger, while Jared Allen seems to be driven by the football life and the joy of getting the sack, while Brett Favre seems to be driven by the emptiness that might be there after the retirement news conference. But is it ever so simple?
People keep guessing at what drives Priest Holmes. Six months ago, he was in San Antonio, recovering from an injury, living the easy life, playing with his kids, watching his beloved Spurs win an NBA championship. Three months ago, he showed up at Chiefs camp looking out of shape and talking about dreams — nobody seemed quite sure why he was there or how long he would last.
One month ago, Holmes looked in shape and hungry and ready to play.
Now, after Sunday’s game, after Larry Johnson was carted away, Holmes suddenly, improbably, ridiculously looks as if he might be the key to this entire, wacky Chiefs season. The Chiefs lost to Green Bay on Sunday — and they mostly did not play well — but the AFC West is like Hotel California. The Chiefs keep checking out of first place, but they can never leave. They are 4-4 and still on top of the division. The Broncos look beyond awful. The Raiders are the Raiders. The Norv Turner Chargers just gave up an NFL record 296 yards to Adrian Peterson. Somebody’s got to win this division.
And now, nobody is sure about Larry Johnson’s health.
“I’ll tell you this about Larry,” Holmes says. “He’s tough. He’s got a lot of fire in him. If he can play, he will play on Sunday. He’s a special back. He gets frustrated sometimes, but he has a really big heart, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him play.”
And if LJ can’t play?
“Priest’s got to carry the load,” Chiefs coach Herm Edwards said.
“That’s why he’s here,” Chiefs President Carl Peterson said. “That’s why Priest came back.”
Is it why? There’s no telling. Holmes has, over the last few months, offered numerous explanations for his startling and amazing comeback after two years away from football. He says he wants to inspire people. He says he wants to challenge himself. He says he wants to help the team win a Super Bowl. He says he has too much left to retire. And of course, there are many outside opinions about what drives Holmes — money, attention, an unwillingness to give up the game.
Well, here’s something new to think about. Priest always gives you something new. Saturday night, Holmes got together with his brother, Andre. He has only seen his brother a couple of times — they did not grow up together. But Andre is (and every family seems to have a person like this) the keeper of the family, the one who tries to keep everyone in touch. Andre had been to a couple of Priest’s games. He has sent several e-mails. This weekend he came to Kansas City with something to give to Priest. He handed over their father’s Purple Heart.
Holmes never met his biological father. He did not know anything about him. For a long time, he did not want to know. He had his grandmother. He had his mother and his stepfather. He had enough. But lately, he’s been wondering about things — wondering what it is that ticks inside him and drives him to come back from injuries and pushes him to succeed when no one else thinks he can.
When Andre handed him the Purple Heart, he told the story he’d heard. It goes something like this: Vietnam, and Holmes’ father was marching in front of his company. He stepped on a mine. It blew off the back of his leg. He fell to the ground, and just then there was an ambush. Everyone in his company was killed. Holmes’ father was bleeding, unconscious and left for dead.
Two days later, Americans arrived, and they started putting the dead people in body bags. And one said: “Wait a minute, I think we have one who is alive.” The man regained consciousness and life and came back home. That was Priest Holmes’ father.
“I just found this out,” Holmes said as he closed his fist around the Purple Heart. “That man is inside of me.”
He is keeping the Purple Heart — Andre made a deal with him. He said that whenever they saw each other from now on, they would keep handing back and forth the Purple Heart. For Andre, it would be another way to keep the family together. For Priest, it would be something else, a connection, an explanation.
“People don’t seem to understand why I’m doing this,” he said about the comeback. “Well, you know what? Maybe I don’t understand it either. Maybe it’s just something I need to do.”
No, it’s rarely simple. Every Monday, Priest Holmes runs the hill — that’s the grueling workout he has done since he became a football player, a crazy training regimen that, as you might imagine, involves running and a hill. Every Tuesday, he breaks down film to the millisecond, studying everything from the linebackers’ tendencies to the defensive linemen’s facial expressions on each play. All during the week he practices and lives football. Every Saturday, he walks through the plays, visualizes them, until it all seems clear in his mind.
On Sunday against Green Bay, he took two savage hits — both after Damon Huard interceptions — and he got up and smiled and kept on playing.
Why? Maybe there’s no easy answer to that. But Holmes had an easy answer when I asked him whether he could carry the load should Larry Johnson be too hurt to play.
“Why not?” he said.
After all the years and all the stories, Priest Holmes still never fails to surprise people. Sunday afternoon, after the Chiefs lost to Green Bay and running back Larry Johnson twisted his ankle so badly he could not walk, I went up to Holmes to talk about the latest turn in his amazing comeback.
He said: “Let me show you something.” And he reached into his pocket and pulled out a Purple Heart. He handed it to me.
“This,” he said, “belonged to my biological father.”
You know, one of the strange parts of sports is that we often try to guess at an athlete’s motivations. What is it that makes an athlete go? Is it money? The cheers? Fame? The fever of competition? Is it ever so simple? Larry Johnson seems to be driven by anger, while Jared Allen seems to be driven by the football life and the joy of getting the sack, while Brett Favre seems to be driven by the emptiness that might be there after the retirement news conference. But is it ever so simple?
People keep guessing at what drives Priest Holmes. Six months ago, he was in San Antonio, recovering from an injury, living the easy life, playing with his kids, watching his beloved Spurs win an NBA championship. Three months ago, he showed up at Chiefs camp looking out of shape and talking about dreams — nobody seemed quite sure why he was there or how long he would last.
One month ago, Holmes looked in shape and hungry and ready to play.
Now, after Sunday’s game, after Larry Johnson was carted away, Holmes suddenly, improbably, ridiculously looks as if he might be the key to this entire, wacky Chiefs season. The Chiefs lost to Green Bay on Sunday — and they mostly did not play well — but the AFC West is like Hotel California. The Chiefs keep checking out of first place, but they can never leave. They are 4-4 and still on top of the division. The Broncos look beyond awful. The Raiders are the Raiders. The Norv Turner Chargers just gave up an NFL record 296 yards to Adrian Peterson. Somebody’s got to win this division.
And now, nobody is sure about Larry Johnson’s health.
“I’ll tell you this about Larry,” Holmes says. “He’s tough. He’s got a lot of fire in him. If he can play, he will play on Sunday. He’s a special back. He gets frustrated sometimes, but he has a really big heart, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him play.”
And if LJ can’t play?
“Priest’s got to carry the load,” Chiefs coach Herm Edwards said.
“That’s why he’s here,” Chiefs President Carl Peterson said. “That’s why Priest came back.”
Is it why? There’s no telling. Holmes has, over the last few months, offered numerous explanations for his startling and amazing comeback after two years away from football. He says he wants to inspire people. He says he wants to challenge himself. He says he wants to help the team win a Super Bowl. He says he has too much left to retire. And of course, there are many outside opinions about what drives Holmes — money, attention, an unwillingness to give up the game.
Well, here’s something new to think about. Priest always gives you something new. Saturday night, Holmes got together with his brother, Andre. He has only seen his brother a couple of times — they did not grow up together. But Andre is (and every family seems to have a person like this) the keeper of the family, the one who tries to keep everyone in touch. Andre had been to a couple of Priest’s games. He has sent several e-mails. This weekend he came to Kansas City with something to give to Priest. He handed over their father’s Purple Heart.
Holmes never met his biological father. He did not know anything about him. For a long time, he did not want to know. He had his grandmother. He had his mother and his stepfather. He had enough. But lately, he’s been wondering about things — wondering what it is that ticks inside him and drives him to come back from injuries and pushes him to succeed when no one else thinks he can.
When Andre handed him the Purple Heart, he told the story he’d heard. It goes something like this: Vietnam, and Holmes’ father was marching in front of his company. He stepped on a mine. It blew off the back of his leg. He fell to the ground, and just then there was an ambush. Everyone in his company was killed. Holmes’ father was bleeding, unconscious and left for dead.
Two days later, Americans arrived, and they started putting the dead people in body bags. And one said: “Wait a minute, I think we have one who is alive.” The man regained consciousness and life and came back home. That was Priest Holmes’ father.
“I just found this out,” Holmes said as he closed his fist around the Purple Heart. “That man is inside of me.”
He is keeping the Purple Heart — Andre made a deal with him. He said that whenever they saw each other from now on, they would keep handing back and forth the Purple Heart. For Andre, it would be another way to keep the family together. For Priest, it would be something else, a connection, an explanation.
“People don’t seem to understand why I’m doing this,” he said about the comeback. “Well, you know what? Maybe I don’t understand it either. Maybe it’s just something I need to do.”
No, it’s rarely simple. Every Monday, Priest Holmes runs the hill — that’s the grueling workout he has done since he became a football player, a crazy training regimen that, as you might imagine, involves running and a hill. Every Tuesday, he breaks down film to the millisecond, studying everything from the linebackers’ tendencies to the defensive linemen’s facial expressions on each play. All during the week he practices and lives football. Every Saturday, he walks through the plays, visualizes them, until it all seems clear in his mind.
On Sunday against Green Bay, he took two savage hits — both after Damon Huard interceptions — and he got up and smiled and kept on playing.
Why? Maybe there’s no easy answer to that. But Holmes had an easy answer when I asked him whether he could carry the load should Larry Johnson be too hurt to play.
“Why not?” he said.