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NEW YORK — Characters abound in New York City. They’re everywhere you look
and surely some places you don’t. The guy who plays a guitar and sings in the middle
of Times Square in nothing but his underwear and a cowboy hat and boots. The guy who sells
the world’s best pickup lines for $1 on the sidewalk. Howard Stern’s antics have
a home in New York. The Big Apple is where Kramer and George from the TV show
"Seinfeld" reside. David Letterman, he’s there too. During the weekend of
the draft, New York was graced with yet another character. Ladies and gentlemen, put your
hands together for Mike Williams.
OK, so Williams, the 6-6, 375-pound offensive tackle from Texas doesn’t play the
guitar or tell jokes on a stage or make a grand entrance by tripping over himself. But
he’s a character in his own right, and his magnetism is unmistakable. Consequently,
there wasn’t a straight face in his vicinity over the draft weekend.
On the way to Ladder 3, a Manhattan fire station Williams and other draftees are set to
visit as part of a whirlwind NFL tour on Friday, the day before the draft, Williams sets
the mood right off the bat. Former University of Texas teammate Quentin Jammer dozes off
momentarily while sitting upright in the backseat, and Williams tears into him. The groggy
Jammer barely responds, but by then the whole back of the bus is laughing.
After checking a few messages on his cell phone, it’s time for Williams to
entertain again. Some NFL executives along for the ride ask Williams what kind of vehicle
he drives now that he’s about to be a millionaire. He tells them that he and Jammer
have Cadillac Escalades. Williams then turns his attention to Peppers, who won’t
surrender an answer as to what he’s driving.
"C’mon, man," Williams begs, chuckling to himself. "Julius is going
No. 2 (in the draft), so he’s got to be driving a Bentley. I’ll bet he’s
got a Bentley at home."
Williams is then asked about the biggest meal he’s ever had.
"Probably a 32-ounce steak," he says.
With all the fixins though, right?
"Oh yeah, a big potato and some spinach," he says, leaving you to believe
there were probably a few more fixins involved.
"You ate that last night?" Jammer throws in?
"Nah, it was only 28 ounces last night, I think," Williams says.
When new footballs are passed around for them to sign for the firehouse, Williams
remarks on how maybe only Peppers should sign them. That way they would carry more value.
That draws chuckles from the back of the bus. It doesn’t take long to realize
there’s never a dull moment with Williams.
When the bus reaches the firehouse, Williams mingles like a politician, smiling and
shaking hands. Only I don’t know too many congressmen who can make this many people
laugh.
"Any idea where you’re going?" Williams is asked by a fireman.
"I can’t tell you that. Talk to me tomorrow," he answers while reaching
for the sports section from a nearby newspaper. He flips through the pages and begins to
make a production over a mock draft inside, which predicts (albeit incorrectly) that he
will go fifth out of the five players in New York for the draft. Williams begins
introducing the players in attendance and where they’re headed, according to the
paper, pausing after each proposed selection to offer his slanted opinion and make notice
of the fact he is predicted last among his peers who are at the firehouse.
"That guy’s good," veteran firefighter Jack Fogerty says to no one in
particular, as Williams moves on to tell a story and do impersonations. "I’m
tellin’ ya, he’s good."
"They say he had his own radio show in college," a younger firefighter tells
Fogarty under his breath.
"I could see that," Fogarty says. "Look at him."
Actually, Williams hosted his own Internet radio show on the University of Texas’
athletics Web site with a teammate. The show was immensely popular in Austin and proved
that football players can have a lighter side and are able to deal with topics other than
blitz protection and a counter sweep.
Before long, Williams is at it again. For much of the firehouse visit, Williams seems
almost joined at the hip with Larry Gonzalez, the "unofficial spokesman" of
Ladder 3. Somehow they sneak virtually unnoticed to the back of the station to try on some
equipment. A few minutes later, Williams emerges with a wide smile, donning a
fireman’s helmet. His smile, presence and jester’s disposition are very similar
to that of Shaquille O’Neal in many ways, only Williams is more personable and
spontaneous.
"Now that’s what you guys should be wearing out there (on the field),"
Gonzalez says.
Before long, all four players have helmets and are posing with the men on shift.
With the visit winding to a close, Williams is busy making fun of Jammer and his bushy
eyebrows.
"Yeah, but this guy’s about one biscuit away from bustin’ out of this
suit," Jammer retorts, tapping Williams on the chest to the delight of the
firefighters.
Williams laughs a hearty laugh, puts his arm around Jammer and squeezes, knowing his
buddy hasn’t gotten the last word by a long shot.
A few seconds later, the bell rings at the station, signaling a call. Time for the guys
at Ladder 3 to go to work. The lights go on, and the trucks pull out, pausing momentarily
in the street so firefighters can jump on, sending the future NFL stars and everyone else
scurrying across the street to get out of the way.
"Hey, Mike," one of the firemen announces over the loudspeaker on the truck.
"Don’t worry about (the newspaper’s mock draft). You’re still our No.
1."
Williams laughs and waves. Comedy, it seems, can be contagious. Even when there’s
a fire to be put out.
Later, at the media day at the ESPN Zone in Times Square, throngs of television, radio
and print reporters swarmed the four players from the bus and David Carr, who already had
been signed to a big contract with the Texans.
One of Williams’ favorite tactics involving media members, who are naturally drawn
to him like bees to honey, involves taking the microphone from the reporter and turning
the interview around. His facial contortions and the nature of his questions are too much
for one young female TV reporter, and she breaks out in laughter again and again. Easy
pickings for a comedic veteran like Williams.
Next up is a flashy, veteran TV reporter who is trying way too hard to move up on the
Joe Cool media-guy scale. It’s clear early on that he is no match for the former
Longhorn.
When Williams grabs for his microphone after a few passive, overly prepared questions,
the reporter, envisioning a quality bit for the nightly news, lets Williams free.
"There are a lot of big-name guys around here who are awfully big," Williams
says, leaning over the reporter and offering the only scowl we see from him all weekend.
"Do they intimidate you at all?"
Laughter spreads through the crowd gathered around, and the reporter answers yes.
"So what other questions were you going to ask me?" Williams wonders aloud.
"Well, what are you going to do with all the money?" the reporter offers.
Williams turns to the camera and puts on a sincere, earnest face that I’m guessing
is only seen on the football field.
"I ask you people, is it all about the money? It should be about what’s in
here," he preaches, thumping his heart. "These people out here in New York City
have heart."
Williams points to the hundreds passing on the streets outside and then turns back to
the glowing reporter.
"What about you? Do you have heart?"
The reporter says, "You bet," and playfully wrestles the microphone back from
Williams.
"See, I knew you couldn’t handle the heat with all the lights on you,"
Williams proclaims, shaking his head.
"I just enjoy watching him stay humble and do his thing," Williams’
brother, Kevin, says with Mike in the background still working the room full of reporters.
"Mike’s always commanded attention. He just loves people. This is his day, and
I’m enjoying it with him."
Kevin says Mike has always been "big, cuddly and goofy," and he has fond
memories of seeing him tower above his classmates in line in preschool.
Later, Williams asks if he has a good-luck charm of any kind? "No, just my
charm," he answers, further spoiling the reporters at his table.
Another media member asks how he’s able to reach that certain level of
aggressiveness he needs on the field. Judging by his personality when he’s got a suit
on, it seems like a viable question.
"You see, I’ve got a switch that I turn on and off when I need to,"
Williams answers.
He repositions himself in a bit of a weightlifting pose, and we see his game face for
the second time.
"I can turn it on right now. Want me to turn it on right now?" he offers,
leaning in over the reporter, eyebrow raised.
Unfortunately, the reporter passes.
As Williams emphatically talks about Charles Barkley’s candor and the ribs,
burgers and steaks in his home state of Texas, his eyes widen and he slams his hands down
on the table. A glass of water at the other end of the table nearly topples from the
impact.
A reporter whom Williams had earlier nicknamed "the Serpent" meanders back
over and interjects. He says he’s supposed to ask Williams about Jammer’s
eyebrows.
"Oh, I’m not even going there," Williams says.
But we all knew we were going to get it out of him. Sure enough, as Jammer walks up to
take his spot at the interview table, Williams shifts gears from football player to pure
character.
"Hey, everybody," he says, taking a pair of mini tape recorders from the
table and placing them on his forehead to exaggerate his college teammate’s bushy
eyebrows. "I’m Quentin Jammer."
The table roars, and Jammer, laughing, asks why he had to go and do that.
"The Serpent made me do it," Williams reasons with a sly smile. "You saw
what happened to Adam and Eve. Don’t bite the apple."
The night before the draft, Mike Williams, the character, takes it easy. He likes to
sleep and just chill, which is exactly what he does the night before the biggest day of
his life. With the family banquet for the five draftees complete, Williams retires to his
room to relax, watch a movie and clear his head as some of his family and his agent hit
the town for dinner. Of course, a room-service steak was in order, but that was about it
in terms of disruptions.
When Williams emerges from the hotel with his family the day before the draft,
he’s wearing a sharp gray suit.
Who picked it out? A girlfriend? His mother?
"Nah, man," he exclaims, his face carrying a look of disappointment with the
question. "This is all me. See, I do have a little style."
His shoes back up that statement. They’re custom-made, part alligator, part
ostrich.
"They kind of complement each other, don’t you think?" he says.
Moments before the five players and their families load on to a bus to head down to
Madison Square Garden, ESPN producers attach a microphone to his jacket and willingly
allow him to do a hilarious self-introduction in front of the cameras for a piece on the
life of a rookie.
After it’s over, he rejoins his family and then remembers he’s still wearing
the microphone.
"Raise your hand if you can hear me," he says into it, as his brother,
sister-in-law and a few other relatives scan the sidewalk for his latest victim.
He repeats his request in a higher-pitched voice. Finally, a cameraman with earphones
sorting power cords about 20 feet away arises, smiles and raises his hand. The Williams
family laughs.
"There he is," Williams says.
The gregarious Williams is unusually quiet in the green room as the draft starts, and
he can’t sit still, causing Jammer to rib him a bit.
But as soon as the Bills make him the fourth overall pick, he’s back to his old
self, shaking hands with the Buffalo reps, handling a press conference, conducting a
conference call with the Buffalo media, signing autographs, posing for more pictures and
bringing out more laughter — this time from the bellies of two Houston radio show
hosts.
As Williams is about to duck out of sight with his family, he hears cheers from a
handful of Bills fans in the audience at the Garden. He points to them and nods.
Even after just two days, it’s understandable to think that even without football,
Williams would still have people around him, and his charisma would always make him the
center of attention. This is something Kevin, his older brother, is well aware of.
"He’s always gonna be Mike," Kevin says.
Which leads me to believe that Buffalo is one lucky town. |
