The Travis Henry I Remember

Posted by Geoff

Less than a month ago, Travis Henry was arrested and charged with trafficking cocaine.

I remember watching him play with broken ribs when he was with the Bills. Between possessions, he would come to the sideline and take off his shoulder pads so that the trainer could wrap duct tape around his midsection before he went on the field again. He never complained, never took a day off even when the Bills were out of contention. He would just come to the sideline, add another layer of tape, and head back onto the field. He was incredible between the lines.

It was off the field that Travis Henry struggled. Of course, we never saw it in Buffalo… not the illegitimate children, not the problems with drugs, not the mental anguish. Only the commitment of a man playing through daily pain. Only the talent that kept him in demand in the NFL. Only the athlete we admired from safely outside the lines.

People talk about Travis Henry like he’s a story that has already been told. The fall from greatness: Michael Vick, Marcus Vick, Rae Carruth. The incredible athlete whose talents were overshadowed by off the field problems: O.J. Simpson, Maurice Clarrett, Adam “Pacman” Jones. The troubled star: Jamal Lewis, Ray Lewis… The list goes on, longer than I care to recite. Long enough that it stops being novel. Long enough that it stops being about a person and starts being about a stereotype.

Of course, Travis Henry isn’t a stereotype. He’s a person, just like you or I. A person with friends and a family. And for those four years he was in Buffalo, he was a man among boys between the lines. He was a player’s player. He was a fan’s player. He deserves more than being a punch line to a bad joke, more than being cast aside lightly as another example of a life wasted. His fans deserve more.

But we don’t always get what we deserve. When people look back on Travis Henry, if they look back on Travis Henry, it will probably be more for what ended his career than what composed it. At least for now, I still cling to the Travis Henry I remember, the man between the lines. The player we longed to be like who never knew how much we believed in him. The player I still long to be like. So tonight, as I lie down to sleep, I mentally pull a roll of duct tape around my memories of Travis Henry rushing down the sideline. My spirit aches; I lower my shoulder and hit the pile. I try to remember the Travis Henry I knew, and try to forget the Travis Henry everyone else knows.