The rise and fall of a gridiron hero

Probably my most prized possession on earth is my photo album collection. I have eight albums, all which hold 300 pictures, that are dated chronologically and go back years. True to my sappy nature, I enjoy whipping out these albums from time to time and reliving old memories. But last week I was different. I came across some very disturbing pictures of my ninth birthday party which occurred when I was living in Sacramento, California (or "Sactown," as the natives refer to it.)

You see, one of the kids in those pictures - one of my oldest friends - is on trial for murder. This, in and of itself, is not particularly amazing, as a lot of the kids I grew up with in Sactown are either in jail or dead at this point, but the circumstances of this case are what make it so remarkable.

 

Branden Sanz Dropping the Hammer

It all started when I first moved there, back in third grade. I made friends pretty quickly and soon developed a crew of about five guys from which I was inseparable. One of these guys was a tall, lanky, black kid named Raelamar who was a year older than myself. Raelamar lived half a block away from me in the quiet, suburban neighborhood I had moved to and he was Yin to my Yang. Then, as now, I tended to wear my emotions on my sleeve, but Raelamar was always very quiet and reserved. I can honestly say that in over six years of constant contact I can only remember him laughing once - at my ninth birthday party. But for whatever reason, however those childhood relationships work out, we became good friends.

But as we grew, Sacramento grew up even faster. When I first moved there it was a lazy, sprawling town of about 800,000. By the time I moved away Sacramento had become a bustling metropolis of over 2 million people. And as people moved in, the inner-city moved outwards. South Sacramento became awash with gangs and drugs. Drive-by's and school shootings started to occur. Rapes and murders became commonplace, an everyday part of life. Schools started installing metal detectors because the gun problem was so bad, and when we started high school at nearby Valley High, we were told that we could not wear hats or Starter jackets because they could be construed as "gang-affiliated."

Through all this, Raelamar and I held on to our dreams. We were going to get out of this ghetto-hellhole and athletics would be our ticket. He was going to be a star shooting guard and go to the NBA - the next Jordan. I was going to be an All-American defensive end and a first-round NFL draft pick, the next Charles Mann (another Valley High alumnus).

Real life didn't quite work out that way. After freshman year, I moved to Reno, where I realized I was never going to grow into the 6'5," 270 pound frame I wanted, and decided to give up football for wrestling and rodeo, sports more suited to my less-than-gargantuan size. Raelamar traded in basketball for football, where he became a star running back at Valley, gaining over 1,800 yards his senior year and was given a full-ride scholarship to Colorado, where he went on to become an All-American wide receiver and a first-round NFL draft pick. Talk about irony!

I kept in touch with Raelamar those last few years of high school, visiting whenever I stopped into town, but I haven't talked to him much since he left for Colorado. And now he is in jail for murder, one of my oldest friends. You might be thinking, "Hey wait! I've never heard of an NFL wide receiver named Raelamar!" Well, you are correct. You see, when Raelamar started high school, he shortened his name to "Rae." And his last name? Carruth.

In case you've been on a desert island, jury selection began last week for the trial of Rae Carruth, former wide receiver of the Carolina Panthers. Rae is accused of murder, specifically for masterminding the shooting of his pregnant girlfriend Cherica Adams last November. Friends and family have called to ask me how I'm doing and what I think about it. What do I think? Well, I think he's guilty. I hope to God I'm wrong, but I would be a hypocrite in the extreme if I thought O.J. was guilty because he ran (which I did) and thought Rae, who also ran, was innocent just because he was a friend of mine.

Am I sad? Very. But even more than that, I'm angry. I'm angry because I remember two little boys talking together long ago about how they were going to get out of the 'hood, how they were going to beat the system of drugs and violence that had already ambushed so many people they knew. I'm angry because those two boys actually accomplished what they set out to do; they did get out, they did beat the system. I'm angry because one of those boys forgot the promise he had made to himself and to his friend, long ago.

There's a saying in Sactown: "You can take the boy out of the 'hood, but you can't take the 'hood out of the boy." (And yes, we were saying this long before the movie came out). I always thought that was a cop-out, just another excuse for people to justify breaking the law. Now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'm angry because I'm scared the 'hood is still there within me, just waiting for the right time to come out. If the 'hood got Rae, maybe it will still get me too. I guess I'll just have to wait and see ...

- Branden Sanz can be reached via

e-mail at hamrhead@umich.edu.