Dr. Narcisse
Veteran


@Big Boss
@Peter Vecsey
The thing is, though, you don’t even know me.
Chuck, you have never so much as shook my hand, let alone exchanged a single word with me. Few of you have, to be honest. Respectfully, your worry over my “problems” with substance abuse and my twisting descent into darkness and, apparently, my impending death, is misplaced — mostly because you have very little idea what you are talking about. None of you do, even those of you who seem curiously obsessed with the goings-on in my life:
You're done with me, Stephen A.? That presumes we ever actually got started. How, exactly, can you be “done” with someone you have never had a meaningful conversation with beyond a quick First Take spot? Regardless, I am relieved that you no longer need to harbor sympathy for me — mostly because I never asked for it, never wanted it, and certainly never needed it. I am not a victim here; I never claimed to be one, either.
And Cris, your level of interest in my life is even more puzzling, especially considering we have never met, either.
In addition to being concerned about me — like when you publicly called for the Browns cut me so I could learn the same lessons you learned — you also stated as fact that “we are dealing with addiction here.” Know this: We are not dealing with anything, Cris. We are not the same. Not at all.
So, in the interest of lifting the heavy burden of my welfare off your collective consciences, I’d like to set the record straight about a few things.
Truth is, I have not smoked marijuana since before I was drafted by the Browns in 2012 — and there are years’ worth of drug tests to prove it.
So, then how did I get here, you ask? That’s easy. I messed up. But to even begin to understand why I messed up, you need to know the Josh Gordon that existed before the NFL.
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(AP)
I don’t speak of it often, and even less so publicly, but I faced a fair amount of hardship growing up. My father was pretty much out of the picture, which left my mom to fend for herself with three sons at home. She did the best she could, but there were large stretches of time as an adolescent when I was completely alone — with no supervision, no one to guide me, and no one to keep me in line.
We lived in a poor section of Houston called Fondren, and to say it was a rough place would be putting it lightly. The other kids in the neighborhood weren’t well off, either, but it always felt like we had even less to our name. We moved at least seven times, and things were so bad sometimes, there were days I would come home from school and there would be no electricity, heat or hot water.
Over time, particularly after my older brothers moved out, I started hanging out with the wrong kind of people. The kind who would think nothing not only of carrying guns, but using them. Back then, smoking marijuana wasn’t an addiction for any of us — we were still boys, basically. It was just whateveryone did. It was everywhere, just like alcohol was.
So Charles, Stephen A., Cris — you judge me now, but what if you came from where I come from? Heck, maybe you did experience similar upbringings, but I wouldn’t know, because I do not know you. Each of you have dealt with more than your fair shares of self-inflicted controversies, though, that I doknow.
On Jan. 2 of this year, just days after our season ended earlier than we all had hoped — and yes, my actions during the prior offseason definitely contributed to our failure to make the playoffs; it killed me seeing our guys fight so hard when I wasn’t out there with them — I boarded a private flight to Las Vegas with several teammates. During the flight, I had two beers and two drinks. It was the first time I had consumed so much as a drop of alcohol since July 4, 2014, the day of the DWI.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am not much of a drinker. Even calling me a social drinker would be an exaggeration, but at that moment, on that flight, I made a choice. The wrong choice, as it turned out.
Upon landing, I received the all-too-familiar notice by phone that I was to report to a testing location within four hours. I failed the test, obviously, and the rest is history … colored by media speculation and faux outrage.
In the end, of course, I failed myself.
It doesn’t matter if I thought that the league-imposed restriction on drinking had expired at the end of the regular season; what matters is that I didn’t confirm whether or not that was the case. Now, that oversight has further jeopardized my relationship with my team and our fans, my reputation, and maybe even my career.
So that’s it, Charles & Co.
These are the actual facts surrounding my situation, and these are my words. What comes next is uncertain. I haven’t decided whether to appeal the latest suspension. That’s a matter for my agent and me to discuss.
To those of you who traffic in lies and innuendo over fact, with seemingly no consequences for your actions …
Josh Gordon has now not gone any calendar year since the seventh grade without failing a drug test...
— @allbrightnfl
I really don’t know how you get away with it.
What I do know is the following: I am not a drug addict; I am not an alcoholic; I am not someone who deserves to be dissected and analyzed like some tragic example of everything that can possibly go wrong for a professional athlete. And … I am not going to die on account of the troubled state you wrongly believe my life to be in. I am a human being, with feelings and emotions and scars and flaws, just like anyone else. I make mistakes — I have made a lot of mistakes — but I am a good person, and I will persevere.
If I have a “problem,” it is that I am only 23 years old — with a lot left to learn. I’ve come a long way from those mean Fondren streets, but it’s clear that I can be a better me — one who kids coming up to me for selfies and autographs can be proud of. I want that future for myself. And I truly believe that what I am going through right now will only make me stronger. I believe that my future is bright.
If you see me someday, Chuck, Stephen A., Cris, or any other well-intentioned person to whom this letter is directed, please come on over, shake my hand, and say hello. I won’t be holding a grudge, but I will expect you to admit you were wrong about me.
Sincerely,
Josh Gordon, No. 12
https://medium.com/the-cauldron/an-open-letter-to-charles-barkley-co-cb5c4e64cf3
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