RipperIII
Senior Member
...good kid, great story
ROLL TIDE!
In football, as in physics, pressure is the measurement of force upon an object. The smaller the object, the greater the pressure. Fortunately, at 215 rock-solid pounds, Mark Ingram is no small object.
As he slowly crosses Alabama's campus on an early-summer day, smiling with every step, the reigning Heisman Trophy winner shows no sign that he is under as much stress as any college football player in recent memory. "My mom told me college would be the greatest years of my life, and she was right," Ingram says. "I'm having so much fun."
He isn't one to acknowledge it, but the pressure is constant. It comes from crimson-coated fans who clamor for a repeat of the Tide's BCS championship. It comes from opinion-wielding writers looking to mine his story as the son of an NFL star who fell from grace. It comes from the expectations that his undeniable talent brings and that his own work ethic demands.
Like many children of pro athletes, Ingram has always been scrutinized. Ever since he first Edited to Remove Profanity ----cradled a football in his arms, at the age of 3, he has heard "There goes Mark Ingram's kid." And as his father's legacy grew during a 10-yearEdited to Remove Profanity ----career as a wide receiver, most notably with the Giants and Dolphins, so did the subtle stress on Little Mark. In middle school, when he began showing signs of greatness on the gridiron, the younger Ingram carried the burden of his dad's athletic reputation like an overloaded backpack, never bending under its weight. "One day, Mark told me he was going to be better than I was," says Mark Sr. "I told him he should be, if he was willing to put in the work. I told him it would be my fault if he wasn't."
But around that same time, the kid also began lugging the heft of his father's criminal reputation. In 2001, when Little Mark was 11, Big Mark was convicted of possessing counterfeit money and sentenced to six months in prison. Three years later, he served another year for stealing a credit card. Currently, he is serving a nine-year sentence for money laundering, bank fraud and jumping bail to watch his son play in the 2009 Sugar Bowl. (Mark Sr. answered questions for this story via e-mail from a Brooklyn, N.Y., prison.)
Mark Ingram
John Loomis for ESPN The MagazineIngram's smiling face is a common sight on Alabama's campus.
All along, Little Mark has kept that smile on his face, dealing with the pressure by focusing on his own abilities and insulating himself with family. One of his biggest supporters has always been his maternal grandfather, Art Johnson, a former star halfback at Michigan State and in the CFL. When Little Mark started on the varsity as a freshman at Grand Blanc (Mich.) High, Grandpa Art drove him to every practice, using the time with his only grandson to talk about life and the importance of teamwork and schoolwork. It was Grandpa Art who preached that a positive attitude and an honest smile can overcome a lot of obstacles.
But this season, Ingram's optimism will be challenged as never before, because when the 20-year-old junior looks to the family section at Bryant-Denny Stadium, Grandpa Art won't be there, cheering in his crimson 22 jersey. On July 31, just one day after Ingram visited him on a trip home to Michigan, his grandfather died of a heart attack, at age 75. He was wearing his Alabama sweatpants.
Always quick with a good story, Grandpa Art left Little Mark with enough wisdom to fill a locker room chalkboard. "He taught me to take care of my family," Ingram says, "because that's who'll be there for you when times are tough." The last time they saw each other, Art told Mark, "I feel good. I have big plans for you this season. Great things are going to happen." Mark's reply: "I have big plans for myself too."
Grandpa Art was a constant presence, offering guidance and filling in the gaps when Big Mark wasn't around. At the end of his junior year, Little Mark transferred to nearby Flint Southwestern, where he capped his high school career with his dad back home again, coaching his track team. But the joy of having both men in the stands was short-lived when Mark Sr. returned to prison on Jan. 2, 2009. And as his son's star rose at Alabama, the family's struggles became front-page news.
Mark can't dip his wing into ranch dressing before people line up at the table asking him for pictures and autographs.
"People are attracted to talking about my dad because it's a good story," says Ingram, who spoke with his father two or three times a week throughout the 2009 season and visited him in prison for the first time in May. "I don't listen to the negative stuff. I know my dad's a good guy, and the reason he's locked up right now is that he wanted to provide a better life for me and my three little sisters and my mother." He pauses. "My mom is my heart. My sisters, I'd take a bullet for. My grandparents taught me so much. But I am my father. Everything I am right now is because of him: the character I have, the work ethic I have, my approach to everyday life."
That approach -- relentless yet relaxed -- kept Ingram from becoming frustrated as a Bama freshman, when he led the team with 12 touchdowns despite playing behind Glen Coffee. And it helped him earn the trust of his teammates and coaches last fall, when he carried the offense for the first half of the season. In the Crimson Tide's first four SEC games, Ingram scored more TDs (six) than the rest of the offense combined (five). Against Tennessee in late October, though, Ingram was the one needing a boost, when he was uncharacteristically despondent after losing the first and only fumble of his career, with 3:29 remaining in the game. "I was messed up by that," he says. "The worst thing a running back can do is fumble." But Tide nose tackle Terrence Cody blocked a last-second field goal attempt by the Volunteers, saving the day and the season. And when Ingram met afterward with coach Nick Saban, a man not known to tolerate sloppy play, the running back got a pep talk instead of a lecture. "We talked about how fragile a season is," Saban says. "You make one mistake, and you have to overcome it. There are a lot of lessons to be learned from that game."
Ingram learned that he shouldn't feel as if everything rode on him. When he called home, Grandpa Art told him the same. "If they had lost that game, he wouldn't have been the same all week," Johnson said in June. "He takes great responsibility." But Ingram is learning to share it. "I have great teammates, coaches and a great organization around us," he says. "I don't feel pressure, because we have a lot of weapons. I'm not Alabama football."
Collaboration is what Ingram likes most about football; it's why he gave up the sports he says were his best to focus on the one he loved. As a prep point guard, he was known for his quick hands and great vision. "I thought I was going to be the next Michael Jordan," he says. (Well, except Ingram is 5'10".) He was also a nine-time all-state sprinter (10.69 in the 100 meters, 21.9 in the 200). And when it comes to golf, well, you just have to see him to believe it.
John Loomis for ESPN The MagazineIngram's game on the links almost rivals his game on the gridiron.
On a Wednesday afternoon in June, Ingram arrives at the driving range of the university golf course fresh from geology class, where the dean's list communications major stole glances at the USA-Algeria World Cup game streaming on a classmate's laptop. It's the type of Southern day that melts the rubber off of shoes, but Ingram is ready to back up rumors of his once-great golf game. He picked up his first club at age 4, as part of Dad's keep-him-out-of-football program, which included stints in swimming, T-ball, soccer and tae kwon do, in which the boy earned a black belt by age 9. "He knew football was a brutal sport with a short career span," Little Mark says of his father. "He told me, 'You can play golf until you're 70.' " So the two Ingrams hit the links for hours every day, Little Mark working every club in his bag. By middle school, he was winning national events. At 13, he was the youngest player invited to play in the college division of a junior tournament in Lima, Ohio, where he shot a 69 in qualifying. "I came back the next day and shot a first-round 82," he says. "What a terrible way to follow a 69."
On the private driving range at Bama's course, after a few warmup swings with a 5-wood, Ingram grabs a 7-iron, then strolls back to his ball. If he were wet cement, he'd be dry before taking a swing. Ingram is so laid-back, it's surprising he doesn't tip over. He is polite, quiet, but not shy. He smiles more than a Powerball winner and is eternally positive, especially around anyone who worries over negative thoughts. "That's the thing about Mark -- he's always so under control," says senior QB Greg McElroy. "You never see him panic or let his emotions take over."
Ingram looks out of place on the golf course, dressed in black socks and Nike flip-flops, a white T-shirt and black, baggy gym shorts that end just above the oblong granite slabs that make up his calves. Golfers are not built like this, with shoulders thick as headrests and forearms that would turn Popeye spinach-green with envy. When he finally arrives at his spot (we've fast-forwarded the scene for storytelling's sake), Ingram uses his left foot and the club to pick up the ball. He bounces it on the clubface, Tiger-style, like a Hacky Sack. Bounce ... bounce ... stop ... bounce ... bounce ... bounce ... stop ... around the world ... through his legs ... bounce ... bounce ... bounce ... He lays the ball down, takes a smooth, powerful swing and hits it clean.
The last time they saw each other, Art told Mark, "I have big plans for you this season. Great things are going to happen." Mark's reply: "I have big plans for myself."
Ingram tees up a second ball, and when he uncoils his driver, he looks very much the golfer. "It don't get much better than that!" he yells, now alive, backing away from the tee. "There's no better feeling than smoking one off the tee and not even having to look at the ball." He pauses and then laughs at the oversight. "Okay, maybe scoring touchdowns. And holding that crystal football." The drive flies past the yard markers and lands on a distant tee box, 330 yards away. Did we mention he's wearing flip-flops? "Everything I do," Ingram says, "I want to be the best."
So he has tucked away his BCS championship ring, and his Heisman Trophy sits on his mom's dining room table in Michigan. Last year is history. "I want to be the best who ever played the game," Ingram reiterates. "That might not happen, but it's what gets me up every morning." Which means hitting snooze on 6 a.m. workouts isn't an option. "Mark doesn't think about the three touchdowns he just had," McElroy says. "He thinks about the one block he missed, the one sack I took. And he's the first one in the film room making sure it never happens again."
But he will do it all with a heavier heart this season. Grandpa Art was there when Little Mark scored his first high school touchdown, and when he scored his last. He was there when Coach Saban sat on the family couch, stressing that the South had changed for the better. He was in Atlanta when Ingram rushed for 113 yards and three touchdowns in last year's SEC championship game, and in Pasadena when Ingram cradled the national championship trophy at the Rose Bowl, and in New York City when Ingram became Bama's first Heisman winner. Now Grandpa Art is gone, and Little Mark's smile will be tested. He will pull family and friends closer. And when he misses his grandfather's presence, he'll tell one of Art's trademark stories about growing up in 1950s Flint as a three-sport all-state athlete, about playing for Duffy Daugherty's Spartans alongside future Hall of Famer Herb Adderley, about the rewards of working hard in the GM truck-and-bus plant.
Kent Gidley/UAGrandpa Art followed every step of Little Mark's stunning run to the Heisman.
Facing a level of local celebrity that it might take Brad Pitt to understand, Ingram had already turned his attention to those in his inner circle. "Most people, if they were in Mark's shoes, they would have a big head," junior wideout Julio Jones says. "They wouldn't want to teach the young guy the ropes, show him how to get where he is. But Mark's not like that."
Ingram almost always accommodates autograph seekers, whether he's walking to class or grabbing a bite. "At the Heisman ceremony, Tim Tebow told me that when I got back to campus, it would be like a petting zoo," he says. Adds Tide center William Vlachos, "Mark can't dip his wing into ranch dressing before people line up at the table asking him for pictures and autographs." When Ingram's mother, Shonda, is in town, she gets stopped at Wal-Mart for her signature.
Back home in Flint, it's more of the same. People drop items off at the Ingram house to get autographed. Mayor Dayne Walling proclaimed Dec. 12 Mark Ingram Jr. Day. Flint Southwestern unveiled new scoreboards with Ingram's name on them. And the town erected a billboard on I-69 celebrating his Heisman win -- a sign that was stolen a few days before Grandpa Art died.
Nobody understands the impact of it all better than Shonda, who was born and raised in Flint and is a behavior specialist for the school district. "Sometimes it beats you down to see the situations kids are in here," she says. "What Mark has accomplished means a lot to the community and to the youth. It gives them hope."
As the spotlight intensifies on Ingram at a time of deeply personal loss, don't expect him to lose his honest smile or his drive to succeed. Just listen to Grandpa Art talking earlier this Edited to Remove Profanity ----summer: "A year or two before Mark left for Alabama, I told his dad, 'You know what? He's better than either of us ever was.' His dad agreed. But we won't ever tell Mark that. We don't want him to get too full of himself."
That's not likely to happen. No. 22 has so much left to play for.
ROLL TIDE!
In football, as in physics, pressure is the measurement of force upon an object. The smaller the object, the greater the pressure. Fortunately, at 215 rock-solid pounds, Mark Ingram is no small object.
As he slowly crosses Alabama's campus on an early-summer day, smiling with every step, the reigning Heisman Trophy winner shows no sign that he is under as much stress as any college football player in recent memory. "My mom told me college would be the greatest years of my life, and she was right," Ingram says. "I'm having so much fun."
He isn't one to acknowledge it, but the pressure is constant. It comes from crimson-coated fans who clamor for a repeat of the Tide's BCS championship. It comes from opinion-wielding writers looking to mine his story as the son of an NFL star who fell from grace. It comes from the expectations that his undeniable talent brings and that his own work ethic demands.
Like many children of pro athletes, Ingram has always been scrutinized. Ever since he first Edited to Remove Profanity ----cradled a football in his arms, at the age of 3, he has heard "There goes Mark Ingram's kid." And as his father's legacy grew during a 10-yearEdited to Remove Profanity ----career as a wide receiver, most notably with the Giants and Dolphins, so did the subtle stress on Little Mark. In middle school, when he began showing signs of greatness on the gridiron, the younger Ingram carried the burden of his dad's athletic reputation like an overloaded backpack, never bending under its weight. "One day, Mark told me he was going to be better than I was," says Mark Sr. "I told him he should be, if he was willing to put in the work. I told him it would be my fault if he wasn't."
But around that same time, the kid also began lugging the heft of his father's criminal reputation. In 2001, when Little Mark was 11, Big Mark was convicted of possessing counterfeit money and sentenced to six months in prison. Three years later, he served another year for stealing a credit card. Currently, he is serving a nine-year sentence for money laundering, bank fraud and jumping bail to watch his son play in the 2009 Sugar Bowl. (Mark Sr. answered questions for this story via e-mail from a Brooklyn, N.Y., prison.)
Mark Ingram
John Loomis for ESPN The MagazineIngram's smiling face is a common sight on Alabama's campus.
All along, Little Mark has kept that smile on his face, dealing with the pressure by focusing on his own abilities and insulating himself with family. One of his biggest supporters has always been his maternal grandfather, Art Johnson, a former star halfback at Michigan State and in the CFL. When Little Mark started on the varsity as a freshman at Grand Blanc (Mich.) High, Grandpa Art drove him to every practice, using the time with his only grandson to talk about life and the importance of teamwork and schoolwork. It was Grandpa Art who preached that a positive attitude and an honest smile can overcome a lot of obstacles.
But this season, Ingram's optimism will be challenged as never before, because when the 20-year-old junior looks to the family section at Bryant-Denny Stadium, Grandpa Art won't be there, cheering in his crimson 22 jersey. On July 31, just one day after Ingram visited him on a trip home to Michigan, his grandfather died of a heart attack, at age 75. He was wearing his Alabama sweatpants.
Always quick with a good story, Grandpa Art left Little Mark with enough wisdom to fill a locker room chalkboard. "He taught me to take care of my family," Ingram says, "because that's who'll be there for you when times are tough." The last time they saw each other, Art told Mark, "I feel good. I have big plans for you this season. Great things are going to happen." Mark's reply: "I have big plans for myself too."
Grandpa Art was a constant presence, offering guidance and filling in the gaps when Big Mark wasn't around. At the end of his junior year, Little Mark transferred to nearby Flint Southwestern, where he capped his high school career with his dad back home again, coaching his track team. But the joy of having both men in the stands was short-lived when Mark Sr. returned to prison on Jan. 2, 2009. And as his son's star rose at Alabama, the family's struggles became front-page news.
Mark can't dip his wing into ranch dressing before people line up at the table asking him for pictures and autographs.
"People are attracted to talking about my dad because it's a good story," says Ingram, who spoke with his father two or three times a week throughout the 2009 season and visited him in prison for the first time in May. "I don't listen to the negative stuff. I know my dad's a good guy, and the reason he's locked up right now is that he wanted to provide a better life for me and my three little sisters and my mother." He pauses. "My mom is my heart. My sisters, I'd take a bullet for. My grandparents taught me so much. But I am my father. Everything I am right now is because of him: the character I have, the work ethic I have, my approach to everyday life."
That approach -- relentless yet relaxed -- kept Ingram from becoming frustrated as a Bama freshman, when he led the team with 12 touchdowns despite playing behind Glen Coffee. And it helped him earn the trust of his teammates and coaches last fall, when he carried the offense for the first half of the season. In the Crimson Tide's first four SEC games, Ingram scored more TDs (six) than the rest of the offense combined (five). Against Tennessee in late October, though, Ingram was the one needing a boost, when he was uncharacteristically despondent after losing the first and only fumble of his career, with 3:29 remaining in the game. "I was messed up by that," he says. "The worst thing a running back can do is fumble." But Tide nose tackle Terrence Cody blocked a last-second field goal attempt by the Volunteers, saving the day and the season. And when Ingram met afterward with coach Nick Saban, a man not known to tolerate sloppy play, the running back got a pep talk instead of a lecture. "We talked about how fragile a season is," Saban says. "You make one mistake, and you have to overcome it. There are a lot of lessons to be learned from that game."
Ingram learned that he shouldn't feel as if everything rode on him. When he called home, Grandpa Art told him the same. "If they had lost that game, he wouldn't have been the same all week," Johnson said in June. "He takes great responsibility." But Ingram is learning to share it. "I have great teammates, coaches and a great organization around us," he says. "I don't feel pressure, because we have a lot of weapons. I'm not Alabama football."
Collaboration is what Ingram likes most about football; it's why he gave up the sports he says were his best to focus on the one he loved. As a prep point guard, he was known for his quick hands and great vision. "I thought I was going to be the next Michael Jordan," he says. (Well, except Ingram is 5'10".) He was also a nine-time all-state sprinter (10.69 in the 100 meters, 21.9 in the 200). And when it comes to golf, well, you just have to see him to believe it.
John Loomis for ESPN The MagazineIngram's game on the links almost rivals his game on the gridiron.
On a Wednesday afternoon in June, Ingram arrives at the driving range of the university golf course fresh from geology class, where the dean's list communications major stole glances at the USA-Algeria World Cup game streaming on a classmate's laptop. It's the type of Southern day that melts the rubber off of shoes, but Ingram is ready to back up rumors of his once-great golf game. He picked up his first club at age 4, as part of Dad's keep-him-out-of-football program, which included stints in swimming, T-ball, soccer and tae kwon do, in which the boy earned a black belt by age 9. "He knew football was a brutal sport with a short career span," Little Mark says of his father. "He told me, 'You can play golf until you're 70.' " So the two Ingrams hit the links for hours every day, Little Mark working every club in his bag. By middle school, he was winning national events. At 13, he was the youngest player invited to play in the college division of a junior tournament in Lima, Ohio, where he shot a 69 in qualifying. "I came back the next day and shot a first-round 82," he says. "What a terrible way to follow a 69."
On the private driving range at Bama's course, after a few warmup swings with a 5-wood, Ingram grabs a 7-iron, then strolls back to his ball. If he were wet cement, he'd be dry before taking a swing. Ingram is so laid-back, it's surprising he doesn't tip over. He is polite, quiet, but not shy. He smiles more than a Powerball winner and is eternally positive, especially around anyone who worries over negative thoughts. "That's the thing about Mark -- he's always so under control," says senior QB Greg McElroy. "You never see him panic or let his emotions take over."
Ingram looks out of place on the golf course, dressed in black socks and Nike flip-flops, a white T-shirt and black, baggy gym shorts that end just above the oblong granite slabs that make up his calves. Golfers are not built like this, with shoulders thick as headrests and forearms that would turn Popeye spinach-green with envy. When he finally arrives at his spot (we've fast-forwarded the scene for storytelling's sake), Ingram uses his left foot and the club to pick up the ball. He bounces it on the clubface, Tiger-style, like a Hacky Sack. Bounce ... bounce ... stop ... bounce ... bounce ... bounce ... stop ... around the world ... through his legs ... bounce ... bounce ... bounce ... He lays the ball down, takes a smooth, powerful swing and hits it clean.
The last time they saw each other, Art told Mark, "I have big plans for you this season. Great things are going to happen." Mark's reply: "I have big plans for myself."
Ingram tees up a second ball, and when he uncoils his driver, he looks very much the golfer. "It don't get much better than that!" he yells, now alive, backing away from the tee. "There's no better feeling than smoking one off the tee and not even having to look at the ball." He pauses and then laughs at the oversight. "Okay, maybe scoring touchdowns. And holding that crystal football." The drive flies past the yard markers and lands on a distant tee box, 330 yards away. Did we mention he's wearing flip-flops? "Everything I do," Ingram says, "I want to be the best."
So he has tucked away his BCS championship ring, and his Heisman Trophy sits on his mom's dining room table in Michigan. Last year is history. "I want to be the best who ever played the game," Ingram reiterates. "That might not happen, but it's what gets me up every morning." Which means hitting snooze on 6 a.m. workouts isn't an option. "Mark doesn't think about the three touchdowns he just had," McElroy says. "He thinks about the one block he missed, the one sack I took. And he's the first one in the film room making sure it never happens again."
But he will do it all with a heavier heart this season. Grandpa Art was there when Little Mark scored his first high school touchdown, and when he scored his last. He was there when Coach Saban sat on the family couch, stressing that the South had changed for the better. He was in Atlanta when Ingram rushed for 113 yards and three touchdowns in last year's SEC championship game, and in Pasadena when Ingram cradled the national championship trophy at the Rose Bowl, and in New York City when Ingram became Bama's first Heisman winner. Now Grandpa Art is gone, and Little Mark's smile will be tested. He will pull family and friends closer. And when he misses his grandfather's presence, he'll tell one of Art's trademark stories about growing up in 1950s Flint as a three-sport all-state athlete, about playing for Duffy Daugherty's Spartans alongside future Hall of Famer Herb Adderley, about the rewards of working hard in the GM truck-and-bus plant.
Kent Gidley/UAGrandpa Art followed every step of Little Mark's stunning run to the Heisman.
Facing a level of local celebrity that it might take Brad Pitt to understand, Ingram had already turned his attention to those in his inner circle. "Most people, if they were in Mark's shoes, they would have a big head," junior wideout Julio Jones says. "They wouldn't want to teach the young guy the ropes, show him how to get where he is. But Mark's not like that."
Ingram almost always accommodates autograph seekers, whether he's walking to class or grabbing a bite. "At the Heisman ceremony, Tim Tebow told me that when I got back to campus, it would be like a petting zoo," he says. Adds Tide center William Vlachos, "Mark can't dip his wing into ranch dressing before people line up at the table asking him for pictures and autographs." When Ingram's mother, Shonda, is in town, she gets stopped at Wal-Mart for her signature.
Back home in Flint, it's more of the same. People drop items off at the Ingram house to get autographed. Mayor Dayne Walling proclaimed Dec. 12 Mark Ingram Jr. Day. Flint Southwestern unveiled new scoreboards with Ingram's name on them. And the town erected a billboard on I-69 celebrating his Heisman win -- a sign that was stolen a few days before Grandpa Art died.
Nobody understands the impact of it all better than Shonda, who was born and raised in Flint and is a behavior specialist for the school district. "Sometimes it beats you down to see the situations kids are in here," she says. "What Mark has accomplished means a lot to the community and to the youth. It gives them hope."
As the spotlight intensifies on Ingram at a time of deeply personal loss, don't expect him to lose his honest smile or his drive to succeed. Just listen to Grandpa Art talking earlier this Edited to Remove Profanity ----summer: "A year or two before Mark left for Alabama, I told his dad, 'You know what? He's better than either of us ever was.' His dad agreed. But we won't ever tell Mark that. We don't want him to get too full of himself."
That's not likely to happen. No. 22 has so much left to play for.
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