Former NFL player reaches out to troubled Dvoracek

EDMOND, Okla. -- We'll never know for sure how inebriated Dusty Dvoracek might have been.

His situation to this point has been painted over with code words like "alcohol-related" and "rehabilitation". There are few, if any, formal charges but lots of reported allegations involving drinking and violence. When Oklahoma's star defensive lineman was kicked off the team in September, Bob Stoops called Dvoracek's conduct "a pattern of behavior."

Bob Stoops said there was a 'pattern of behavior' that led to Dvoracek's dismissal. (Getty Images)

Those are labels that only hint at the depths of his problems.

But one way or another, all of it is over -- either Dvoracek's off-field conduct or his career. The NCAA already has granted him what many consider a precedent-setting mulligan -- a medical redshirt granted after he underwent alcohol abuse counseling.

With a college and NFL career to consider, he can't screw up again.

"Dusty can't drink," says Jim Riley, the man who treated him. "He gets caught drinking, it's over. He's automatically suspended. He can't even sit down and have a beer. He can't drink that way anyway, so it doesn't make any difference."

Jim Riley, 59, is candid because life hasn't pulled any punches with him. So why should he? Riley doesn't hide behind privacy concerns or code words. Riley played six seasons in the NFL, was a member of the 1972 undefeated Miami Dolphins. He was an alcoholic for probably triple that amount of time. And worse.

Some members of that '72 Dolphins team made it a habit to share a bottle of champagne each year the last undefeated NFL team lost a game. Not Riley. He was way beyond that.

"I even started doing cocaine," he said. "I was out of control."

Twenty years ago he took the cure, agreeing to enter himself into rehab. Sixteen years ago his 19-year old son Blake stared him in the eye and said, "I promise you I'll never touch a drop of alcohol as long as I live, as long as you don't."

Then a couple of months later, Blake was dead in a car crash, the only fatality in car filled with three other friends traveling back from an Oklahoma football game. The promise was fulfilled, but way too early.

So when it comes to the cold, hard truth, Riley doesn't flinch. His Jim Riley Outreach ministry started shortly after Blake's death. The ministry counsels those with drug and alcohol problems.

Riley continued his abstinence, even when the depths of horrific depression tempted him. And he reasons, so can everyone else.

"It was like someone had reached into my chest and pulled out my heart," Riley said of the crash on Oct. 29, 1989. "I thought life would never be the way it is."

His life altered forever, Riley channeled his energy into the Outreach, a non-profit organization that operates out of here. "Big Jim" is a well-known counselor -- as kind as he is massive, still sporting hints of that NFL frame.

On this day he is speaking from inside a modest storefront space that doubles as an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting room.

Much of his early work was done 15 years ago at Oklahoma at the insistence of Barry Switzer and then-athletic director Donnie Duncan. The football team was involved in a series of off-field problems that eventually cost Switzer his job and landed the program on probation.

Through the years, he has counseled many college athletes in the area, always keeping a special one in the back of his mind. Blake was a 240-pound sophomore playing at Missouri Southern at the time of his death.

"So many of them I've dealt with will remind me of him," Riley said, "or maybe I just want them to remind me of him."

Maybe that's also why the young ones, Riley says, are easier to treat.

"There's nothing wrong with being young and dumb if you can learn something from being dumb," he said. "College kids, I would rather deal with them than adults. They'll tell the truth quicker. I get guys who come to me for help and lie to me about what's going on in their lives."

The NCAA tests for approximately 90 banned substances. But there is only one "epidemic", as Riley calls it: Binge drinking on campus.

"I'll tell a young person, 'You need to stop drinking,'" Riley said. "They say, 'Do you realize how weird I'll be when I don't drink? Everybody drinks.' Well, surely everybody doesn't. But most college students don't drink normally."

Dvoracek's waiver request was denied by the Big 12 but approved on appeal by the NCAA reinstatement committee. It granted Dvoracek a fifth year of eligibility in late January.

"Alcoholism is considered a disease," NCAA spokesman Erik Christianson. "If the appropriate documentation can be provided by a medical doctor then that could meet the criteria for the waiver."

The NCAA added alcohol and drug abuse as reasons for a medical hardship waiver in 1989. It is not clear if Dvoracek is the first player to be granted an extra year under those conditions. The NCAA, because of privacy concerns, doesn't make that information public. If not, he might be one of the few, if for no other reason than embarrassment.

"It's the old stigma," Riley said. "If I use that (waiver) I'm going to have to say I'm an alcoholic."

Dvoracek's situation was resolved at roughly the same time alcohol has become a point of emphasis for the NCAA's governing body. The NCAA board of directors has begun a review of alcohol policies. Everything from advertising policies to alcohol sales within stadiums and arenas is in play.

The NCAA prohibits alcohol sales at championship events and limits the amount of television advertising during the NCAA Tournament. There are a handful of football stadiums at the I-A level (mostly publicly owned facilities) that still sell alcohol.

Dvoracek is an honor roll student from Lake Dallas, Texas. If it can happen to him, it can happen to anybody. He was booted off the team after an altercation that landed good friend Matt Wilde in the hospital. Dvoracek and Wilde reportedly had been seen drinking and arguing.

Reports surfaced of alleged violent behavior by Dvoracek. Stoops acted decisively. So did Dvoracek. He was counseled by Riley's organization three times a week (three hours each night) for six weeks. He wrote letters to persons in the Oklahoma athletic department thanking them for their support and help while he had been a Sooner.

He stayed in school and pursued a degree. In other words, Dvoracek got it. He had a problem. He did something about it.

"There are five stages of alcoholism, it's not all chronic," Riley said. "Dusty was in a situation where he was in the first stage of it.

"The first stage -- (the person) drinks very rarely but when he does he drinks for effect and he's out of control. He does things he wouldn't normally do. He finds himself in places he really doesn't want to be doing things he doesn't want to do with people he doesn't want to be with but he does it anyway."

Neither coach Bob Stoops nor Dvoracek have spoken publicly about the situation since issuing statements in January.

"It was a hard lesson to learn but I learned it," Dvoracek said. " ... I recognize that nobody was required to do this for me. I want to show them that their trust in me is deserved."

They say alcoholics are never "cured." It's a constant battle, which raises serious questions not only for Dvoracek but the NCAA. If alcohol is a disease what if Dvoracek falls off the wagon? Is it considered the same as quarterback Jason White wrecking both knees and getting a sixth year of eligibility?

Oklahoma might suspend him -- again. Dvoracek might get counseling -- again. After all that he might even play football -- again. But if it was up Riley, all the offenders have had their one and only chance.

"I don't want to hear your sad tales, your excuses," he said. "If I can get through the death of my only son, surely, you can get through anything that is thrown in front of you."