Quote:
In the fall of 1998, Little — his blood alcohol nearly twice the then-legal limit — ran a red light in St. Louis and slammed his Lincoln Navigator into a car driven by Susan Gutweiler, 47. The impact broke her neck and caused her lungs to collapse. She never regained consciousness and died the next day. Little pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter and was sentenced to 90 nights in jail as part of a work-release program. He also completed 1,000 hours of community service and was placed on four years' probation.
Mike, who was 15 at the time, has the date of his mother's death, Oct. 20, 1998, tattooed on his right shoulder. When the Rams made their Super Bowl run the following year, he couldn't bear watching the playoffs. Eventually, he left his hometown because "of all the drama" regarding the fatal accident.
Once, he walked into a Burger King and the woman behind the counter said to him, "Your mother was killed by Leonard Little, wasn't she?" He is angry at Little and the Rams for their seeming indifference. He is frustrated by a legal system that applies justice unevenly, often seemingly in favor of wealthy athletes.
"They are treated like gods of the Earth," he said.
To this day, neither Little nor the Rams have offered an apology, he said. That is as sad as it is outrageous.
"It takes a big man to plead guilty, but it takes an even bigger man to say he's sorry," Mike said. "It depresses me to no end that we've never heard from him. I don't think we ever will. I don't think he deserves to play in the NFL."
Leonard Little is out of his last big chance, far as I'm concerned. If he is found guilty, the league needs to seriously consider banning him — forever. It is a privilege to play in the NFL, not a right.
Police stopped Little's Mercedes-Benz S500 for going 78 mph in a 55-mph zone in suburban St. Louis just before 4 a.m. Officer Greg Stork said in an affidavit that Little had "bloodshot, watery eyes and emitted an odor of alcohol." Little also failed three sobriety tests and admitted drinking, according to Stork. Still, he maintains his innocence.
When Mike's father, Bill, heard the news, he was stunned. "I'm thinking to myself, 'You got away with (something) the first time when you killed someone. My God, what is it going to take?" he said.
Quote:
Two years ago, Little signed a $17.6 million contract. At 29, he is in the prime of his career. Mike recalls his mother working full time while going to night school — for 13 years. "She did everything for me," he said. "And she never got the chance to use her degree."
The last time he saw her, "I gave her a big hug and said, 'I love you.' She gave me a kiss. We did that every time we said goodbye. Every night, a hug and a kiss before bed. (We) had a relationship that most parents and children don't have."
That is what makes Sunday's holiday always so difficult.
"I buy some flowers, bring something to eat and go see her at the cemetery," he said, exhaling deeply. "I've gone there and drawn or painted. This will be the first Mother's Day I won't be with her. But I am always with her in spirit."
Instead, he plans to remain in his apartment. He'll light a candle or two and "do what I normally do" on Mother's Day. "I'll sit down and talk with her," he said.