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Zeke Elliott will have to grow up under a harsh glare
This story appears in ESPN The Magazine's Oct. 3 issue. Subscribe today!
Driving on a long stretch of road on a late-summer day, Stacy Elliott cannot shake one thought: His son is in trouble.
It is late August, and Cowboys rookie running back Ezekiel Elliott is still awaiting word from an Ohio prosecutor's office about whether he'll be charged with domestic violence. A month has passed, and Stacy doesn't understand the holdup. Every day that goes by, he says, reputations are further sullied. Stacy is transporting Ace, his son's rottweiler, from Columbus to Zeke's new home in Dallas. The dog makes nary a sound, and the solitude gives Stacy too much time to think.
He has always been there for his son. When Ezekiel left home for Ohio State at the age of 17, it was Stacy who moved too, from the family's house just outside St. Louis to Columbus, just in case his son ever needed anything. Now he's convinced he needs to have a presence in Dallas. Stacy is going to look for a place to stay there. He's going to look after Zeke.
"My biggest worry is ... I don't believe my son knows how to navigate in life being a superstar," Stacy says. "He's like a little boy who wants to play football and have fun and enjoy people. We've always said this about Ezekiel, ever since he came into the world. He's just happy to be alive. He's a happy guy. But this world is not."
On April 28, the Cowboys stunned the NFL when they made Elliott the No. 4 draft pick. Even Elliott's mom, Dawn, was shocked. She'd been surprised to be invited to the draft in Chicago and the implication that her son could be taken in the first round. Teams do not invest in running backs with a No. 4 selection anymore.
The last one to be called in the top five before Elliott was Trent Richardson by the Browns in 2012. Richardson was a colossal bust and was recently waived by the Ravens. Ask Cowboys executive vice president and COO Stephen Jones how much is riding on Elliott's success and he answers quickly: "Obviously, a lot. When you take a player that high in the draft, you have really high expectations. We've got good running backs on this team, but we really just felt like he could bring something very special to the table."
"We've always said this about Ezekiel, ever since he came into the world. He's just happy to be alive. He's a happy guy. But this world is not."
Stacey Elliott, on his son Ezekiel
And why not? Put Elliott, a bruising 225-pound workhorse who can block and run all day, behind arguably the NFL's best offensive line and good things are bound to happen. He could take pressure off quarterback Tony Romo (or Dak Prescott, now that Romo is out with a compression fracture in his spine) and help control the time of possession, which would aid the defense. On the field, Elliott has an awareness and a skill set that make him one of the most promising running backs since Adrian Peterson. Off it, he has shown signs of being less of a sure thing.
On Sept. 6, the Columbus city attorney's office announced it had declined to pursue charges against Elliott in the alleged domestic violence case involving a woman named Tiffany Thompson. In his first public comments after the announcement, Elliott said the episode taught him that he's a "target."
"That's what I've realized from all of this," he said. "And I have to conduct myself that way, so I cannot have any distractions so I can just focus on ball."
But the news release was followed by a 77-page report on the investigation that includes some texts that appear to refer to possible drug use. In one text exchange between Elliott and Thompson, she expressed concern that he wouldn't pass a drug test.
"I'm gonna pass," Elliott texted. "About to live in this sauna the next 24 hours."
It was not the news the Cowboys' front office wanted to hear. Earlier, Elliott was caught on camera walking around in a marijuana dispensary in Seattle -- hours before his preseason debut against the Seahawks. Though he didn't buy anything, the combination of events could draw the attention of the league's substance-abuse program. NFL spokesman Brian McCarthy said the domestic violence case "remains under review of the personal conduct policy."
The alleged incident happened in the early-morning hours of July 22, Elliott's 21st birthday. He celebrated with a group of friends that night at the Social Room, a Columbus nightclub with a slogan on its website that reads, "See and be seen." Around 2:40 a.m., police responded to a call that Elliott had assaulted Thompson while pulling her out of a parked car. Four witnesses said they did not see an assault, but she filed another police report saying that Elliott had abused her over the course of five days in July. In the end, prosecutors declined to press charges "primarily due to conflicting and inconsistent information across all incidents resulting in concern regarding the sufficiency of the evidence."
"We crossed T's and dotted I's. Nobody was afforded any special treatment."
Robert Tobias, director of Columbus' prosecution resources unit
"We crossed T's and dotted I's. Nobody was afforded any special treatment," said Robert Tobias, director of Columbus' prosecution resources unit. "We evaluated this the same way we would any matter." Thompson did not respond to messages left by ESPN.
Elliott and his parents contend that Thompson and Elliott never had a serious relationship, even though he paid for her apartment and co-signed for her car loan. "He cared about her," Stacy says. "He was trying to help her." Stacy believes that part of Ezekiel's problem is that he treats too many women as if they're his girlfriend. He says his son lacks the street smarts that most possess at his age.
Former NFL quarterback Gus Frerotte, who coached Elliott at John Burroughs School, describes Elliott's pre-NFL life as sheltered. "His dad was always there helping him; coaches were always there in college helping him; and [at Ohio State] Urban Meyer is not going to let him do things he shouldn't. There's a fatherly figure there, a family there," Frerotte says. "Now you're in the NFL, and once you leave that building, you're on your own. There's nobody to hold your hand. ... Zeke learned very quickly how things can explode and go the wrong way."
Burroughs School was not a football factory, and that's what the Elliotts liked about it.
The private college prep school, located in the affluent St. Louis suburb of Ladue, encouraged inclusion. All students are required to participate in at least two sports their freshman and sophomore years. Athletic fields are classrooms without walls, says Peter Tasker, Burroughs' athletic director. Some of life's greatest lessons can be learned there, including one a few years ago, when members of an opposing team ran off with some of his students' belongings during a basketball game. At Burroughs, kids don't lock their lockers, nor do they hesitate to leave their cellphones plugged into hallway chargers unattended.
"We have an atmosphere of trust, sometimes to a fault," Tasker says. "It builds a false sense of security."
Elliott thrived in the environment. He loved the intimacy of having about 100 people in his graduating class. He was chatty and seemingly friends with everyone. Jay Prapaisilp, the student body president of the class of 2013, did not have a lot in common with Elliott, but he remembers him flashing a giant grin and saying hi in the hallways.
On the field, Elliott seemed from the start to understand the game better than everyone else. If the offensive line couldn't grasp what Frerotte was trying to teach it, he'd have Elliott show the players what he meant. He could play almost any position on the field. There was a game in high school (Frerotte can't recall the opponent) when Burroughs was getting manhandled by a much bigger team loaded with Division I talent. Frerotte told Elliott at halftime that he was going to get the ball on every play. Elliott said sure, and Burroughs wound up winning the game.
At Ohio State, Elliott roomed with running back Rod Smith for his freshman season. Smith, now a teammate with the Cowboys, was struck by how homesick Elliott was. Later, Elliott became friends with Kosta Karageorge, a senior walk-on who did not see the field in the fall of 2014. Karageorge, who had suffered numerous concussions, died by suicide in late November that year. Elliott was a pallbearer at his funeral.
The running back says he befriended Karageorge because he used to see him at lunch, a new guy who didn't know anybody, and it reminded Elliott of how he had felt as a freshman. "I think God put me on this planet to make sure everyone has a good time," Elliott said after one of the last practices of training camp. "I'm very outgoing, very relatable. I did come from a smaller, more sheltered background, so I really wasn't exposed to all of the evil of the world yet. I think [the Ohio State coaches] were a little worried. Once you're successful, everyone is going to try and be your friend. I don't think they were worried about what I would do, but I think they were worried about the people I would let around me."
Regardless of what he was feeling off the field, by 2014, Elliott was a force for the Buckeyes. He ran for 220 yards in the Big Ten championship game, then exploded for 230 yards in a Sugar Bowl upset over No. 1 Alabama. As each game got bigger, Elliott seemed to play better. In the national championship game, he ran for 246 yards and four touchdowns in a victory over Oregon. Unfortunately, Stacy Elliott says, everything changed after that. Ezekiel, who loves to talk and has trouble saying no, was bombarded.
The 2015 season did not go as well as Elliott planned. There was a 17-14 loss to Michigan State, and a postgame outburst in which Elliott groused about his 12 carries. He questioned the Buckeyes' playcalling and said he was declaring for the draft after the season. In a conversation with Cowboys running backs coach Gary Brown this offseason, Elliott conceded it was not the right way to handle himself. "He's passionate," Brown says, "and it came out the wrong way."
But nothing prepared Elliott for the crush of fans and media when he arrived in Dallas. This was "America's Team." Elliott was at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport earlier this summer with Rocky Arceneaux, one of two agents who represent him, when the attention got to be too much. Elliott retreated to a bathroom and put on a makeshift disguise -- some sunglasses and a hoodie over his head. It did not work.
"Man," Elliott told Arceneaux, "I think I want to start flying private all the time." Arceneaux laughed. "That comes with being a star playing for The Star," he told Elliott.
The Cowboys are well-versed in dealing with young men carrying far more baggage than Elliott. Sometimes they gamble and lose. Last year's jaw-dropping moves involved signing Greg Hardy, who had assaulted an ex-girlfriend in 2014, and drafting Randy Gregory in the second round. Gregory, who failed a drug test at the combine, is under suspension this season for violating the league's substance-abuse policy, and Hardy is a free agent.
A person in the organization who spoke on the condition of anonymity says the Cowboys knew when they drafted Elliott that he liked to hit the nightclubs hard. There is nothing illegal about that, but they want him to be less vulnerable. There are ways to go about it, including giving a club a heads-up before he comes, entering through a side door and having security.
Veteran tight end Jason Witten has become sort of a big brother to Elliott. "We obviously want him to succeed," says Witten, who desperately wants a sniff at the Super Bowl. Outside the organization, former Rams great Marshall Faulk has served as a mentor from afar. Faulk and Elliott are both represented by Arceneaux, and Elliott thinks it's cool when Faulk texts him because he grew up worshiping the Hall of Fame running back.
"The question is, has he learned from [his mistakes]?" Faulk says. "I would like to say yes, but we're going to find out. Because we really don't know."
"The question is, has he learned from [his mistakes]? I would like to say yes, but we're going to find out. Because we really don't know."
Marshall Faulk, on Ezekiel Elliott
In the past, the Cowboys have used a handler for players of concern. A go-to person they have often turned to for this job is David Wells, a burly former bail bondsman who now earns a living as an investigator. Wells refers to himself as a crisis-management expert. His work with the team spans three decades; he has kept tabs on Michael Irvin, Adam Jones and Dez Bryant.
Wells was spotted outside the Cowboys' locker room recently. He was asked whether he had been approached about helping Elliott. "No comment," he says.
Elliott has the best-selling rookie jersey in the NFL, and some young men wearing his No. 21 are playing beer pong outside AT&T Stadium on Sept. 11. It's the season opener, and though rookie quarterback Prescott is standing in for Romo, hope fills the warm and boozy Texas air -- the Cowboys have Elliott. Elliott gets the ball on the opening snap and musters just 1 yard. He shows flashes, and he scores his first NFL touchdown on a cutback from 8 yards out. But Elliott runs for just 51 yards on 20 carries in a 20-19 loss to the Giants. After the game, Jerry Jones, ever the optimist, says he can see Elliott's potential and knows he will be a major asset. "Yes," Jones says. "Unequivocally."
Inside the locker room, Elliott is quiet. He neatly folds his white jersey and stuffs four game programs into a bag, keepsakes from a game that Dallas would rather forget. He declines a request for a quick one-on-one interview, saying he's done talking for the day.
His dad would be happy about this. Maybe Elliott is finally learning to say no.
This story appears in ESPN The Magazine's Oct. 3 issue. Subscribe today!
Driving on a long stretch of road on a late-summer day, Stacy Elliott cannot shake one thought: His son is in trouble.
It is late August, and Cowboys rookie running back Ezekiel Elliott is still awaiting word from an Ohio prosecutor's office about whether he'll be charged with domestic violence. A month has passed, and Stacy doesn't understand the holdup. Every day that goes by, he says, reputations are further sullied. Stacy is transporting Ace, his son's rottweiler, from Columbus to Zeke's new home in Dallas. The dog makes nary a sound, and the solitude gives Stacy too much time to think.
He has always been there for his son. When Ezekiel left home for Ohio State at the age of 17, it was Stacy who moved too, from the family's house just outside St. Louis to Columbus, just in case his son ever needed anything. Now he's convinced he needs to have a presence in Dallas. Stacy is going to look for a place to stay there. He's going to look after Zeke.
"My biggest worry is ... I don't believe my son knows how to navigate in life being a superstar," Stacy says. "He's like a little boy who wants to play football and have fun and enjoy people. We've always said this about Ezekiel, ever since he came into the world. He's just happy to be alive. He's a happy guy. But this world is not."
On April 28, the Cowboys stunned the NFL when they made Elliott the No. 4 draft pick. Even Elliott's mom, Dawn, was shocked. She'd been surprised to be invited to the draft in Chicago and the implication that her son could be taken in the first round. Teams do not invest in running backs with a No. 4 selection anymore.
The last one to be called in the top five before Elliott was Trent Richardson by the Browns in 2012. Richardson was a colossal bust and was recently waived by the Ravens. Ask Cowboys executive vice president and COO Stephen Jones how much is riding on Elliott's success and he answers quickly: "Obviously, a lot. When you take a player that high in the draft, you have really high expectations. We've got good running backs on this team, but we really just felt like he could bring something very special to the table."
"We've always said this about Ezekiel, ever since he came into the world. He's just happy to be alive. He's a happy guy. But this world is not."
Stacey Elliott, on his son Ezekiel
And why not? Put Elliott, a bruising 225-pound workhorse who can block and run all day, behind arguably the NFL's best offensive line and good things are bound to happen. He could take pressure off quarterback Tony Romo (or Dak Prescott, now that Romo is out with a compression fracture in his spine) and help control the time of possession, which would aid the defense. On the field, Elliott has an awareness and a skill set that make him one of the most promising running backs since Adrian Peterson. Off it, he has shown signs of being less of a sure thing.
On Sept. 6, the Columbus city attorney's office announced it had declined to pursue charges against Elliott in the alleged domestic violence case involving a woman named Tiffany Thompson. In his first public comments after the announcement, Elliott said the episode taught him that he's a "target."
"That's what I've realized from all of this," he said. "And I have to conduct myself that way, so I cannot have any distractions so I can just focus on ball."
But the news release was followed by a 77-page report on the investigation that includes some texts that appear to refer to possible drug use. In one text exchange between Elliott and Thompson, she expressed concern that he wouldn't pass a drug test.
"I'm gonna pass," Elliott texted. "About to live in this sauna the next 24 hours."
It was not the news the Cowboys' front office wanted to hear. Earlier, Elliott was caught on camera walking around in a marijuana dispensary in Seattle -- hours before his preseason debut against the Seahawks. Though he didn't buy anything, the combination of events could draw the attention of the league's substance-abuse program. NFL spokesman Brian McCarthy said the domestic violence case "remains under review of the personal conduct policy."
The alleged incident happened in the early-morning hours of July 22, Elliott's 21st birthday. He celebrated with a group of friends that night at the Social Room, a Columbus nightclub with a slogan on its website that reads, "See and be seen." Around 2:40 a.m., police responded to a call that Elliott had assaulted Thompson while pulling her out of a parked car. Four witnesses said they did not see an assault, but she filed another police report saying that Elliott had abused her over the course of five days in July. In the end, prosecutors declined to press charges "primarily due to conflicting and inconsistent information across all incidents resulting in concern regarding the sufficiency of the evidence."
"We crossed T's and dotted I's. Nobody was afforded any special treatment."
Robert Tobias, director of Columbus' prosecution resources unit
"We crossed T's and dotted I's. Nobody was afforded any special treatment," said Robert Tobias, director of Columbus' prosecution resources unit. "We evaluated this the same way we would any matter." Thompson did not respond to messages left by ESPN.
Elliott and his parents contend that Thompson and Elliott never had a serious relationship, even though he paid for her apartment and co-signed for her car loan. "He cared about her," Stacy says. "He was trying to help her." Stacy believes that part of Ezekiel's problem is that he treats too many women as if they're his girlfriend. He says his son lacks the street smarts that most possess at his age.
Former NFL quarterback Gus Frerotte, who coached Elliott at John Burroughs School, describes Elliott's pre-NFL life as sheltered. "His dad was always there helping him; coaches were always there in college helping him; and [at Ohio State] Urban Meyer is not going to let him do things he shouldn't. There's a fatherly figure there, a family there," Frerotte says. "Now you're in the NFL, and once you leave that building, you're on your own. There's nobody to hold your hand. ... Zeke learned very quickly how things can explode and go the wrong way."
Burroughs School was not a football factory, and that's what the Elliotts liked about it.
The private college prep school, located in the affluent St. Louis suburb of Ladue, encouraged inclusion. All students are required to participate in at least two sports their freshman and sophomore years. Athletic fields are classrooms without walls, says Peter Tasker, Burroughs' athletic director. Some of life's greatest lessons can be learned there, including one a few years ago, when members of an opposing team ran off with some of his students' belongings during a basketball game. At Burroughs, kids don't lock their lockers, nor do they hesitate to leave their cellphones plugged into hallway chargers unattended.
"We have an atmosphere of trust, sometimes to a fault," Tasker says. "It builds a false sense of security."
Elliott thrived in the environment. He loved the intimacy of having about 100 people in his graduating class. He was chatty and seemingly friends with everyone. Jay Prapaisilp, the student body president of the class of 2013, did not have a lot in common with Elliott, but he remembers him flashing a giant grin and saying hi in the hallways.
On the field, Elliott seemed from the start to understand the game better than everyone else. If the offensive line couldn't grasp what Frerotte was trying to teach it, he'd have Elliott show the players what he meant. He could play almost any position on the field. There was a game in high school (Frerotte can't recall the opponent) when Burroughs was getting manhandled by a much bigger team loaded with Division I talent. Frerotte told Elliott at halftime that he was going to get the ball on every play. Elliott said sure, and Burroughs wound up winning the game.
At Ohio State, Elliott roomed with running back Rod Smith for his freshman season. Smith, now a teammate with the Cowboys, was struck by how homesick Elliott was. Later, Elliott became friends with Kosta Karageorge, a senior walk-on who did not see the field in the fall of 2014. Karageorge, who had suffered numerous concussions, died by suicide in late November that year. Elliott was a pallbearer at his funeral.
The running back says he befriended Karageorge because he used to see him at lunch, a new guy who didn't know anybody, and it reminded Elliott of how he had felt as a freshman. "I think God put me on this planet to make sure everyone has a good time," Elliott said after one of the last practices of training camp. "I'm very outgoing, very relatable. I did come from a smaller, more sheltered background, so I really wasn't exposed to all of the evil of the world yet. I think [the Ohio State coaches] were a little worried. Once you're successful, everyone is going to try and be your friend. I don't think they were worried about what I would do, but I think they were worried about the people I would let around me."
Regardless of what he was feeling off the field, by 2014, Elliott was a force for the Buckeyes. He ran for 220 yards in the Big Ten championship game, then exploded for 230 yards in a Sugar Bowl upset over No. 1 Alabama. As each game got bigger, Elliott seemed to play better. In the national championship game, he ran for 246 yards and four touchdowns in a victory over Oregon. Unfortunately, Stacy Elliott says, everything changed after that. Ezekiel, who loves to talk and has trouble saying no, was bombarded.
The 2015 season did not go as well as Elliott planned. There was a 17-14 loss to Michigan State, and a postgame outburst in which Elliott groused about his 12 carries. He questioned the Buckeyes' playcalling and said he was declaring for the draft after the season. In a conversation with Cowboys running backs coach Gary Brown this offseason, Elliott conceded it was not the right way to handle himself. "He's passionate," Brown says, "and it came out the wrong way."
But nothing prepared Elliott for the crush of fans and media when he arrived in Dallas. This was "America's Team." Elliott was at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport earlier this summer with Rocky Arceneaux, one of two agents who represent him, when the attention got to be too much. Elliott retreated to a bathroom and put on a makeshift disguise -- some sunglasses and a hoodie over his head. It did not work.
"Man," Elliott told Arceneaux, "I think I want to start flying private all the time." Arceneaux laughed. "That comes with being a star playing for The Star," he told Elliott.
The Cowboys are well-versed in dealing with young men carrying far more baggage than Elliott. Sometimes they gamble and lose. Last year's jaw-dropping moves involved signing Greg Hardy, who had assaulted an ex-girlfriend in 2014, and drafting Randy Gregory in the second round. Gregory, who failed a drug test at the combine, is under suspension this season for violating the league's substance-abuse policy, and Hardy is a free agent.
A person in the organization who spoke on the condition of anonymity says the Cowboys knew when they drafted Elliott that he liked to hit the nightclubs hard. There is nothing illegal about that, but they want him to be less vulnerable. There are ways to go about it, including giving a club a heads-up before he comes, entering through a side door and having security.
Veteran tight end Jason Witten has become sort of a big brother to Elliott. "We obviously want him to succeed," says Witten, who desperately wants a sniff at the Super Bowl. Outside the organization, former Rams great Marshall Faulk has served as a mentor from afar. Faulk and Elliott are both represented by Arceneaux, and Elliott thinks it's cool when Faulk texts him because he grew up worshiping the Hall of Fame running back.
"The question is, has he learned from [his mistakes]?" Faulk says. "I would like to say yes, but we're going to find out. Because we really don't know."
"The question is, has he learned from [his mistakes]? I would like to say yes, but we're going to find out. Because we really don't know."
Marshall Faulk, on Ezekiel Elliott
In the past, the Cowboys have used a handler for players of concern. A go-to person they have often turned to for this job is David Wells, a burly former bail bondsman who now earns a living as an investigator. Wells refers to himself as a crisis-management expert. His work with the team spans three decades; he has kept tabs on Michael Irvin, Adam Jones and Dez Bryant.
Wells was spotted outside the Cowboys' locker room recently. He was asked whether he had been approached about helping Elliott. "No comment," he says.
Elliott has the best-selling rookie jersey in the NFL, and some young men wearing his No. 21 are playing beer pong outside AT&T Stadium on Sept. 11. It's the season opener, and though rookie quarterback Prescott is standing in for Romo, hope fills the warm and boozy Texas air -- the Cowboys have Elliott. Elliott gets the ball on the opening snap and musters just 1 yard. He shows flashes, and he scores his first NFL touchdown on a cutback from 8 yards out. But Elliott runs for just 51 yards on 20 carries in a 20-19 loss to the Giants. After the game, Jerry Jones, ever the optimist, says he can see Elliott's potential and knows he will be a major asset. "Yes," Jones says. "Unequivocally."
Inside the locker room, Elliott is quiet. He neatly folds his white jersey and stuffs four game programs into a bag, keepsakes from a game that Dallas would rather forget. He declines a request for a quick one-on-one interview, saying he's done talking for the day.
His dad would be happy about this. Maybe Elliott is finally learning to say no.
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