On Tuesday, Buddy Ryan, the architect of the 1985 Bears defense, arguably the most dominant group in the history of football, passed away. The day before, details regarding the dire health and financial shape of William Perry, a key member of that 1985 unit, were revealed by Sports Illustrated's Rick Telander in a lengthy profile on the player best known as "The Refrigerator."
Perry, the Bears' massive defensive lineman from 1985 until 1993, quickly became one of the most popular players in the league after bursting onto the scene during his rookie year on both offense (he scored three rushing touchdowns in his rookie year, including one in the Super Bowl) and defense. His life after football, though, has taken a dark turn.
Telander's story isn't an easy read, namely because of the alarming details in the story. Based on Telander's portrait, Perry, 53, is reportedly an alcoholic who still consumes large quantities of alcohol, he's at least 150 pounds overweight, he can barely hear but refuses to rely on hearing aids, he can't feel anything from the shin down, his hands are numb, he deals with diabetes and side effects from Guillain-Barré syndrome ("which creates neurological problems that can leave victims paralyzed and sometimes on life support," Telander writes), his earnings from his NFL playing days simply don't exist anymore, and he lives by himself in a retirement facility.
His younger brother, Michael Dean, says he believes that Perry has "traces of CTE," a brain disease that the NFL recently admitted is tied to football. Perry's older brother, Willie, accused Dean, who is Perry's guardian, of not doing enough to help Perry, but Dean refuted that accusation.
The entire story is well worth a read and goes into agonizing detail, but here are a couple of paragraphs that capture Perry's lifestyle:
Fridge is in his office -- that is, he's in his white Hummer H2, parked in the driveway of a ramshackle house on Ridgewood Lane in Aiken. It's 6 p.m., early April, 72 degrees outside, and 10 or more people hang around the SUV as if it's a tiki hut on a beach. Fridge is tipping back a beer and appears to be a tad inebriated, louder than usual, more demonstrative.
...
Despite all the tumult, this is pretty much what Fridge does every day now: hang out with people who lack apparent jobs or places to be, shoot the breeze and drink. He's got his own vodka cup. Maybe it's not that much different from what high-class retirees do at the 19th hole of country clubs, calling it socializing rather than wasting away. The thing is, Fridge can't move from his driver's seat. His car reeks of urine because he sometimes can't control his bladder, sometimes doesn't care. And there's not a medical journal on diabetes or the central nervous system anywhere that recommends alcohol consumption of this frequency for good health.
Telander's story ends with a quote that shows just how difficult it might be to get Perry to alter his lifestyle, even if his loved ones try to help.
"I'm my own man," Perry said. "It's simple. I ain't never trying to be famous. I never, ever try to be extravaganza. I'm just a plain old country boy!"
You can read the entire story, which dives further into Perry's healthy issues and who is exactly trying to help him, here.
Wink of the CBS eye to Sports Illustrated
