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By Ron Donoho
(page 1 of 3)
No sign of Martha Stewart Living. There’s not a Time, Newsweek or (gasp) San Diego Magazine in view. A silicone-imbued issue of Stuff magazine decorates the living room table in the Cardiff bachelor pad of Chargers defensive end Marcellus Wiley. Next to Stuff is a hardcover biography of Muhammad Ali. Can you tell the cut of a man by his reading material? Yes—to a degree. But with Wiley, don’t just judge the contents by the cover.The 6-foot-4, 275-pound mountain has met Muhammad. “It was a great thrill,” says Wiley, grinning like a 10-year-old. “Ali is definitely someone who changes a room when he walks into it.” The same can be said of the large-and-in-charge Charger. In fact, Valerie Howard and Charles Wiley named their boy with a nod to the boxing icon: Marcellus was Ali’s middle name when the champ still went by Cassius Clay.
Wiley’s been a Charger for two seasons now. Yes, that’s him dancing—worse than Seinfeld’s Elaine Benes, some say—after a good defensive play. And there have been a lot more efforts to celebrate this year. Kudos to Chargers general manager John Butler, who knew of Wiley’s skills when they both were with the Buffalo Bills, and forked over $40 million (spread over six years) to the ebullient 27-year-old.
There are all kinds of reasons to be glad team president Dean Spanos uncovered the pot of gold for this Columbia University graduate (yes, there is an African-American Ivy Leaguer in the NFL). First, he’s good. In his last two full seasons, Wiley’s recorded 23.5 quarterback sacks, and he went to the Pro Bowl last year. He’s also a motivator, and a positive presence in the clubhouse and community. But best of all, underneath that number 75 jersey coexist a kind heart, sharp mind and a sense of humor uncommon in a man paid to hound and pound other human beings.
To appreciate his life journey, consider these snapshots:
Humble Beginnings: Wiley grew up in Los Angeles. “We weren’t poor—but probably lower middle class,” he says. “My family’s apartment back then was smaller than about half the size of my guesthouse now. I remember going to Columbia, getting a dorm room and thinking I was living pretty high.”
Until he was 7, Wiley couldn’t play sports due to an asthmatic condition. Then his aunt stepped forward. “Ana-Honey,” as she was called, backed young Wiley up to a tree. She placed a nail against the tree just above his head. Holding a bible in one hand, she wielded a hammer in the other and drove the nail into the tree. Following this ritual, the asthma disappeared. “Through the grace of God,” he says.
A sports career was thus christened. Wiley was an outstanding Pop Warner League football player. He was a standout, but not exactly the best high school player. “I was good, but I wanted to be great,” he says. “I remember going to bed in tears over that.”
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