<TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=1 width="100%" border=0><TBODY><TR><TD class=ftalternatingbaron vAlign=top align=right width="99%"><TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width="100%" border=0><TBODY><TR><TD vAlign=top colSpan=2>When a representative from Gridiron Greats arrived at former NFL player Brian DeMarco's home in Austin, Texas, last month offering financial relief, neither DeMarco nor his wife had eaten for two days. They piled their two young kids into the representative's rental car and went to Wal-Mart.
The first thing DeMarco bought was a cane for $11.
"My future is in a wheelchair," DeMarco said Saturday by phone before boarding a flight to Chicago.
The former offensive tackle has a titanium rod in his back from surgery on his vertebrae.
He has been diagnosed with spinal diseases he needs a medical dictionary to pronounce (ankylosing spondylitis and spondylothesis) and he routinely loses the feeling in his fingers because of nerve damage.
He is 35.
The face of opposition to the NFL Players Association's retirement benefits plan usually is wrinkled and weathered and has gray hair. The problems with NFL retirees fighting bureaucracy or financial woes have become so widespread and documented that the House Judiciary Committee has invited witnesses for an "oversight" hearing June 26 in Washington.
Rep. Linda Sanchez (D-Calif.) will chair the hearing, intended to raise awareness, before the Subcommittee on Commercial and Administrative Law.
Using his new cane, DeMarco hopes to be there to make a statement even if he never gets to say a word.
"A big part of this is seeing me as I am," said DeMarco, who will make his first public appearance as part of the cause Monday during a news conference at Ditka's restaurant. It will feature more outspoken and well-known former players Mike Ditka and Joe DeLamielleure.
"The only thing that gives me courage to do this is somebody has to be a voice for this generation too," DeMarco said. "This is not a contact sport, it's a collision sport. I absolutely want to be part of this fight."
After the Jacksonville Jaguars selected him in the second round of the 1995 NFL draft, DeMarco started all 16 games as a rookie. Before the 1999 season, the Cincinnati Bengals signed the free agent to a three-year, $3.1 million contract. But he never saw most of the money after the team cut him a season later largely because of back and elbow injuries that kept him off the field.
Any savings DeMarco had set aside evaporated quickly after paying for medical costs the last couple of years that easily topped six figures.
His condition prevents him from working to afford health insurance that expired within four years of the end of his NFL playing career.
He and his family have been homeless twice in the last three years and in such desperation that DeMarco's wife contacted the group Ditka and Jerry Kramer started for afflicted players at www.jerrykramer.com.
"I gave every quality of my life to the NFL and I don't have a quality of life now," DeMarco said. "I deserve nothing from the NFLPA? Are you kidding me? Shame on them."
Officials from the NFLPA, their offices closed for the weekend, couldn't be reached Saturday. DeMarco has had his own troubles reaching anybody from the NFLPA on the phone.
His cell-phone records show he has made 128 calls to NFLPA offices since last August. He contends he has been denied disability three times and the NFLPA has yet to assign an approved physician to examine him.
More surgery is needed for his back and elbows, but it's impossible to consider financially. He saves a little by refusing to take painkillers, but the pain can be excruciating.
Since his health insurance ran out, DeMarco estimates the NFLPA has responded with bits and pieces of financial assistance that totals around $10,000, but he blames the group for largely ignoring his pleas for help.
As an example, he recalled a conversation with one official who had sent him $100 for bus fare to a new job in Austin—and encouraged him to walk the several miles to the bus stop.
"My last personal contact with the NFLPA, I was told if I can't help myself, they can't help me," DeMarco said.
"It's not just the bureaucracy of the NFLPA, there's something else going on. I can't pinpoint it other than to look at the leadership."
That refers to NFLPA Executive Director Gene Upshaw, whom DeMarco sent several handwritten personal letters when he was homeless and desperate for money to feed his kids.
Upshaw has been the target of heavy criticism from Ditka and DeLamielleure, among others, to the point that the bickering between the rival groups has threatened to overshadow the real issue.
That will be the point of having DeMarco hobble to the front of the room Monday at Ditka's, and he hopes later this month in Congress, with his wife, Autumn, at his side and conviction in his voice.
"Unfortunately, there are hundreds of guys like me that I represent," DeMarco said. "I'm frustrated, ticked off and very disappointed. I need disability [benefits] to live. I look forward to having a life where I don't have to worry about whether I can pay my bills this month or fear an eviction.
"Do I have hope for the future? For the first time in years, yes, I do."
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The first thing DeMarco bought was a cane for $11.
"My future is in a wheelchair," DeMarco said Saturday by phone before boarding a flight to Chicago.
The former offensive tackle has a titanium rod in his back from surgery on his vertebrae.
He has been diagnosed with spinal diseases he needs a medical dictionary to pronounce (ankylosing spondylitis and spondylothesis) and he routinely loses the feeling in his fingers because of nerve damage.
He is 35.
The face of opposition to the NFL Players Association's retirement benefits plan usually is wrinkled and weathered and has gray hair. The problems with NFL retirees fighting bureaucracy or financial woes have become so widespread and documented that the House Judiciary Committee has invited witnesses for an "oversight" hearing June 26 in Washington.
Rep. Linda Sanchez (D-Calif.) will chair the hearing, intended to raise awareness, before the Subcommittee on Commercial and Administrative Law.
Using his new cane, DeMarco hopes to be there to make a statement even if he never gets to say a word.
"A big part of this is seeing me as I am," said DeMarco, who will make his first public appearance as part of the cause Monday during a news conference at Ditka's restaurant. It will feature more outspoken and well-known former players Mike Ditka and Joe DeLamielleure.
"The only thing that gives me courage to do this is somebody has to be a voice for this generation too," DeMarco said. "This is not a contact sport, it's a collision sport. I absolutely want to be part of this fight."
After the Jacksonville Jaguars selected him in the second round of the 1995 NFL draft, DeMarco started all 16 games as a rookie. Before the 1999 season, the Cincinnati Bengals signed the free agent to a three-year, $3.1 million contract. But he never saw most of the money after the team cut him a season later largely because of back and elbow injuries that kept him off the field.
Any savings DeMarco had set aside evaporated quickly after paying for medical costs the last couple of years that easily topped six figures.
His condition prevents him from working to afford health insurance that expired within four years of the end of his NFL playing career.
He and his family have been homeless twice in the last three years and in such desperation that DeMarco's wife contacted the group Ditka and Jerry Kramer started for afflicted players at www.jerrykramer.com.
"I gave every quality of my life to the NFL and I don't have a quality of life now," DeMarco said. "I deserve nothing from the NFLPA? Are you kidding me? Shame on them."
Officials from the NFLPA, their offices closed for the weekend, couldn't be reached Saturday. DeMarco has had his own troubles reaching anybody from the NFLPA on the phone.
His cell-phone records show he has made 128 calls to NFLPA offices since last August. He contends he has been denied disability three times and the NFLPA has yet to assign an approved physician to examine him.
More surgery is needed for his back and elbows, but it's impossible to consider financially. He saves a little by refusing to take painkillers, but the pain can be excruciating.
Since his health insurance ran out, DeMarco estimates the NFLPA has responded with bits and pieces of financial assistance that totals around $10,000, but he blames the group for largely ignoring his pleas for help.
As an example, he recalled a conversation with one official who had sent him $100 for bus fare to a new job in Austin—and encouraged him to walk the several miles to the bus stop.
"My last personal contact with the NFLPA, I was told if I can't help myself, they can't help me," DeMarco said.
"It's not just the bureaucracy of the NFLPA, there's something else going on. I can't pinpoint it other than to look at the leadership."
That refers to NFLPA Executive Director Gene Upshaw, whom DeMarco sent several handwritten personal letters when he was homeless and desperate for money to feed his kids.
Upshaw has been the target of heavy criticism from Ditka and DeLamielleure, among others, to the point that the bickering between the rival groups has threatened to overshadow the real issue.
That will be the point of having DeMarco hobble to the front of the room Monday at Ditka's, and he hopes later this month in Congress, with his wife, Autumn, at his side and conviction in his voice.
"Unfortunately, there are hundreds of guys like me that I represent," DeMarco said. "I'm frustrated, ticked off and very disappointed. I need disability [benefits] to live. I look forward to having a life where I don't have to worry about whether I can pay my bills this month or fear an eviction.
"Do I have hope for the future? For the first time in years, yes, I do."
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