Tank filled with fuel for debate

MIAMI GARDENS -- Tank Johnson referred to himself as a "hot story." Give him credit for good news sense.

He is, after all, the only known Super Bowl participant who ever has needed to be released from house arrest in order to participate in the Big Game.

I wasn't completely sure Tank Johnson would participate in Media Day, given his, um, peculiar circumstances. He had to know few people would be interrogating him about the proper technique to shed a blocker from his defensive tackle position, or his opinion of the Indianapolis no-huddle offense. The questions were going to be about his somewhat complicated personal life. There is no other player at Super Bowl XLI of whom the following question should be rightfully asked:

"Should Tank Johnson even be here?"

He is here because the Bears desperately need him to replace the injured Tommie Harris and because a judge back home in Illinois gave permission for him to travel with the team for the game. Once the game is over, he and his attorney can start preparing for a Feb. 16 hearing to answer charges involving six counts of unlawful possession without a firearm owner's identity card. The charges stem from a Dec. 12 police raid at his Gurnee, Ill., home that yielded three handguns, three rifles, and 500 rounds of ammunition. And, no, Mr. Johnson is not a hunter. Quarterbacks, perhaps, but nothing else we know about.

In the wake of that news, the Bears saw fit to suspend him for one game. But the story gets a bit sticky at this point. Less than 12 hours after the suspension was announced, there was an early-morning incident at a Chicago establishment called the Ice Club in which Johnson's very close friend Willie B. Posey was murdered while out on the town with his 6-foot-4-inch, 300-pound friend.

Tank Johnson has not been charged with anything in connection with Posey's murder. Let us make that perfectly clear. But it does appear Johnson's presence at the Ice Club in the wake of his suspension was the latest in a long list of what can charitably be termed "bad choices" since he was taken by the Bears out of the University of Washington in the second round of the 2004 draft. They would include the decision to leave a 9mm Ruger in his car outside a nightclub -- he was charged with unlawful possession of a handgun, and following a guilty plea, he was given an 18-month probation -- and his charge of battery and resisting arrest outside another Chicago nightclub (the charges later dropped).

So here was big ol' 99 presenting himself to the assembled media yesterday morning. And what was he telling us?

Let's see . . . he invoked the Almighty quite a bit. He talked about his 1- and 3-year old daughters. He praised his teammates and his coaches, especially head coach Lovie Smith. And he said he has learned a lot about "the way people operate."

Oh, and this one: "Too many people out there are cowards, killing people."

We also received a lecture about stereotypes.

"I realize people buy into stereotypes," he maintained. "I'm young. I'm black. I've got tattoos. I've got dreads. It's easy to put me into a category."

I think this was by way of defending his desire to own the firearms. I think. I wasn't there for his entire dissertation, but no one with whom I spoke told me about any direct explanation for the gun obsession.

Of course, I'm white. I'd never understand.

"Where I grew up [Tempe, Ariz.]," he said, "you'll never know. You'll never understand it. You'll never know how I got to where I am. White America will never understand. I grew up different . . . I moved around from place to place and from family member to family member until I got stability about eighth grade."

I acknowledge that, and I'm not going to make light of it. I'm not trying to judge him. I'm trying to explain him, which is not easy.

What I heard was a very conflicted young man. He paid full homage to the tutelage of such teammates as Olin Kreutz and Ruben Brown, whose example, he claimed, he is now trying to follow.

"My rookie year, I was the last to arrive and the first to get to my car after practice," he said. "Now I follow Olin's example. I get there early. I take care of my body. I learned from Olin there is no secret to being great. It takes hard work."

But he still doesn't seem to realize that he is 100 percent in the wrong with regard to his foolish actions off the field.

Asked what the worst thing about his latest experience with the law has been, he said, "The kids were in the house during the raid," not, "I had all this weaponry lying around in the house with my kids."

Back to the stereotypes for a minute. It seems the police had been summoned to the house numerous times after receiving complaints from the neighbors.

"The neighbors didn't like my dogs very much," he said. "They didn't like them. They didn't like being close to them."

And what kind of dogs were they? As my late mother used to say, I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count.

"They were pit bulls," he said.

"When I bought my house," he continued, "I put up the biggest fence the community would allow. I put up the biggest possible kennels. There's not much more I could have done."

Why do I think the neighbors might tell us a different story?

"I love dogs," he said. "I've had them since I was 7. My personal preferences are my personal preferences."

The same goes for friends and acquaintances, and this is where Tank Johnson finds himself at a personal crossroads in life. He has slowly come to realize that he must make a decision between his old life and the life he says he wishes to lead henceforth.

"The people I grew up with, I can't control what they do," he reasoned. "I know now I've got to keep the circle tight. If someone is really my 'friend,' he needs to know I've got to focus on my career. I only have a small window in my life to do this, and I can't let anyone close it on me."

The man isn't stupid. There's a lot going on inside his head. For far too long, he has been granted a free pass because he was a star athlete, and he has acted solely on his impulses. Now he is confronted with the sad reality of his life choices. I don't doubt that he loves his little girls. But do guns around the house and partying at the wrong places constitute a proper lifestyle for a doting father?

But, once again, he gets to benefit from his unique status as an athlete. He's here, after all. If he weren't really good at what he does, if he were the 44th man on the team, would he be here? You and I know the answer to that and so does he. I fear that Tank Johnson is going to remain conflicted for quite some time.

Bob Ryan is a Globe columnist. His e-mail address is ryan@globe.com.