STRAWBERRY 'HUMBLED,' AGAIN

Three Months After Almost Killing Himself, The Former Yankees Star Says
He's Shaking His Drug Addiction And 'Doesn't Need Sympathy'

TAMPA -- Darryl Strawberry is trying to fix his life once and for all while
living in a dingy apartment at his fourth drug-rehabilitation facility in
the past decade.

Strawberry is known for wasting a potential Hall of Fame baseball career,
but here at HealthCare Connections, a clinic, his eight All-Star Games and
four World Series rings mean no more than the accomplishments of his fellow
patients.

Which is to say, nothing.

He and two other men share two bedrooms, a bathroom and a living
room-kitchen. The pictureless walls are white; the light-switch covers
caked with grime. There's a dusty footprint in the worn carpet and a dank
smell. ''This apartment is humbling,'' says Strawberry, 38. ''There are
times when we all need to be humbled.''

His friends say that is especially true for him. His tumultuous life has
been a stew of huge athletic success, assault, tax evasion and potentially
deadly colon cancer. He has had to leave baseball five times for
drug-related reasons, each time swearing that he was going to rid himself
of his problems.

So what is different this time?

In an interview with USA TODAY, Strawberry said jail time, a suicide
attempt and the realization of how fast his cancer could return and kill
him made him determined to straighten out his life. ''I don't know how much
time I have left. . . . I'm going to make the best of what I have left,''
he says.

The story of this most recent spiral in Strawberry's life began Oct. 1,
1998, when, as a member of the Yankees, he was diagnosed with colon cancer.

Two days later, he had surgery to remove 16 inches of his large intestine
to get rid of a 2-inch tumor. He missed the team's march to that year's
World Series title, but returned to participate in 1999 spring training.

Then, in April 1999, he was charged with cocaine possession and
solicitation of a prostitute and placed on administrative leave by Major
League Baseball. He pleaded no contest to the charges and finally returned
to the Yankees in September. He helped them win another World Series, but
he has not played since.

In early 2000, he tested positive for cocaine and was suspended from
baseball for a year. In September, he was jailed and then sentenced to
house arrest after violating his probation by driving under the influence
of medication and trying to flee a minor accident.

Shortly after checking himself into HealthCare Connections in October, he
was ready to kill himself. He thought about using a gun ''and blowing my
brains all over the wall,'' he says.

Instead, four innings into Game 1 of the World Series between the Yankees
and New York Mets -- the teams he had helped win championships -- he called
a friend for drugs, and then sat in a car on a dead-end street and smoked
$200 worth of crack cocaine. When he returned home at 3 a.m., he took 10
tablets of Xanax and passed out for two days.

''I decided, (expletive) it,'' Strawberry says. ''I didn't write a final
note. Why write a note? You don't think like that when life is hopeless. I
was fed up with myself. It was the atmosphere of Yankee Stadium. I couldn't
watch. I could have been playing. I had completely destroyed my life. Why
not end it?''

Accepting the blame

Today, his friends say he no longer utters one word of blame on anyone
other than himself. He's running out of money, and his 6,000-square-foot
home in Rancho Mirage, Calif., is on the market for $1.5 million. He
doesn't want to play baseball anymore.

He says he wants to live in Tampa and start a mentoring program. He says he
is getting help from the Florida NAACP and award-winning singer Isaac Hayes.

''I've tried to accept things as they are,'' Strawberry says. ''I'm fully
aware that I have made mistakes and that there is a message out there for
kids.''

And, his friends say, he finally understands that if he doesn't continue
aggressive chemotherapy for his cancer, he could die. Last fall, while in
jail, he stopped chemotherapy treatments because he had said he lost the
will to live. Now, he's resumed treatments.

Strawberry's friend Ron Dock, a Vietnam veteran and addiction counselor,
has told Strawberry that ''another (drug) relapse means the penitentiary or
death. He wakes up in the middle of the night with those two choices.''

Strawberry says the pain and sickness caused by the chemotherapy made his
life miserable, so he quit. And he says the experience helped him relate to
his mother Ruby's pain when she quit her treatments before dying of cancer
in 1996. ''This has been a real struggle,'' he says. ''Because you want to
feel well.''

Strawberry is confined to the residential center. He wears an electronic
bracelet around his ankle that beeps and notifies a probation offer if he
walks too far away.

His wife, Charisse, and their three children -- Jordan, 6; Jade, 5; and
Jewel, 6 months -- live in a rented house nearby. They are allowed to visit
only on weekends.

Strawberry has two other children, Darryl Jr., 14, and Diamond, 13, by his
first wife, Lisa, living in Los Angeles.

Strawberry talks about his dilemma in matter-of-fact tones. Unlike in the
past, he doesn't wrap himself in Christianity and quote Bible verses about
doing ''God's will.''

One minute, he's discussing his suicide attempt. The next, Jade is pulling
on his leg, wanting to show him her new watch that plays a Britney Spears
song at the touch of a button.

''That's the real-life picture of Darryl's struggles,'' says Ray Negron,
another of Strawberry's closest friends and an assistant to the team
psychologist for the Cleveland Indians.

''The best thing about this is, I can't get away from myself,'' Strawberry
says. ''I have to face myself. I can't run and hide. I have to develop
skills that will make me feel good, that will take the place of alcohol and
drugs.''

That's the painful part.

Experts such as Dock and Negron say that for Strawberry to grow, he has to
come to grips with the consequences of his actions. Dock is a recovering
drug addict and says he has been clean for eight years.

After Vietnam, Dock said he had survivor's guilt, got involved in drugs and
wound up living on the street and eating out of garbage cans for three years.

It took Dock that long to admit that he sold his mother's jewelry and his
daughter's Christmas presents to buy cocaine. It took him another year to
admit that his drug problem caused him to miss his father's funeral, and
during group sessions, he had to write letters to his dad, apologizing and
explaining why.

Strawberry is doing similar exercises when he goes to group sessions from
8:30 a.m. to mid-afternoon five days a week. One day, he says, he had to
write and discuss the 10 biggest reasons he liked to break the rules.
Another time, he wrote about the 10 worst consequences of his addictions.

''Sometimes, Darryl calls me and cries, saying, 'Hey, Dock, they are
calling me on all my (expletive),' '' Dock says.

Strawberry doesn't like to talk about what goes on in sessions. ''I don't
think he's ready to talk about that stuff publicly,'' his wife says.

For Strawberry, the hard truth about his addiction is what it has done to
his children and how he's going to have to deal with them. He talks to
Darryl Jr., a 6-3 high school sophomore with talents in basketball and
baseball, about the suicide attempt and his drug addiction.

''I told him that I was very sick,'' he says. ''I explained to him
everything and that it is something he might have to deal with. The best
thing that a parent can give his kids is knowledge. I want to give my kids
something I never had: a dad who will communicate, a dad who will show love.''

Starting at the top

In 1980, the Mets made 18-year-old Strawberry the first player taken in the
baseball draft, and because of his lanky build and smooth swing he reminded
baseball people of Ted Williams.

Two years later, he showed why, when he hit 26 home runs with 74 RBI to win
the National League Rookie of the Year award.

Strawberry said his serious drinking problems didn't start until he joined
the Mets in 1983 at 21. He said his drinking took away the pressure of
being a superstar and drowned out his lonely feelings. ''The more I drank,
the less lonely I was,'' he said.

Now, baseball brings mixed emotions. He won a World Series championship
with the Mets in 1986 and with the Yankees in 1996, '98 and '99. His '99
postseason performance was his best, when he averaged .333 (5-for-15) with
two home runs.

The memories of those successes almost drove him to suicide, he says. Now,
he says, he's glad he didn't take that final step.

He says if he had died, he would have missed hearing about Jordan scoring
two points in a basketball game and playing cards with Jade. He would have
missed pushing Jewel in a stroller.

He hopes he can reverse his life, even though he says he knows baseball
people are tired of hearing his promises. He doesn't know whether his
cancer will flare up again.

But he says he's going to do everything he can to keep away from drugs and
alcohol. He remembers the pain of crying in jail, thinking about his kids.

''They are the reason I am alive today,'' Strawberry said. ''It would have
been selfish to take my life away like that. I don't want to go out that
way. I'd rather have cancer kill me than alcohol and drugs.''