WILLIAMS' RETIREMENT SENDS SMOKE SIGNALS OF A DEEPER PROBLEM

So, Ricky Williams would rather smoke grass than smoke opposing NFL defenses. 

The recently retired Miami Dolphins running back has decided he would rather blow some weed than blow past some linebacker.  He would sooner do blaze than blaze out of a backfield.  He would prefer to cozy up with Mary Jane than return to the team he reworked a rich five-year contract with two seasons ago. 

Williams' buds are no longer the ones on the field.  A pot of money - he could have made up to $6 million this season - doesn't have the allure of a nickel bag of pot.  "Getting outside" for a big gain is not important to Williams; "getting high" anywhere, anytime, is. 

Just 27 years old, in the prime of his playing career, the former Heisman Trophy winner made the call last week from Hawaii, an audible by cell phone to Dolphins coach Dave Wannstedt.  We don't know if Williams was enjoying a little "Maui wowie" at the time he called, but we have to wonder. 

Not that doing unusual things - with or without the aid of marijuana - - is out of character for Williams. 

That's because Williams suffers from social anxiety disorder, and, consequently, he has never felt comfortable in the public spotlight.  When he broke into the league in 1999, playing for the New Orleans Saints, Williams frequently conducted postgame interviews in front of his locker while still wearing his helmet, deathly afraid he would not speak correctly. 

That's what SAD, the third-most prevalent psychological disorder in the United States, can do to people.  Social anxiety disorder is brought on by a fear of being judged poorly by others, which leads to feelings of inadequacy, depression and humiliation when in a public setting.  It can range from mild to severe, with severe bouts lasting for days, even weeks. 

Since it takes something of an extroverted personality to be the focal point of 150,000 prying eyes on any given Sunday -- and then to deal with an inquiring media afterward -- Williams chose to step away from football rather than to "live in fear," as his younger sister Nisey told The Dallas Morning News on Thursday. 

"So he is opening up about everything and not living a lie," she said. 

That "opening up" includes Williams' admission that he desires to continue smoking marijuana, which he says helps him in coping with his social phobia.  Williams told the Miami Herald on Thursday he had failed a third drug test for marijuana use, which would have resulted in a four-game suspension had he continued to play this season. 

It wasn't as if Williams didn't know what was coming.  The personal peace that marijuana brought him was more important than the opportunity to play the game he grew up loving. 

"I didn't quit football because I failed a drug test," he told the Miami paper.  "I failed a drug test because I was ready to quit football."

Williams had tried the prescription anti-depressant Paxil in an attempt to ease the intense SAD episodes he suffered, but the drug didn't agree with his diet.  So he turned to marijuana, and now Williams says he feels "free" -- "free" to live without concern of public judgment and the fear he somehow isn't good enough. 

Apparently, not knowing means not caring. 

When the news of Williams' retirement broke last weekend, my initial reaction was that he was simply doing what he does best: running.  He was running from a drug problem he couldn't shake, and rather than get professional help he chose the easy way out by announcing an end to his career. 

Just another pro athlete with immense talent letting his career go up in smoke.  Just another bad message being sent to young football fans. 

But as the story unfolded, it became obvious Williams had found a solution -- albeit, illegal -- to his problem.  Yes, he could feel normal, but it meant doing something many of us see as abnormal to make it happen. 

Which makes us wonder how many people who are "addicted" to marijuana use it to mask some omnipresent social fear? How many teens who smoke dope do so because, inwardly, they see themselves as dopes of another variety and getting high is an easy way to hide, if only temporarily?

Perhaps Ricky Williams' shocking retirement has taught us something: Nothing is more important than feeling normal and accepted, and, as fragile beings, we're willing to sacrifice everything -- and try anything -- to feel that way.