Turned on but still ticked off: though he hasn't flushed out his bitterness toward the 49ers, Terrell Owens is stoked about his new start in Philadelphia, where he has an opportunity to craft a legacy as the premier receiver in the NFL—and provide the missing piece in the Eagles' Super Bowl quest

Sporting News, The, June 14, 2004 by Paul Attner

Just inside the soaring entry hall of his mini-mansion in suburban Atlanta is a bust of Terrell Owens. Sitting on a pedestal, molded from stark white plaster, it radiates a godlike aura, his chest and abs cut in ripped symmetry, his head shaven, his face serious and powerful. It is simple, clean, uncluttered, unlike his NFL career. Owens yearns to be everything represented by that sculpture--a gallant figure revered for his gifts. But he never has figured out how, never has been able to stay on a path that would allow his talents--not his antics--to define him.

Now, with an opportunity that seems heaven-sent, he has another shot at crafting his legacy, linked as he will be this season to the quarterback of his desires on a team he courted, in a city desperate for a Super Bowl victory, with fans convinced that his presence will end the agony of three straight losses in the NFC championship game. Philly fanatics don't care about Sharpies and dances on the midfield star at Texas Stadium and angry sideline venting and all the rest. He hasn't caught a pass as an Eagle, but he already is a town hero. He always has wanted to be the next Jerry Rice, but things got messed up along the way. Now it's time to get it all sorted out.

Owens knows what should happen: This season, the Eagles finally advance to the Super Bowl. "They got to the NFC (championship) game without me, and now they have me, so why not?"

But first, he has to get by the matter of fights. "I don't understand" says Owens, 30. He's sitting in his massive family room. All around him are his play toys--the swimming pool fed by a small waterfall, the weight room and indoor basketball court and game rooms and a sanctuary he calls his chocolate room (everything in it is chocolate colored), where he has his computer and plasma television. Access to the play room is by code only, so no one can invade his privacy without his permission. What he doesn't understand on this day is coach Andy Reid's rule against players wearing tights to practice unless they are covered by shorts.

"My biggest adjustment isn't the new team or the plays, but wearing shorts over my tights," he says. "What does that have to do with how I practice?" Since early in his NFL career, he has worn tights; that's what Rice did. But Reid wants his players in black shorts. After the first practice at his first Eagles mini-camp, an assistant coach had to tell Owens to put on shorts. He spent the next days walking by Reid, telling him, "These shorts suck." Reid could only laugh.

But Owens is serious. "If I just have my tights on, I feel smooth, fluid, Spider-Man-like. I have given up a lot; for me to wear tights wouldn't be much. At least give me a little leash. I understand having structure, and I guess that is him making a statement. I don't have any problem with that, but it's a big adjustment."

At last week's second minicamp, it was something else. He fretted that not enough passes were thrown his way during a 7-on-7 drill. You can see eyes rolling in San Francisco. For sure, this is T.O. being T.O.; there is part of him that always believes he should have freedom to be a little individualistic within a team sport, new uniform or not. It is why 49ers running back Kevan Barlow once described his friend as "very different." It is why the market would have been limited for Owens had he became a free agent in become a free March. It is why 49ers management finally gave up on its best offensive player. It is why he feels frustrated and misunderstood, why he generates so much discontent and anger from so many fans who view him as symbolic of a generation of self-centered, me-first athletes.

Yet it also is why his Eagles No. 81 jersey already is the league's No. 1 seller, surpassing Michael Vick's No. 7. This is Owens' supporters voting with their wallets; they love him as an entertainer having fun, willing to stake out his space, tweaking the unbending stuffiness of his profession. Derrick Deese, a former 49ers tackle now with the Bucs, is convinced Owens will be fine in Philadelphia. "He doesn't like to be considered a bad guy, and he knows what this means to him," Deese says.

Everyone should rest easy. For this season, at least, Owens will perform at a level surpassing his best years with the 49ers, making a strong case he's the NFL's premier receiver. He'll also drop some passes, he'll be booed by the locals, and he won't like it. But he'll deal with it. He'll give Reid a chance to be the male presence in his life that he has long lacked and badly needed. Even when he tests the limits of Reid's authority--and he will--the problems will not erode the fabric of the locker room, as they did with the 49ers. And his love affair with Donovan McNabb will be strong enough so that when the passes aren't as precise as he wants, or he doesn't get the ball as much as he hopes, he'll give McNabb leeway he never afforded Jeff Garcia.

"Dude, this is what I wanted, so there are no excuses," he says. "It is so refreshing knowing you are getting a new start. I'd say a clean slate, but it's not really. People still will dig up what I did in San Francisco. Is he going to blow up? Is he going to get along with his teammates, with his quarterback? I guess if we don't (get to a Super Bowl), I am a failure.... I wasn't the savior. I am already expecting all of that. It comes with the territory.