The outsider: Terrell Owens is at the center of the NFL's biggest off-season controversy. But that's just business as usual for a guy who is perhaps the fittest also—and also a supersize mystery

Men's Fitness, August, 2005 by Mac Montandon

Terrell Owens is at the center of the NFL's biggest off-season controversy. But that's just business as usual for a guy who is perhaps the fittest (and best) also--and also a supersize mystery.

AT THE MOMENT, TERRELL OWENS IS A VERY HAPPY MAN. The photographer's lens--and all eyes in a cavernous Atlanta studio--are trained on his impressively chiseled frame, the result of years of obsessive late-night lifting sessions. The sounds of hip-hop duo Blackalicious spill quick and quirky from a nearby ipod. As the camera clicks at a steady beat, Owens flexes, his six-pack abs becoming a seven-, eight-, nine-pack. Standing in the shadows are some of Owens' favorite people: an old friend from his college days at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, Theron Cooper; his new publicist, Kim Etheredge--who treats him more like a protected younger brother than a client--and, of course, his doting trainer, James "Buddy" Primm.

Yes, life is good.

Owens turns his back to the camera, and Buddy directs his next move. "Squeeze those hands" he says. "Now blow out, T." Owens' back muscles fan far to each side of his body, like a cape made of stones. Buddy looks on, pleased, grinning in his matching yellow-and-baby-blue Denver Nuggets jersey and baggy shorts. He knows MF's cover shoot has just been nailed. Owens begins to relax, his game-face scowl softens, and he even goofs a little for the camera, sticking his tongue out maniacally, If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was a guy without a care in the world.

But things are never that simple in T.O's universe. When it comes to the five-time Pro Bowl wide receiver of the Philadelphia Eagles, even his name is complicated. Owens speaks schizophrenically about being two people at once. There's Terrell Owens, the once skinny, picked-on shy kid raised protectively by his mother and devout grandmother in a working-class Alabama town, where everyone he knew worked too much for too little at the local textile mill. And then there's T.O., the flamboyant, outspoken gridiron superstar who says and does what he wants, bristling at NFL rules he deems oppressive.

The struggle between these dual personalities is what keeps Owens in the headlines and at the center of controversy.

"On the field, if they want me to be successful, then they should allow me to be the way I am, and that's how I am" he says. "Off the field, I'm more relaxed, I'm laid-back, which a lot of people don't think,'

IN HIS BOOK, CATCH THIS!, PUBLISHED LAST YEAR, Owens pinpoints the exact moment he "met" T.O. It was midway through his rookie year and he had just caught an important touchdown pass against the Bengals.

"When I reached the end zone with the ball, I remembered that my morn was watching the game down in Alabama, and she was all I could think about. Something took over my body and I began to dance in a way they do in Atlanta called the 'Bankhead bounce dance" where you move your shoulders back and forth. I knew this would keep the camera on me a little longer, my morn would get to see me celebrating, and that would make her feel good. This was the first time Terrell Owens stepped aside and somebody else came forward: 'T.O.,' the professional football player and entertainer who'd just been waiting for his chance to emerge."

In the 10 years since, both Owens--a 6'3", 226-pound cornerback crusher--and his alter ego T.O. have seldom left the glare of the media spotlight. And that's no small feat for a man who hits the clubs only sparingly, avoids taunt-happy strangers, and keeps a low off-season profile by hanging around his palatial six-bedroom Atlanta-area home, shooting pool, playing dominos, and chilling with a close-knit group of friends.

But enter the words Terrell Owens and controversy into Google's search engine and some 23,000 results pop up in just a fraction of a second. (By comparison, Mac Montandon and controversy will get you only 31 links.) Among the highlights: There's the time Owens plucked a Sharpie out of his sock after a touchdown reception, autographed the ball live on Monday Night Football and handed it to his financial consultant. Seattle Seahawks coach Mike Holmgren told reporters the move was "a dishonor to anyone who ever played this game." Then there's last fall's Playboy magazine interview, in which T.O. suggested none-too-subtly that former teammate Jeff Garcia is gay. (Owens later backpedaled from the comment.) And more recently, there's the ad for ABC's Desperate Housewives, in which a decidedly towel-less Nicollette Sheridan hopped naked into T.O.'s arms, again during Monday Night Football. Viewers were so outraged that Owens was forced to issue an apology for his participation.

Resting and reflecting with MF recently on a perfect Southern afternoon, Owens says he's come to terms with his controversial legacy.

"I've always wondered, 'Why am I always in the media? Why does every little thing I do create big headlines?' And I think I've come to realize, that's how God made me. It's not necessarily a good thing and not necessarily a bad thing, that's just part of who I am. I don't consider myself a bad person,'