From the Football Field to Fishing for Men

July 14, 2026

From the Football Field to Fishing for Men

An Unexpected Journey of Strength, Suffering, Grace, and God’s Purpose

When I look back over my sixty-two years of life, I sometimes wonder how a boy who arrived at Southside High School overweight, out of shape, and uncertain of his future ever found his way onto the football field at the University of Alabama.

For much of my younger life, I thought the answer was determination, hard work, and a willingness to hit somebody harder than they hit me.

But age has a way of revealing truths that youth cannot see.

Today, I understand something I could never have fully appreciated as that young boy.

The greatest strength I ever possessed was never in my arms, my shoulders, or my legs. It was in the grace of a loving God who was guiding my footsteps long before I understood where He was leading me.

And the most important victory of my life would never come on a football field.

It would come through Jesus Christ.

The Boy Who Wasn’t Supposed to Make It

When I arrived at Southside High School in the ninth grade, I had just come out of military school. I had started playing football again at Lyman Ward, but my experience there amounted to little more than spring practice before I transferred.

I was overweight, soft, and probably looked more like the highest-ranking eighth-grade cadet than somebody destined to become a football player.

Nobody looking at me would have predicted much of an athletic future.

And if I’m being truthful, I wouldn’t have predicted one either.

Then came Coach Owens.

One might have thought he would gradually ease me into shape, offering a little encouragement along the way.

Not Coach Owens.

Every day after practice, when everybody else finished running, he made me run extra laps.

I felt like I was being punished for crimes I hadn’t committed.

At the time, I thought he was trying to kill me.

Looking back, I sometimes wonder whether God was using that man’s determination to begin teaching me something I desperately needed to learn.

Growth doesn’t always come through comfort. Sometimes God allows us to be pushed beyond what we believe we can endure.

After my junior high season, Coach Randy Ross made a decision that still amazes me.

He pulled David Smith, Donnie Higdon, Troy Getz, Mike Webster, and me up to the varsity.

Now, those other four young men were legitimate football players.

David Smith was an outstanding quarterback who would go on to play and start at Alabama. Donnie Higdon was a tremendous linebacker. Mike Webster was an excellent guard. Troy Getz was a powerful fullback.

And then there was me.

I didn’t belong in the same conversation with those guys.

At least, that’s what I believed.

But Scripture tells us something that I have come to appreciate more with each passing year.

“A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps.” — Proverbs 16:9 (KJV)

I thought I was chasing football.

I thought making the varsity would give my life significance.

I thought that if I could become a great football player, somehow I would become somebody.

What I didn’t understand was that God was allowing football to become part of a much greater journey.

I was measuring success by the size of the opportunity.

God was preparing me for a purpose I couldn’t yet see.

When God Uses the Unexpected

My first day on the varsity was an unforgettable introduction to reality.

I was holding a tackling dummy while our fullback, Scott Keeling, came charging toward me.

Scott, who later played at Clemson, hit me like a freight train.

I went flying through the air so far that I may have established a Southside High School record for unassisted flight.

It was my first real lesson in what varsity football was all about.

And it taught me something.

If I intended to survive, I had better get stronger.

Going into my sophomore year, a senior named Rodney Long, who later played at Austin Peay, took an interest in me.

Rodney was constantly lifting weights and working out. He taught me how to train properly, how to develop strength, and how to push myself beyond what I thought were my limitations.

I began lifting and training with a determination I had never known before.

I still wasn’t good enough to become a regular varsity starter, but I found a home on special teams.

And on special teams, I learned something else.

I learned how to hit.

And I learned how to hit hard.

One evening, a player from Glencoe High School approached me at McDonald’s in Gadsden and told me I hit harder than anybody on the Southside football team.

I never forgot that.

For a young man who had once doubted whether he belonged on the football field, those words meant more than he could possibly have known.

Something awakened inside me.

I began playing with a passion that bordered on reckless abandon. I wanted to prove that I belonged.

The hits became harder. The concussions began adding up.

Back then, we didn’t understand the long-term consequences the way we do today. We shook it off and kept playing.

But through those years, I was slowly becoming someone I had never imagined I could be.

At the time, I credited hard work and determination.

Today, I recognize something more.

God was putting people in my path at just the right moments.

Coach Jimmy Owens pushed me.

Coach Randy Ross gave me an opportunity.

Rodney Long showed me how to become stronger.

Each played a role.

And I believe the Lord was working through circumstances I didn’t fully understand.

From Southside to Curry College

That journey eventually took me north to Curry College, where I played from 1983 to 1984.

Coach John Duffy Doherty gave me an opportunity to start at linebacker and middle nose guard. I also played offensive guard in certain situations.

For the first time, I began believing I might actually be able to compete at a higher level.

My confidence grew.

My strength increased.

And, unfortunately, so did my opinion of myself.

One afternoon, some friends and I headed into downtown Boston. I was with Tex, Adam Froelich, Kathy, and Jill.

The girls dared me to carry both of them at the same time.

Naturally, being young and convinced I was Hercules, I accepted.

I squatted down, let Kathy climb onto one shoulder and Jill onto the other, stood up, and started walking through downtown Boston.

People stared.

Cars honked.

And I felt like the king of the world.

I was young, strong, and proud of what my body could do.

I thought strength was the ability to carry more weight, take harder hits, and prove that nobody could break me.

But God would eventually teach me how little physical strength matters when compared with the strength of the human spirit sustained by faith.

The Farm and the Legend of Hercules

There is another memory from those years of building physical strength that has never left me.

It happened on my dad’s farm.

One hot summer day, some of his farmer buddies and members of our family were standing around an old John Deere tractor.

Somebody questioned whether I was strong enough to lift it.

Well, questioning my strength back then was about all the encouragement I needed to attempt something foolish.

I crawled underneath that tractor, planted my back on the ground, and pushed with everything I had.

And that tractor lifted.

I can still hear my dad’s voice.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Coming from my dad, that was quite a testimonial.

At another point in those years, my girlfriend brought her young daughter around. She looked up at me with those big eyes and called me Hercules.

I loved that nickname.

I loved being strong.

I loved believing there wasn’t anything I couldn’t accomplish if I put my mind and muscles to it.

But I realize now that there was something missing from my understanding of strength.

I knew how to lift heavy things.

I didn’t yet understand how to surrender the heavy burdens of life to God.

I knew how to depend on my muscles.

I was still learning what it meant to depend completely on Jesus Christ.

And one day, the Lord would allow me to see just how temporary the strength of the human body really is.

Welcome to Alabama

In 1985, I transferred to the University of Alabama, where I played through the 1987 season.

Whatever confidence I had developed at Curry College was about to receive a serious examination.

On my first day, they threw me straight into a varsity scrimmage.

I lined up on the kickoff return team.

The ball went into the air, and I started blocking.

Then, out of nowhere, Todd Roper came flying across the field like a missile.

He hit me so hard that I thought my sternum had been driven through my spine.

I was lying on the turf, desperately trying to breathe, wondering what in the world I had gotten myself into.

This was a completely different level of football.

As I struggled to catch my breath, Todd reached down with one of those massive arms, grabbed me, and pulled me to my feet.

He looked me straight in the eyes and yelled:

“Welcome to the University of Alabama, rookie!”

And just like that, my education in Alabama football had begun.

The hits were harder.

The competition was greater.

The challenges were unlike anything I had ever experienced.

And I loved it.

I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything.

But when I look back now, I understand that wearing the Crimson Tide uniform was not the ultimate destination God had planned for my life.

It was another chapter in His preparation.

I had started as an overweight boy from military school who wasn’t sure he belonged on a junior high football field.

Somehow, I had made it to Alabama.

Not because I was the most talented.

Not because I had some remarkable athletic pedigree.

And certainly not because I deserved every opportunity that came my way.

“But by the grace of God I am what I am.” — 1 Corinthians 15:10 (KJV)

Those words mean more to me today than they ever could have when I was young.

Because grace is not something we earn.

It is something God gives.

And when I look at the unlikely road from Southside to Curry College to Alabama, I see the fingerprints of God’s mercy all over my life.

When Hercules Begins to Grow Weak

Today, I am sixty-two years old.

And the body that once seemed indestructible has begun sending me some very serious reminders that I am not Hercules anymore.

I have survived mechanical aortic heart valve surgery.

My left knee is worn out.

My right knee isn’t much better.

My hand has been broken. Several fingers have been broken. My ankle has been through more than I care to remember.

My collarbone healed crooked and looks something like a candy cane.

What I once thought was a rotator cuff injury turned out to be an old collarbone fracture that had healed the wrong way.

And the concussions from my high school and college football days have left their mark.

I once carried two young women through downtown Boston on my shoulders.

I once lifted an old John Deere tractor.

Today, there are mornings when simply getting out of bed reminds me that time eventually catches up with all of us.

The muscles weaken.

The joints wear out.

The scars remain.

And the strength that once defined us slowly slips away.

But I have discovered a remarkable spiritual truth.

When our physical strength begins to fail, we have an opportunity to discover the everlasting strength of Jesus Christ.

The Apostle Paul understood this better than most.

He wrote:

“Though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.” — 2 Corinthians 4:16 (KJV)

What a promise.

The body grows older, but the soul can grow stronger.

The world may see a man whose best physical years are behind him.

But God can still be doing His greatest work within that man.

And when Paul pleaded with the Lord concerning his own affliction, the answer he received was extraordinary:

“My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9 (KJV)

For most of my younger life, I wanted to be strong enough that I wouldn’t need anyone.

Now I understand that my greatest spiritual growth comes from recognizing how desperately I need the Lord.

I once believed weakness was something to be ashamed of.

Now I understand that weakness can bring us to our knees, and sometimes being on our knees is exactly where we need to be.

Because it is there, in humility and prayer, that we learn to surrender our pride and place our trust in God.

I am not saying that God caused every injury or hardship I have experienced.

But I do believe that He can use even our painful experiences to draw us closer to Him.

And sometimes the very things that humble us are the things that open our hearts to His greatest blessings.

The Greatest Victory Was Never on a Football Field

Sometimes, late at night, I close my eyes and find myself traveling back through those years.

I can still feel Scott Keeling knocking me across that Southside practice field.

I can see Rodney Long showing me how to lift weights.

I can hear the cars honking as I carry Kathy and Jill through downtown Boston.

I can hear my dad’s astonished voice beside that old John Deere tractor.

And I can still see Todd Roper reaching down to pull me off the Alabama turf.

Those memories are precious to me.

They are part of who I am.

But they are not the greatest story of my life.

The greatest story is not that a young man with limited athletic ability found his way onto the University of Alabama football team.

The greatest story is that a sinner in need of grace found hope, forgiveness, and eternal life through Jesus Christ.

For years, I thought the purpose of my journey was to make something of myself.

Now I know that my greatest purpose is to glorify the One who gave me life in the first place.

Football taught me discipline.

Football taught me courage.

Football taught me how to endure pain and keep getting back up.

But football could never save my soul.

Only Jesus Christ could do that.

The Bible tells us that salvation is not a reward for being strong, successful, disciplined, or good enough.

It is the gift of God’s grace through faith in Jesus Christ.

The Son of God came into this world, lived a sinless life, died on the cross for our sins, and rose again so that those who believe in Him might receive forgiveness and everlasting life.

No championship ring can compare with that victory.

No stadium filled with cheering fans can match the joy of knowing that your sins are forgiven.

And no physical accomplishment can equal the promise of eternal life.

The greatest victory was won not beneath the lights of a football stadium, but on a cross at Calvary and through the empty tomb.

That is the victory that matters for eternity.

From Football Player to Fisher of Men

When Jesus called His first disciples, He spoke words that would change their lives forever.

“Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” — Matthew 4:19 (KJV)

Those men were fishermen.

They understood boats, nets, long days, and hard work.

But Jesus called them to a purpose greater than catching fish.

He called them to reach people.

To share the truth.

To proclaim the Gospel.

And to lead others toward the saving grace of God.

The more I reflect on my own life, the more I realize that the Lord has given me a calling far greater than football.

I believe that calling is to use the life He has allowed me to live, including its victories, failures, foolish decisions, painful injuries, and undeserved blessings, to point others toward Jesus Christ.

That is how I now see Lettermen of the USA.

It is more than an organization that brings former athletes together.

It is more than an opportunity to preserve memories of football games and the men who played them.

It can be an instrument for serving others, sharing hope, demonstrating Christian compassion, and reaching people who desperately need to know the love of Jesus.

In many ways, I see it as a fishing boat.

Every story is another cast of the net.

Every testimony is another opportunity to plant a seed of faith.

Every act of kindness is another opportunity to show someone the love of Christ.

Every veteran we help, every family we encourage, and every person who hears our message is someone whose life has immeasurable value in the eyes of God.

Because ultimately, our purpose should never be to bring glory to ourselves.

It should be to bring glory to Him.

Jesus said:

“For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.” — Luke 19:10 (KJV)

If the Son of God came into this world to seek the lost, then surely those of us who claim to follow Him have a responsibility to share His message of salvation.

We may never stand behind a pulpit.

We may never become famous evangelists.

But each of us has a story.

Each of us has a testimony.

Each of us has opportunities to encourage, serve, and witness to others.

And we never know when one conversation, one act of compassion, or one personal testimony might help lead a soul toward Jesus Christ.

The Legacy I Want to Leave

There was a time when I wanted people to remember me for being strong.

I wanted them to remember the hits I made, the weight I lifted, and the football teams I played for.

I wanted them to remember that I had worn the uniform of the University of Alabama.

And I am still proud of those memories.

But as I grow older, my understanding of what truly matters has changed.

I don’t want my greatest legacy to be a football jersey.

I don’t want it to be a story about lifting a tractor.

I don’t even want it to be the remarkable journey from Southside High School to Alabama.

I want my legacy to be that somewhere along the way, I came to understand that everything I had was a gift from God.

And that I used whatever time He gave me to serve Him.

I want people to know that Jesus Christ is real.

That His grace is sufficient.

That His mercy is greater than our failures.

That His forgiveness is available to all who turn to Him in faith.

And that no person is beyond the reach of His redeeming love.

The Bible declares:

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.” — Romans 1:16 (KJV)

Neither am I ashamed.

There was a time when I would have given almost anything to hear thousands of Alabama fans cheering in Bryant-Denny Stadium.

Today, I would gladly trade every moment of earthly applause for the knowledge that something I said or did helped another person come to know Jesus Christ.

Because the cheering eventually stops.

The stadium lights go dark.

The trophies gather dust.

The body grows weak.

And one day, every earthly accomplishment becomes a memory.

But a soul saved through Jesus Christ has an eternal future.

The Final Whistle Is Not the End

I don’t know how many years the Lord has left for me on this earth.

None of us knows that.

But I do know that I want the remaining years of my life to count for something greater than myself.

I want to keep serving.

I want to keep sharing.

I want to keep encouraging others.

And above all, I want to keep telling people about the saving grace of Jesus Christ.

If God can use an overweight boy from military school, a young man who was never supposed to make it to the University of Alabama, and an old football player with a worn-out body and a heart kept beating by a mechanical valve, then I believe He can use anybody who is willing to surrender his life to Him.

I no longer have to prove how strong I am.

I have spent enough years doing that.

Now I want my life to demonstrate how strong my Savior is.

I once thought the greatest thing I could ever accomplish was putting on the Crimson Tide uniform.

Now I understand that the greatest privilege of my life is being a follower of Jesus Christ.

And when my earthly journey finally comes to an end, I won’t be concerned about how many tackles I made, how many people I impressed, or how much weight I could lift.

I will be concerned about whether I was faithful to the Lord who loved me, saved me, and gave my life a purpose beyond anything I could have imagined.

The Apostle Paul wrote:

“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.” — 2 Timothy 4:7 (KJV)

That is the testimony I pray will someday be mine.

Not that I was the strongest man.

Not that I was the greatest football player.

Not that I conquered every challenge life placed before me.

But that, by the grace of God, I kept the faith.

And perhaps, somewhere along the way, I helped bring a few more souls to the foot of the cross.

Football taught me how to fight.

Life taught me how to endure.

Suffering taught me how much I needed God.

And Jesus Christ taught me what it truly means to live.

I have carried people on my shoulders.

I have lifted a tractor off the ground.

I have worn the uniform of the University of Alabama.

But none of those accomplishments can compare with the joy of knowing Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.

The strongest hands in my life were never my own.

They were the nail-scarred hands of the Savior who carried me through it all.

These days, I’m not chasing championships.

I’m fishing for men.

And by the grace of God, I intend to keep casting that net for as long as He gives me breath.

To God be the glory.

Darryl