"Don't do what I did," is the signature message of former NFL receiver Irving Fryar - a message he has offered with charisma and intensity to high school football players, NFL rookies and devout church worshippers alike.
But now, that message offers only a dark reminder of a distant past Fryar had hoped to forget and a more recent past Fryar surely hopes won't dictate - and destroy - his future.
Fryar - who spent 17 years in the league with a variety of teams and at the time of his retirement, was fifth all-time in receptions - and his mother, Allene McGhee, are facing charges of bank fraud - or more accurately, second-degree conspiracy and theft by deception - stemming from an incident in December 2009 involving the closing of four home equity loans in a single day, all using the same house as collateral. That home, valued at $140,000, was then used to obtain five loans totaling almost $700,000.
Fryar and McGhee claimed that they were puppets in the grander scheme of local broker, William Barksdale. The prosecution alleges that, at the time of the scheme, Fryar was facing crippling financial obligations related to his Philadelphia mansion and that he and McGhee knew precisely what they were doing.
Both were indicted last October.
Fryar, who played professionally for the New England Patriots, Miami Dolphins, Philadelphia Eagles and Washington Redskins, gained a sterling reputation during and after his playing career as an NFL redemption story - rescuing his life and his professional career from drugs, booze, arrests, domestic violence and depression through faith in God.
During his time in the league, Fryar's younger teammates would call him "Rev." He committed significant funds to at-risk youth organizations and spent time visiting sick children in hospitals.
Fryar told The Star-Ledger in Atlanta in August 2013 that he once put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger, but the gun jammed. "God said, 'No! I got something for you to do.'"
After his playing career ended, Fryar became a Pentecostal and Baptist minister and earned his Ph.D. from the North Carolina College of Theology.
Fryar founded a church in his native Mount Holly, N.J., became a regular speaker at the NFL rookie symposium and was hired last year as a high school football coach.
In the wake of the indictment, things began falling apart for Fryar.
He was fired from his high school coaching gig. The NFL, according to spokesperson Greg Aiello, "decided to go in a different direction" at the rookie symposium this year, and Fryar's wife of 29 years, Jacqueline, filed for divorce.
Today, prosecutors will offer Fryar and McGhee a plea deal, but its severity reflects their confidence in their case: five years for Fryar, three for McGhee.
Both are expected to reject the deal and go to trial according to their lawyers.
"I don't regret it," Fryar once told The Philadelphia Inquirer, referring to his troubled past. "I wouldn't be where I am now if I didn't have to go through what I went through."
For Fryar, "Don't do what I did" truly has a whole new meaning now.
