Former Redskins running back Clinton Portis admits he had to be talked out of killing the financial advisors whom he believed cost him millions he’d saved for retirement, Portis revealed in a profile by Sports Illustrated’s
Brian Burnsed published Wednesday.
“It wasn’t no beat up,” Portis told SI. “It was kill.”
The profile paints a dark picture of Portis in 2013, with him going as far as waiting in his car with a gun for one of the men whom he believes had wronged him. While he was extremely close to taking the life-changing action, he was talked out of it in the moment by a friend on the phone, who urged him to turn his car around and go visit his family.
“You’ve already lost,” his friend told him, “but the loss you would sustain [by killing someone] would be greater.”
Prepared as he was to commit murder, sacrificing his freedom and his name for revenge, he never found whom he was looking for. But what if he had caught a glimpse before coming to his senses? What if their paths had crossed, there in the darkness? Portis doesn’t hesitate: “We’d probably be doing this interview from prison.”
Portis signed what was at the time the largest contract for a running back in NFL history in 2004 and lived a famously lavish lifestyle that included multiple cars, homes, and suits, but Portis still held some money back for his and his family’s future.
Years after retirement, Portis had to file multiple lawsuits against advisors, whom he accused of leading him astray with investments that would fall apart and suck up millions of what Portis had saved for retirement. While his advisors were eventually barred from securities trading by the Financial Industry Regulatory Authority, they never saw jail time.
As the piece puts it:
The hucksters he deemed most responsible ignored his calls. None were bound for jail. Their coffers were dry; a lawsuit seemed pointless. Once his helplessness gave way to rage, Portis lusted for a confrontation. He would meet this betrayer not with pleas or demands, or even blows delivered by thick fists attached to thick forearms. Bullets, he thought, were his sole means of balancing the scale.
You can read the story in its entirety here.
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