Maybe Darryl Kennedy was too good. Maybe if football hadn’t made him famous by middle school, one less teacher would have let him slide. If professional baseball scouts hadn’t targeted him, maybe fewer lowlifes would have goaded him into fights.

Kennedy didn’t really need all of his talent, anyway. Take away just a couple fast-twitch muscle fibers, and maybe he would have joined the Syracuse football team after high school instead of first attending community college.

If only Kennedy didn’t have as much natural ability as almost anyone who ever stepped on a New Jersey high school football field, maybe it wouldn’t have taken his girlfriend’s pregnancy for him to realize athletic talent alone can’t make a life.

Alas, God gave Kennedy, now a senior fullback for SU, all the talent in the world. Maybe it was a blessing. Maybe it was a curse. Maybe both.

Ask Clinton Jones, and he doesn’t even hesitate. Sure, he coached Anthony Davis, now a star running back at Wisconsin, at Plainfield High in New Jersey.

‘Darryl Kennedy is the best player I ever coached,’ Jones said. ‘He had a sixth sense, maybe a seventh sense. He was always a step or two ahead.’

Said Kennedy: ‘I’m like the Incredible Hulk or something. I just go out there and play. I’m unstoppable. My mind is focused on that. Every kickoff, I just black out and play like a madman.’

As an option quarterback, Kennedy ran for 5,076 yards and 60 touchdowns at Plainfield High School. Once, in his senior year, Kennedy leapt over eight Farris High defenders at the goal line for a touchdown.

He led Plainfield to an 11-1 record that season, scoring 22 touchdowns, and the community lionized him. Pop Warner players lined up for his autograph after games. The school retired his number in a ceremony the following year.

As a baseball player, Kennedy was equally prolific. A shortstop, pitcher, center fielder and catcher, Kennedy drew interest from the Cleveland Indians and New York Mets.

‘Kids still say they want to be like Darryl Kennedy,’ Jones said.

While Kennedy’s legend grew, he disregarded school work, concentrating on football.

At first, it mattered little. So long as Kennedy didn’t disturb class, teachers passed him.

‘It hurt him, and it helped him,’ Jones said. ‘If you’re a teacher, how can you be the person that gave Darryl Kennedy a bad grade?’

Kennedy started receiving a dangerous message: Because of his football exploits, he could get away with slacking. In school, he responded only if he received special attention from teachers.

Once Kennedy enrolled in a special education class, people started calling him a dumb jock and said he’d never make it to college.

They were almost right. Kennedy didn’t care.

‘Darryl was probably the best athlete from his area in New Jersey since the time he was in seventh grade,’ said Syracuse assistant coach Jerry Azzinaro, who recruited Kennedy. ‘As you grow up, people keep telling you how good you are. Sometimes, you believe them.’

Other people believed, too. The wrong people. Success made Kennedy a marked man. Fueled by envy, thugs instigated fights with Kennedy. It became a chore for Jones, also a teacher at Plainfield, to stop Kennedy from fighting during school.

Affable by nature – Syracuse fullback Greg Hanoian called him a ‘team comedian’ – Kennedy never looked for fights, Jones said. But in high school, Kennedy snapped when confronted.

‘You didn’t want to get on Darryl’s bad side,’ Jones said. ‘He was always able to handle himself fighting. Some outsiders once came to attack Darryl. They regretted it very much.’

Fighting hurt Kennedy’s grades even more. Teachers continued to pass him, ensuring he could play on Friday nights and Saturday afternoons. He still didn’t care about his grades.

That changed during his junior year at Plainfield. His then-girlfriend, Maleeka Bealler, gave birth to Darryl Jr. They called him D.J. As Kennedy, just 17, held D.J. in his arms, he had an epiphany.

‘That’s when the turning point happened,’ Kennedy said. ‘It got serious. I’m a role model to him. If I can live a better life, my son can have a better life.’

Kennedy gradually started to buckle down. As letters poured in from college recruiters from around the country – Michigan State, Penn State, North Carolina State, Pittsburgh and Boston College all vied for his services, along with Syracuse – Kennedy realized football could help him get an education and to provide a better life for D.J.

Thing is, his immense success had blinded him to that. By his junior year, it was too late. Kennedy didn’t qualify academically to play NCAA football.

‘If he had,’ Jones said, ‘he could have played anywhere in the country.’

Instead, Kennedy enrolled at Nassau Community College in Garden City. At first, Kennedy slacked on his school work. But with his mind on D.J., who lived back in Plainfield with Kennedy’s parents, Evelyn and Willie, Kennedy quickly matured.

‘I was thinking about my son,’ Kennedy said. ‘I wanted my son to get a better life.’

With that, he gave himself a better life, too. His grades rose. He desperately wanted to earn his way into Syracuse, whose coaches kept in touch with him while he played at NCC.

His talent remained, of course. In 2001, Kennedy finished second among all junior college non-kickers with 126 points.

Still, he focused more on baseball, since the Indians had told him they would draft Kennedy after he played a season at Nassau. But a deep, left-thigh bruise that he suffered playing football forced him to sit out a year. During the hiatus from baseball, Kennedy said he lost his passion for the sport and decided to focus solely on football.

No longer could scumbags provoke Kennedy to fight. Instead of making a quick decision, he’d make a wise one. If someone picked a fight in high school, he’d immediately want to pound the instigator. During his time at Nassau, he mellowed.

‘If he stood in the rain, he wouldn’t get wet,’ Jones said. ‘The water would hit him and run off. That’s how thick his skin is.’

That newfound maturity helped Kennedy adjust to Syracuse. Since he’s been an Orangeman, he’s played fullback, quarterback, safety and fullback again.

But wherever Kennedy plays, he’s one of SU’s hardest hitters. Teammates joke that his head is made of cement because of his vicious special-teams tackles.

High praise for a player who avoids long weight-room sessions.

See, Kennedy’s too busy focusing on classes for lifting sessions. He’s found a way to balance his God-given talent with the rest of life. He’s on track to graduate this spring. He remains close with Bealler, D.J.’s mother, and is engaged to Crystal Henry, an aspiring lawyer set to graduate from St. John’s.

He spends weekends of home games with D.J., who comes from Plainfield with Kennedy’s parents to visit Kennedy. Already a first-grader, D.J. reads so well he earns gift certificates to eat at places like Old Country Buffet and Subway, Kennedy said. D.J. also plays flag football, but maybe he’s watching Dad too much – sometimes, he tackles opposing ball carriers.

‘I was like, ‘You gotta wait’ ‘ Kennedy said. ‘He’ll be playing tackle next year.’

Kennedy’s wait is over. He’s harnessed his talent, controlled his emotions and found, at last, his true blessing.

Published on October 28, 2003 at 12:00 pm