LAS VEGAS — Flashing across a computer screen, a photo shows a towheaded kid wearing a black and yellow football uniform. Two fingers wrap around the bottom of his facemask. His helmet rests on the back of his left shoulder pad.

Blake Ezor calls this the look of disinterest. It can be found in nearly every childhood picture the former Michigan State running back scrolls through.

“I hated sports,” Ezor said, leaning back in a black chair in the office of his south Las Vegas home. “I never wanted to play. Look at my face in these. The pictures say a million words.”

Ezor would go on to rush for nearly 3,800 yards during his four seasons in East Lansing. He scored 34 touchdowns during his college career, highlighted by a Rose Bowl championship and MVP honors at the Aloha Bowl. He even lined up in the backfield for the Denver Broncos in 1990, taking handoffs from John Elway.

He lived the dream. But it wasn’t his. He never wanted to play football.

But not playing sports wasn’t an option in his house. His dad, Bernie, played semi-pro football. All four of his brothers were athletes. Football came easy to Ezor, but he didn’t understand what the big deal was. Outrunning everyone on the field was normal for him. It wasn’t the challenge he was looking for.

But when Ezor was about 6 and told his father he wanted to quit, it was met with an unforgiving reply.

“I refused to go to practice, and he dressed me in my sister’s skirt and took me out there in front of all the kids and made me go to practice in a dress,” Ezor said, rubbing the dark stubble on his face with his right thumb and index finger. “I was playing no matter if I wanted to or not.”

That day, Ezor said, served as a turning point.

“Those kids who laughed and ridiculed me got punished when I got in my pads,” Ezor said. “I ran hard to hurt them. I played sports after that.”

He went on to find stardom on the gridiron, but more importantly, he said, he was forced to be tough. Everything Ezor did from that point was to the extreme. Whether it was drinking, fighting, gambling or playing football, the 5-foot-9, 180-pound wild man from Sin City made his own rules.

No matter how many times he was arrested or appeared on the front page of the newspapers, Ezor could not get out of his own way.

Now he can.

The 51-year-old Ezor couldn’t be further away from that carefree and careless lifestyle he once gloated about. He says he hasn’t had a drink in 15 years and hasn’t set foot on the casino-filled strip of Las Vegas Boulevard since. Both of those vices were catalysts to his downfall and brought a premature death to his football career.

He faces new challenges now.

Crippling stomach pain caused by celiac disease, an autoimmune disorder where the ingestion of gluten leads to damage in the small intestine, is a constant burden. And in April, the father of four nearly lost his life when he crashed his motorcycle on the black-topped street in front of his home. The brakes gave out. Going 65 miles per hour, Ezor flipped over the handlebars.

He has been out of work since.

“I’ve always played with pain,” he said with a smile. “That has always been my mindset. This is a pain that sucks and hurts constantly, but I am going to get back to work.”

Two different worlds

The office at the top of the stairs in his home is more than just a desk, computer and some filing cabinets.

It’s Ezor’s version of an escape room.

His passions lie within these four Spartan-green walls. Littered with relics from his past life as a football star at MSU, before brief stints in the NFL and Canadian Football League, trophies, helmets and plaques fill bookshelves. His famous No. 26 jerseys are framed in glass cases.

The remaining decor on the walls and shelves, he says, represents the real Blake Ezor.

In fifth grade, he fell in love with fantasy thanks to a neighbor who introduced him to Dungeons and Dragons, a game filled with magic, mythical creatures and role playing. That love never wavered, even in the East Holden dorm rooms and cafeterias at MSU.

A wide grin creases Ezor’s unshaven face and the excitement in his voice is apparent when he discusses the long metal swords on his wall, an overflowing wooden book shelf filled with fantasy novels and his collection of video games, which he says exceeds 1,400.

A large monitor sits on a desk directly under a flat-screen television that is mounted on the wall. Both are plugged into a $6,000 computer that Ezor said he built himself after surviving his motorcycle accident. (He has also built computers for his wife and children: Blake Lee, 22, Brittani, 21, and Kyle and Kaitlyn, 18.)

Since he’s been out of work, Ezor admits that he plays more video games than ever. He said it is not out of the norm for him to play for 18 hours straight with no food or rest.

He also likes to visit MSU message boards, sharing comical details of his life growing up in Las Vegas, his hatred of Notre Dame and the mischief he found himself in on campus. It’s a release for him. A chance for him to reconnect with the fans and give it to them straight from the horse’s mouth.

Dragon statues, lightsabers and shields mean as much to him as the dusty Broncos helmet he once wore during his lone professional season in Denver.

“I’m 50-50,” Ezor laughed when describing his life as a jock and a self-proclaimed nerd. “This is who I am. This is who I have always been.”

MORE CODY TUCKER FEATURES:

A new challenge

This space tells the tale of his life. Passion quickly turns to obsession when you see the contents of the shelf that sits next to his desk.

Cologne bottles and rocks line the wooden plank. Everything is in alphabetical order, in neat, perfect rows. Desert dust has made its way to every inch of this room. But not this shelf. A bottle of cleaner and a rag sit nearby.

It’s a painful reminder of the OCD that consumes his everyday life.

Doctors diagnosed Ezor with the disorder in 2009. He counts steps. He turns off lights and jiggles the toilet handle three times every time he uses one. The dog beds on the floor of his bedroom are strategically placed. Dust and clutter drive him insane.

After his motorcycle accident, his wife, Brigida, moved some of his books into crates to make room for exercise equipment.

This irritation is at the top of his mind today.

“They aren’t in order anymore,” Ezor scoffs. “People say they have OCD as a joke. It drives me nuts if things are out of place. If things aren’t in order, I’ll know it and I’ll scream at them. These books were in exact order of release.”

Brigida Ezor called her husband’s diagnosis “hard” and adds that she tries to put things back the way they were so she doesn’t rattle him. She said she has gotten used to his quirks, but knows it’s getting worse.

“What helps is my job,” said Brigida Ezor, who is a flight attendant. “I’m not always there to see it every day. When I am there, it is tough. He doesn’t like to leave his room at all. He likes to be alone.

“Things have changed a lot. He doesn’t like the limelight anymore.”

Ezor doesn’t know why or how he developed OCD. Neither do doctors. But Ezor has his theories. Most have to do with the way he ran the ball, violently lowering his head to deliver shots into the midsection of men twice his size.

Bert Ezor, the youngest of the seven Ezor children, also thinks his brother’s style of play might have led to this diagnosis. He said he also suffers from OCD but added that he has dealt with it since he was a child. He said he is proud of Blake for being brave enough to seek help.

“It’s affecting him,” Bert Ezor said. “It’s starting to affect him more and more. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

A father's dream

Blake Ezor had no desire to go to MSU.

He had never been to Michigan and had no plans to. He was one of the top prospects in the country. In his mind, the best didn't go to East Lansing.

His choices were narrowed to Penn State and the University of Miami. He had family in Pennsylvania, and he couldn't ignore the appeal of South Beach and the dynasty the Hurricanes were becoming.

Bert, 48, who went on to play football at the University of Utah before transferring to MSU, still remembers legendary head coaches Lou Holtz, Tom Osborne and Jimmy Johnson coming to their rural Nevada ranch in the mid-80’s, courting his older brother.

They all wanted a piece of Blake Ezor, a Parade All-American and the No. 1 rated running back recruit in the country out of Bishop Gorman High School.

“It was like the movie ‘Johnny Be Good,’” Bert Ezor laughed, comparing the recruitment of Blake to the 1988 film about a sought-after prep football star. “The coaches were outside of our home just like in the movie. I remember Jimmy Johnson eating dinner with us. Lou Holtz was waiting outside.”

Blake Ezor was on the sideline at the Orange Bowl in 1984 when Boston College quarterback Doug Flutie threw the Hail Mary pass to upset the Hurricanes. That night, Ezor had all but made up his mind. He wanted to be a part of the mystique of Miami football. He wanted to win a national championship. He wanted to play somewhere warm.

His father had different ideas.

In the 1970s, Bernie Ezor met then-Pittsburgh Steelers assistant coach George Perles, who was in Las Vegas on vacation after a Super Bowl win. Ezor, a Pittsburgh-area native, worked a baccarat table at the Dunes casino.

Blake said his father used to “comp” the Steelers’ coaching staff when they were in town. And when Perles landed the head coaching job at MSU in 1982, Bernie Ezor sent him a letter, boasting about his son who would later become the Nevada Player of the Year.

“Well, a coach at a school like Michigan State gets a zillion of those,” Perles told the LA Times before the Rose Bowl in 1987, talking about letters from parents and coaches. “Every father thinks his kid is better than bubble gum — and that’s good — but you don’t expect to recruit one.

“I told him to send us some film, and when we took a look at it we were really surprised.”

According to Blake Ezor, his father “gift-wrapped” him to Perles and MSU.

“MSU was not in the picture,” Blake Ezor said. “I was not 18, so (my father) wouldn’t sign the scholarship unless I went to Michigan State. I wasn’t even going to visit East Lansing. I only took that trip because of my dad made me.

“I was forced to go there.”

Wearing a green Spartans’ polo shirt and sporting long, curly brown hair, Ezor smiles when he reminisces about that decision. He has no regrets about playing for the Spartans, though the cold winters and the lack of nightlife weren’t ideal. Coming from Las Vegas, Ezor said he couldn’t grasp why a bar would close at 2 a.m.

“I hated it,” Ezor laughed, talking about the boredom he felt during his first few months on campus. “It was a culture shock.”

It didn’t take Ezor long to find trouble.

Rolling around town on a moped wearing flip flops in the winter made him an easy target. His alcohol consumption and propensity for fighting became the stuff of legend. Nearly every night out in East Lansing ended with confrontation, like the time he fought an MSU All-American wrestler in the mud in front of his dorm.

There was no reason for the fight, Ezor smiled, “I just walked through his group of friends in the hallway instead of walking around them.”

Eventually, his rowdy reputation started to overshadow his on-field accomplishments.

Ezor was charged with drunk driving twice in 1988 and 1989, and along with his brother, Bert, was busted for attempted retail fraud just before he went to training camp with the Broncos. Both brothers claim that the local police were “harassing them.” Especially Blake. He claims that a girl he was seeing was also involved with an officer fresh out of the academy. He said he was stopped, searched and breathalyzed nearly every week, including a trip back to campus when he played in the NFL.

“I was crazy,” he said. “I can’t say it any better than that. I was a free spirit, wild and just didn’t care.”

Earning a reputation

On the field at MSU, Ezor was a nice complement to starting tailback, Lorenzo White, rushing for 617 yards during the 1987 Rose Bowl season. Ezor broke out the following season, more than doubling his total number of carries and amassing 1,496 yards and 11 touchdowns.

During his senior campaign, Ezor racked up 1,299 yards in just 10 games and found the end zone a team-high 19 times.

Tico Duckett was the heir apparent to Ezor in the Spartans’ backfield. They only played one season together, but it didn’t take long for Duckett to realize his new “mentor” was a different breed.

“He was a competitive rebel,” said Duckett, who starred for MSU from 1989 to 1992. “Immediately, first practice, he wanted to race. We would not only practice and do sprints that we were supposed to do, he still wanted to race after. It was amazing. That is something I learned from him — compete all the time. He had a heck of a work ethic.”

Perles and his staff were fine with Duckett learning those lessons from Ezor, but when it came to off-the-field stunts, they warned the freshman from Kalamazoo to steer clear.

“Coach used to say, ‘Tico, if you are hanging with Blake, you are going to learn what not to do,’” Duckett laughed.

Behind the scenes, Ezor was still drinking, fighting and looking for problems.

“He was Jekyll and Hyde,” Bert Ezor said of his brother. “He had a chemical imbalance or something. He had to stop drinking. He had a split personality when he drank.”

Blake Ezor doesn’t shy away from the person he was at MSU. He called himself his own worst enemy. Drinking wasn’t a daily habit, but it was the main source of his problems. Ezor even admitted for the first time to taking steroids during the summer before his redshirt freshman season. He said he got too big and slow so he stopped. Plus, he couldn’t drink and do steroids. It was too tough on his liver.

Ezor finished his career in a Spartans’ uniform with 3,749 yards on an eye-popping 800 carries. But, he knows fans remember everything but his on-field accolades.

“I went from being a fan favorite to the most hated,” Ezor said. “People loved me on the field and hated me off the field. I was the guy you loved to hate. I needed to settle down and get my shit together.”

Pain and reflection

On South Salmon Leap Street, the remnants of Blake Ezor’s near-fatal motorcycle crash are still visible nearly eight months later. A slit in the pavement shows where the wreck began. The photos in Ezor’s cellphone and the scars on his left side, show where it ended.

He called it 50 yards of pure torture.

He remembers the sparks and the flips. He recalls the lights going out, the fuzzy eyesight and the extreme pain.

“I’ve done this ride so many times,” he says, staring down the block and reenacting the scene.

Ezor had taken the day off to fix a broken hot water heater in the garage. His bike, a 1,000-pound black Honda Cruiser, was in the way. He backed it out onto the sloped driveway so he could maneuver around with ease. After replacing the water cylinder and bending copper wires into place, Ezor went to move his motorcycle back into the garage. Because of the weight of the bike coupled with the downgrade in the driveway, he started it.

Ezor said the bike made “popping noises.” He decided to take it for a spin to get the engine flowing.

Wearing only flipflops and shorts, he fired it up. He rarely, if ever, wears a helmet, but one happened to be hanging from the handlebars. He threw it on rather than take it in the house.

That decision might have saved his life. He was going 65 mph when he crashed.

“I landed on my helmet,” Ezor said. His back brakes didn’t work, forcing him to slam on the front ones, which caused him to flip.

“As loud as this was, no one on my entire street came out,” he said in disbelief. “I was in so much pain and kind of waiting for someone to come out.”

Ezor walked to his house, his neighbor’s house and eventually down the street to pull his motorcycle from underneath a car and let the homeowners know what had happened. He even had his daughter take photos so he could prove to his work that he was really hurt.

He did all this with a broken ankle, back, hip, collarbone, free-floating shoulder, three broken ribs in front of his heart, road rash up his entire left side, a concussion and a collapsed lung.

His helmet was cracked in half. It was a novelty type, not even regulation. A lense went missing from the eyeglasses he was wearing; the other lens was cracked.

“I was debating going to the hospital,” Ezor said. “My lungs started filling up with blood and I was gasping for air. I guess the adrenaline wore off when I got to the hospital. My body finally said ‘You are here.’”

Ezor’s wife, Brigida, was working at the time of the accident. She had just gotten off the phone with Blake and was flying toward Las Vegas from Seattle. Before takeoff, their daughter Brittni called — Dad was in an accident.

Brigida Ezor called it the longest two-hour flight.

“When I landed in Vegas, photos started coming to my phone,” she recalled. “I drove like a maniac to the hospital. When I first looked at him, I thought he was burned. The road rash was so black and all down the side of him.

“I thought he might have to have (skin) grafts,” she continued. “The doctor said, ‘no, that is road rash and the tar from the street. It wasn’t bleeding, but raw and black. His ankle was the worst.”

Bert Ezor recalls rushing to the hospital when he got the news. He wasn’t shocked when he heard that his brother took his sweet time getting assistance.

“That kid is unbelievable,” Bert Ezor laughed. “If he didn’t have an athletic body and was a regular person, he would’ve been dead. He just got up like nothing happened. He can take pain.”

Blake Ezor was always known for being fearless, but admittedly, this wreck changed things for him.

His wounds are all nearly healed, but the aftereffects are lasting. Standing in his office, Ezor holds out his tattooed forearms in front of him. The left one can’t go above his shoulder. It’s still in a lot of pain, too. As long as there is pain — and lack of movement — he knows his 18-year career at UPS could be in jeopardy. He stays positive, though, setting monthly goals. He hopes to be back in his truck in February.

The accident also has him thinking about life in general, including a lot of “what ifs.”

Ezor doesn't like to talk about the fame and lucrative career he squandered. His off-the-field antics cost him a shot at being drafted. Unflattering headlines eventually got him shipped out of Denver and the CFL. He has smiled through it all, but his sense of humor just helps him cope with the pain.

That careless outlook on life did him no favors. He knows it.

“I would’ve definitely taken a different path,” he continued. "I never listened. If I could go back and talk to the younger me, like Perles used to do in his office, I would throw me around.”

Contact Cody Tucker at (517) 377-1070 or cjtucker@lsj.com and follow him on Twitter @CodyTucker_LSJ.