This is the story of my first near-death experience and how it changed my life forever.

It was last Saturday, and Jimmy Kennedy was speaking to a small group of reporters after Penn State's 35-14 victory against Virginia.

I decided to head over and listen to Kennedy who's a funny, heartfelt guy.

For some reason, all the other reporters had left when I got over there. So Jimmy, at 6-foot-5 and 318 pounds, sat looking at me and I at him. No questions came to my mind, so Jimmy went first: "You're Chris, right?"

Right then, I knew I was in trouble. There are only three reasons a football player remembers the nerdy newspaper boy's name: 1) Geek-boy wrote something bad about him, 2) His picture in the paper is really ugly, or 3) Both.

"You wrote those terrible things about me," Kennedy continued.

Terrible? The headline of the story Kennedy was referring to, he reminded me, read like this: "DT Kennedy's talents yet to be realized."

Just for the record, writers don't write the headline. A night editor, who usually hates the writer because the writer never makes deadline, writes the headline.

But I digress. My life was in danger. Kennedy could easily jump over the counter that separated us. I was going to die.

I began looking around for help. Jeff, one of my partners on the beat, wouldn't help me. He'd just laugh. He's not stupid.

Dustin, the other partner, is pretty feisty but I think Kennedy could have flicked him away -- with his pinky.

My life passed before my eyes and stopped at one of the most interesting phone conversations I've ever had.

I had one last chance to save my life, and I reached deep.

"Jimmy, how's your mom?" I asked.

That pretty much did the job. Wayne, as his mother calls him, is a big mama's boy, really. Since he was four, he's been helping her raise his two younger brothers in Yonkers, N.Y.

I called the house there, on a whim, one night over the summer.

Mary Darby answered and I told her who I was and that I wanted to write a story about her son.

She asked, "You want to get him in trouble? You gonna write something bad?"

I told her no and she started talking and did not stop for about two hours. Even when she handed the phone to one of Kennedy's younger brothers, Curtis Darby, I still heard her in the background.

Curtis told me first that he loved his brother and second that they were as different as can be. Kennedy sat at home in his room, reading or listening to music. Curtis never wanted to be home, he was always out. He drank, he smoked. He was caught up in it and he knew it, but that is life there, he said.

During the phone call, the sirens never stopped. They faded away, into the distance, but then a new siren filled the void.

That is life there.

Curtis Darby may have been the most honest person I have ever spoke to. After telling me the truth about his life, he told me about his big dreams.

He told me about how he wanted to be a DJ, wanted to set out and play all the clubs. Wanted to hook up with all the big names. He had a plan. He was going to do it.

Curtis' young son sometimes calls Kennedy in State College and asks if Uncle Wayne will take him for a ride in his truck.

Kennedy, who nicknamed the little guy 'Flan', says that he's up at college but that he'll be home soon.

I'm thinking about all this when a reporter from Virginia strolls over and asks Kennedy about Rashana Barnes, his fiancée and a former women's basketball player at Penn State.

"What's better than knowing someone truly loves you?" Kennedy says. "And I know she truly loves me because I met her my first day here and I was 400 pounds and a nobody. She doesn't want me because I'm skinny and a star."

He smiles.

Since Kennedy arrived here, overweight and unsure five years ago, he has played in 45 games. He will play in three more and then go to the NFL.

"Can you believe my mother's only seen me play three times?" he says, gathering his things to leave. "She's always working. She's always got so many jobs. My brother Curtis has never been to a game."

I don't know what Mary Darby's plans are for the Michigan State game.

If I had money or connections or whatever you need to get things done around here, I'd make sure she has one of those posh luxury suites.

In a perfect world, everyone in Kennedy's family could make it to see the best defensive tackle in Penn State history play his last game at Beaver Stadium next Saturday.

Little Flan shouldn't have to wait for his ride.