Since signing with the Allen Wranglers, Terrell Owens hasn't exactly been excited to talk to reporters. Back in his Philadelphia days, in the prime of his career, he used to hold press conferences all the time, sometimes in his own driveway. He couldn't wait to be on camera. He would tell reporters what questions to ask. He never shied away from a microphone: not in a locker room, not in a studio, and certainly not on his own reality show.

But now that he's been relegated to the lowest rung of professional football, with no team in the NFL even interested in watching him work out, Owens hasn't been so loquacious. He made an appearance on Dr. Phil with three of the four mothers of his kids to explain why he hasn't been paying child support (he's broke), and why he hasn't even seen some of his children (it's complicated). And he's done a few brief radio interviews. But he hasn't wanted to talk much about playing in the Indoor Football League. He hasn't wanted to talk about his financial troubles, or his personal life, or what it's like to fall so far so fast. He's pushed back interviews. He's skipped press conferences. He's missed scheduled appearances.

But now, on an indoor soccer field in the suburbs of Dallas, on a Thursday afternoon after practice, he's unloading. At first, he's positive. He says he really isn't the same person he was a few years ago.

"This has definitely been a humbling situation for me," he says. "For a lot of reasons, personally and professional. I'm just taking everything in stride."

Of course, this is before the Wranglers waived him. Before he threatened to sue. Before he fired his agent. This is before it all ended like we knew it would. Because how could a T.O. story end any other way? There can be no redemption, no change in this narrative. It's gone on too long. We know it too well.

Still, he's trying. He says he's grateful to Wranglers owner Jon Frankel and general manager Drew Pearson for the chance to prove he's still able to play.

"People ask if I'm embarrassed," he says. "I'm not embarrassed by it. This is all part of God's plan. He's broken me down and put me in a situation that has enabled me to better myself. I think I'm a better route runner because of some of the things I've done playing in a confined space. It's made me work harder. I've met new friends, new coaches. You never know what the path is. For me, it's how do I get through this? How do I rebound? How do I bounce back?"

The way he sees it, he doesn't want much. "I'm not asking to be rich," he says. "I'm just trying to be financially stable. I just want to be stable. That's any average American that's working hard for their money. I'm trying to get myself back to a situation where I don't have to be stressed out at night, worrying what my mom is thinking or my kids."

He knows that sports talk bloviators are waiting for him to fail. He's working hard not to give them the validation. He knows he can still help a team. He's seen Randy Moss get another chance after a year away. That's all he wants. But it feels like so much is out of his control. People associate him with the worst characters in sports, with cheaters and killers and wife beaters.

"People forget that I'm a human being, just because I play a sport that everybody loves," he says. "We're human. We're not invincible. We share the same feelings and emotions that people on the outside feel. I don't think people really understand that."

Then, unprovoked, he brings up the suicide of Junior Seau.

"You think about some of the things that Junior Seau was going through," he says. "You never know what a person is going through, regardless of how much money they make or however great a life you think they're living. You just really never know."

There are already incidents with pills and hospitals in his past. He knows people worry about him going out the same way. He knows others root for it.

"Everything that I've gone through since the end of 2010, from me finding out about my financial adviser stealing, mismanaging my money — that affected everything, from child support, mortgages, to me having to sell my properties, me being in and out of court trying to modify my child support. It's just everything. It's a lot to deal with at one time. My grandmother passing. Going through a relationship with my ex-girlfriend, Kari. All those things. I swear, I felt like I was just standing there and I had a firing squad going at me."

He's tense. As he speaks, he's looking at the synthetic green turf of the soccer field. He's not the only person to contemplate suicide, he says. "Again, if I'm saying what a lot of people have thought or think, why am I wrong for saying it? When I say, who hasn't probably thought of that? Am I wrong for saying somebody has thought about, Is it worth living? Just because I'm a figure and I say sometimes what people are thinking, that's not wrong. I'm not less of a person or a mental case because I say that."

This has felt like the longest year of his life. From the outside, it looks like the most consistent heel in modern sports is finally meeting his fate. But to the man, it feels like the Fates are testing everything he knows about life. He says he's been struggling lately.

"A lot of emotional stress that people go through, some people figure out a way to handle it," he says. "They have a strong enough support system to keep going and keep moving forward. And some people, they feel like they don't have that outlet. Some people are too prideful to go out and reach out to people to help them in that situation because it's just such a dark time."

As he steps onto the field, the crowd erupts. Scores of children with hot dog breath scream their lungs out and clap as he trots across the soft, bunched turf, his earrings sparkling in the lights. He looks the same as he always has: the same hulking shoulders, the same narrow hips, the same "81" stretched across his jersey. Prepubescent boys put their hands to their mouths to call out his name. But the sound of 3,000 or so people who chose to spend a Saturday evening at the Allen Event Center can't compare to the roar of a packed NFL stadium at the moment one man leaps over another and snatches a football out of the air. That's a sound that echoes in your ears for a long time.

It's late March and the Allen Wranglers are taking on the Nebraska Danger in a battle for control of the Intense Conference of the IFL. Tonight is his second home game of the season. Most people are here out of sheer curiosity, or they are fathers who wanted a chance to show their sons one of the greatest wide receivers to ever play the game.

He's only 45 miles from the plush confines of Cowboys Stadium, with that gigantic screen, but tonight it feels like a world away. This arena is in a shopping plaza — in...