The mysterious fall of Jimmy Wilson

Ciarre Campbell wears number 18 for Montana football.

The man who used to wear that number is now in a Los Angeles County Prison cell, as inmate 9828496.

These are words about a man I don’t know, rather thoughts on how far a college athlete can fall. Thoughts about a man’s fall, both seasonally and figuratively. 

On Monday, former University of Montana standout cornerback Jimmy Wilson will have his first of many preliminary court hearings after being charged in the murder case of Kevin Smoot, who was shot in Lancaster, Calif., on June 2. In pleading not guilty, Wilson is prepared to fight for his life. 
Forget football. This is the most important fall of Wilson’s young life.
But to grasp why this is life’s most crucial time for Wilson, you must first understand what he has surrendered in four months. Wilson had made it at UM the hard way.  This was the same skinny ninth grader who would eventually be named a first team All-Western League as a senior in San Diego; when recruiters came calling, he was heading north, literally. He was a second team All-Big Sky selection as a junior, becoming a weekly highlight reel for the Griz. Wilson was a campus fixture, a student athlete who was receiving an education based on his coverage skills, playing in a spectacle called Washington-Grizzly Stadium, where 23 large showed up to watch him – to watch Jimmy Wilson. Now that man couldn’t be farther from Missoula. 
Gloria Wilson is Jimmy’s grandmother. She ran a foster home out of Lancaster for years, eventually adopting four foster children, including Wilson’s foster aunt who was romantically involved with Smoot. Sobbing, she tells me of the summers Jimmy spent at her house. She tells me that Jimmy grew up with his mom in San Diego, a budding young football prospect. She tells me of his interest in people. She sheds light on how Jimmy would take care of the kids in her foster home, kids who never had much. Gloria tells me of one young man who Jimmy reached out to, a 16-year-old kid who had a childhood on the mean streets of Los Angeles, the type of childhood that has a kid mixing water with cereal.
“Jimmy would talk to him, take him out, help him with anything he needed in life. He helped him tremendously.” That is what Gloria Wilson tells me. Then the light darkens. She turns to the accusations against her grandson. “He acted in self defense. I was told Kevin attacked him with a gun. He didn’t have a gun.”
This illustration complicates things. Wilson’s grandmother’s testimony adds an intriguing legal storyline to the accusations against him, but it also muddies the portrait of his troubled times in Missoula, painted in the past few months. 
Sgt. Tim Welsh of the Missoula Police Department knows that painting. Welsh assisted LAPD agents with the investigation in June, and has confirmed to local sources that Wilson has been a centerpiece of citizen complaints over the past three years. While never formally charged, several Missoula men have filed complaints against Wilson’s violent behavior in the past three years. One said Wilson assaulted him in 2005. Another said Wilson threatened him, then brandished a pistol in his waistband in 2006. Reportedly, these people brought the incidents to the attention of both police authorities and University athletic officials. No charges. Were these indications of what manifested in the Wilson murder case?
Maybe it’s too late for questions like that. But to magnify this issue on the national stage, you must remember that there is an overwhelming amount of crime in collegiate athletics. College athletes are on another level; football players at Montana are glorified. Economically, it makes sense. As the face of an institution, they exhibit their talents and abilities for significant amounts of capital. Jimmy Wilson’s weekly head hunting and interceptions on the field were what brought in revenue for Montana. Students like me don’t generate greenbacks for the University. Maybe that’s why this is so tragic. Every year, giants on campus fall from grace, losing free tuition and the game they love, but most of all the lifestyle they lead as an athlete. 
Wilson’s case only crystallized Montana collegiate athletic’s link to crime this summer. Montana State saw crime desecrate its program, culminating in former head coach Mike Kramer’s firing. While the UM athletic department perennially recruits model citizens, and acted swiftly in Wilson’s case, did they see a pattern with his behavior? Will they see it with other players? It’s mysterious. Maybe that’s why the University brass won’t touch on this issue with a fifty-foot pole.
Piecing together small chronicles of Wilson’s past doesn’t solve a murder, or bring back the deceased. Nor does it provide enough clarity to what Wilson has lost. It simply shows the instances of Wilson’s past that have been thrown into a crucible of mystery, a mystery that could very well include 25 to life. 
Mixing Wilson’s due process with his upcoming legal battle, the purportedly great side of him and the purportedly dark side, you get a blurry explanation of why this happened. You get a mystery.
This was supposed to be Wilson’s autumn. But seasons change. People’s lives change. And in Wilson’s case, life has changed drastically in four months.  He was supposed to wear 18 in maroon, preparing this week for Albany’s best receiver.
Instead he wears 9828496 in blue, preparing for the fall of his life.