Uncommon Bond
Louisville's Thomas Rises Above Past
By Joe Giardina

If Latarrius Thomas was seen celebrating on TV, he knew there would be hell to pay when he got home. So he laid low, ducked out of the picture and watched as his Louisville teammates raucously celebrated an interception against UConn last season.

Back in Florida, Andy Cox was smiling.

"He knew I was watching the game on TV," Cox said. "When they all ran over on the sideline celebrating, he told me 'I made sure I got out of the picture, because I knew if you saw me you'd put my stuff out on the street.'"

Cox isn't Thomas' father. He isn't a cousin, an uncle or even a friend of the family. In fact, the two don't have much in common.

Except that there is no one Thomas trusts more than Cox. And without Thomas coming into his life when he did, Cox might not be here to tell the story.

Rewind three years prior to the UConn game, at a spring practice in Florida at New Smyrna Beach High School. Thomas, a 6'2" wide receiver, was wondering aimlessly through life. He had just lost his mother to AIDS and he never knew his father, so he was forced to move in with an aunt and a cousin, a situation he wasn't happy about.

His life, before he met Cox, was what most of us would call a nightmare. In fact, there are many aspects of this part of his life that Thomas refuses to relive through memories, making this story a G-rated version of what is most definitely an R-rated story.

"It was an obstacle," is all Thomas will say about those years. "I didn't really care about much, especially not college."

Cox, a white middle-aged ex-high school football coach, met Thomas, a cocky young black player, while Cox was helping coach at New Smyrna Beach.

At the same time, Cox was taking care of his dying father, but when the other coaches told him of Thomas' situation, he thought he could help. But first, he wanted to talk with the cocky youngster. And even though it was the first time they met, Cox didn't sugar coat a thing.

"You know it's a crying shame that you're wasting God's air and killing the grass," Cox told him after practice. "Because you don't know how good you can be."

His bluntness caught Thomas off guard.

"No one really approached me the way he did the first time," Thomas said. "I thought he was mean, but then he kind of grew on me."

And he grew on Cox. The 51-year-old assistant coach went home that day and told his father about the young man "with a smile the size of Detroit city." He told him how Thomas had been "shit on more times than you can shake a stick at."

After discussing it with his father, Cox knew what he had to do.

It doesn't take long to notice that Cox tells it like it is. So when the two spoke again Thomas knew Cox was being sincere when he offered him a place to stay if times got bad.

"But you're going to have to do right," Cox told him. "I'm not the smartest guy in the world, but I know right from wrong."

Despite the negative influences surrounding him, so did Thomas.

"He's always respectful," New Smyrna Beach head coach Howie DeCristofaro said. "It was always yes sir, no sir, thank you, please. He's a great kid. That's why I have the utmost respect for him, because he chose not to become a statistic."

Cox's decision to help out a young man didn't surprise DeCristofaro.

"I've known Andy for twelve years," he said. "He's always trying to help someone else with the risk of losing out himself."

The opportunity arose a few months later.

In a twist to the story, Thomas ended up helping Cox just as much, if not more, than Cox had helped him.

Cox's father died on Aug. 31, 2004. Around the same time, Florida was ravaged by three hurricanes, delaying the burial for 19 days. The drawn out process was almost unbearable for him.

"I'm not saying I would have jumped in a river or shot myself," Cox said. "But it ripped my heart out."

Just like Thomas did during his childhood, Cox stopped caring about much. He was recently divorced, had no children and living alone. His parents, the two people he loved most, had passed. His health, which had taken a backseat to his father's, was deteriorating.

And like a safety jumping a route, in stepped L.T. for the deflection.

"He came up to me one day after practice and said 'If I behave myself, can I move in?'" Cox said.

The move was on a Sunday in fall 2004 and their lives immediately changed.

"L.T. saved my life," Cox said, fighting back tears. "When my dad died it crushed me. I watched my dad die day after day - my parents were as good as people you'd ever meet.

"And L.T. just happened to stroll into the picture and give me a little bit of a challenge when I didn't have one. He gave me something to get up every morning for, because I've got someone depending on me."

Thomas saw it a different way.

"I thought he was helping me out and he thought I was helping him out," Thomas said. "But we both were helping each other."

Cox showed him what he needed to do in order to play at the next level. First thing that needed fixed were his grades. Check. He was qualified.

Next was his game. He was a gifted athlete, but he was raw. "You tell me what I need to do," he told Cox. "I want to be special."

"What Andy did for him was say 'This is the way it has to be done if you want to get to this place, and this is the way you're going to have to do it,'" coach DeCristofaro said.

So Cox taught and L.T. listened. His main lesson - Just shut up and play.

"Before I got in with him I was a talker," Thomas admitted. "Whatever I did I wanted to make sure everybody knew it was me. But after a while it got old. I just play the game and if I make a play I walk back to the huddle."

It wasn't long before the schools began calling. West Virginia, Mississippi State, even Notre Dame - they all wanted a piece of the 215-pound athlete who ran a 4.6 and bench pressed 435.

In the end, Thomas decided to play for Bobby Petrino at Louisville.

During his first few months, he didn't say much on the field. In fact, one day after practice, Petrino had an assistant coach call Cox because he was worried Thomas was unhappy and considering transferring.

"What do you want him to do?" Cox asked them. "Just because he doesn't make signs and do all that shit doesn't mean he doesn't care. He loves to play."

Last season, after being switched from wide receiver to safety, Thomas started ten games as a true freshman for the Cardinals. With Cox's help, he reached a place that two years ago he never could have imagined.

"I don't think there is any way possible I could have made it without him," Thomas said. "I love the guy."

It's too early to tell, but Cox says Thomas has the talent to play on Sundays.

And if he does, then Cox can be the one to just shut up and watch.