My thoughts about what went on with Maurice Clarett early this morning in Columbus will be in tomorrow's Sun. It pains me, a little, to remind myself and everyone else what I wrote about him in the past, but I pretty much have no choice. The piece I wrote after he was drafted by the Broncos last year is in the paper's archive, which means it will be a big pain to call up, and it will cost you. Sorry. Don't worry, though; the abstract is embarrassing enough, especially this line: "Maybe, just maybe, his desire to play football burns hotter than he's getting credit for, and supposedly that's what teams like.''

Yup, he sure showed that desire last summer, when he got cut before the first preseason game basically for being an out-of-shape, lazy, possibly drunk prima donna. That desire just keeps burning hotter every day, at least the desire to see what the inside of a state prison really looks like. Or the desire to die young and leave a good-looking corpse, as the old saying goes.

To show you that I didn't become that brilliant overnight, here's what I wrote three years ago while in San Fran. In portraying the future gun-toting, cop-eluding, prison-CD-listening, vodka-swigging, Kevlar-wearing Clarett as somewhat of an innocent victim, well, it's easier to make fun of that in hindsight. At the time, it really made sense.

Yet I contend, today and forever, that even if he is a stone-cold knucklehead, he deserved the option of going pro if he was no longer welcome in college, especially if he was unwelcome because of the school's own questionable acts. Who knows - had he gone into the pros earlier before he had a couple of more years to become disillusioned, and ended up with an organization that actually helped him grow up, none of this today might have happened. It's a thought.

So I can live with having written this:

"Sue the NFL? Love the idea. Football has been begging for a taste of what basketball and baseball and hockey and tennis and golf and figure skating and all the Olympic events have had to swallow the last few decades. If Maurice Clarett has to force his way into pro football through the courts, destroying one of the last vestiges of false amateurism along the way, he'll have more support than he realizes.''

This is the problem, though, with having the wrong pioneer. One, whoever picks up the baton now will have Clarett hanging around his neck like a concrete life preserver. Two, a noble attempt gets attached permanently to a less-than-noble player. See how far down his challenge to the NFL age limits is buried in the story about the arrest - yet it's still in there.

Don't be surprised if the NFL stretches the age limit further. It's the sort of thing a chronically arrogant commissioner would do, but it remains to be seen if Paul Tagliabue passed that trait down to his right-hand man and successor, Roger Goodell.

All of which is something of a digression. Clarett is in huge, huge trouble, even if you take the prospect of a long time in prison out of it. He sounds as if he's at rock bottom in life, period. That's a shame.

UPDATE: In my column today, I referenced an appearance on ESPN Wednesday night by Tom Friend, who spoke about a phone conversation he'd had with Clarett before the incident took place. Here's his story about that conversation, on ESPN.com this morning.