In an age of pro athletes following up appearances on MTV Cribs with appearances in bankruptcy court, I found myself riveted watching Ricky Williams on ESPN's 30 for 30 documentary "Run Ricky Run" Tuesday night.

In the last couple weeks, we've heard about former NBA star Derrick Coleman making $87 million in his career but declaring insolvency because he's $5 million in the hole (but wants to hang onto his car, jewelry and minks).

We've heard about Antoine Walker making $100 million in his NBA career but is now broke because he flew 8 and 9 members of his entourage on every road trip he took. (With 41 away games in an NBA season, that's a lot of road trips.)

So here is Ricky Williams, a guy so introspective, so self-reflective (maybe even so narcissistic) that he walked away from a Pro Bowl career in the NFL two days before training camp with the Miami Dolphins in 2004. He sold or gave away most of his assets so he could begin a mission of truly finding himself.

Once featured on MTV cribs, Ricky, too, was now without the Hummer, Ferrari and high-end home. Although his stripped down lifestyle was achieved in a much different way than Coleman or Walker.

Ricky believed a life without material "stuff" was essential in finding his true identity.

And then the Miami Dolphins interrupted his spiritual mission by slapping him with an $8.6 million judgment. They wanted some of their guaranteed money back.

Suddenly, smoking weed, camping in no-man's-land and having children out of wedlock came with an unexpected price tag. It appeared Williams would literally be sued into submission.

So he decided to drop his Ghandi-like existence and return to football. (Owing $8.6 million would probably get the Dalai Lama up off the couch.)

I'll be honest, I thought Ricky was trying to outsmart the system when he agreed to return to football in 2005.

If he was on the payroll of the Dolphins, he couldn't be sued for the $8.6 million. He played for Nick Saban that year (Dave Wannstedt was finally pushed out after having Williams carry the ball more over a two-year period than any back in NFL history - a combined 775 carries in 2002 and 2003).

Williams averaged 4.4 yards per carry for Saban, and then he flunked another drug test, costing him an entire NFL season.

At that moment, I thought Ricky was trying to get cut by the Dolphins so he'd be freed from paying back the judgment. If the Dolphins fired him, he could turn around and tell the court, "I tried to come back and work, but they fired me."

I thought it was all the work of a genius mind who wouldn't be beholden to The Man. And then Bill Parcells talked Williams into becoming a Dolphin again in 2007 (after Williams sat out the 2006 season for his repeated failed drug tests, although he played for the Toronto Argonauts, drawing the ire of former Argonaut Joe Theismann, who called Williams "a disgrace."

Williams has never admitted what drug he took that cost him the 2006 season).

And then it appeared something was conspiring against Williams returning to football, because he was stepped on by Pittsburgh Steelers' linebacker Lawrence Timmons in his first game back. The result? A torn pectoral muscle that would cost Williams the rest of the 2007 season. It just seemed like Williams was going to be cut by Miami and he would be able to resume his desire to be a pot-smoking Yogi without the obligation of football. Surely, the Dolphins would cut him now. Right?

But then came the twist I never saw coming - Williams returned to football in 2008 and 2009 and was productive. Not just productive. He thrived. At age 30 and 31. Williams set the NFL record for most years between 1,000-yard rushing seasons by posting 1,121 yards rushing in 2009, five years after rushing for 1,372 yards for Miami in 2003.

Williams' 4.7 yards per carry average in 2009 was the second-highest of his 10-year career, second only to his 4.8 ypc average in 2002, when he led the NFL in rushing with 1,853 and 16 TD runs.

We've seen guys walk away from football in the prime of their careers. Jim Brown, Barry Sanders and even former Ohio State RB Robert Smith, who walked out on the Vikings to pursue other interests. But few have walked away, been suspended, been sued, been banned and then returned to a team - only to kick some serious $#@! once again.

Ricky was vilified in Miami when he left. He is now adored by Dolphins' fans, proving once again that all you have to do for forgiveness is help your team win.

Ricky's odyssey has made people uncomfortable because they can't fathom a guy that talented choosing not to use his talents on the football field or choosing not to make the money that comes with it.

The great thing about "Run Ricky Run" was the honesty with which the hour-long documentary approached its subject. It showed Ricky at the height of his soul-searching, even revealing a moment in which Ricky said he didn't miss the kids he'd had out of wedlock. (A total of five, I believe.)

When he was suspended from the NFL for a year in 2006, he had to undergo mandatory therapy in Boston as part of his attempt to be reinstated. He was diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder, which is defined as "a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and a lack of empathy."

And the one problem I've always had with Ricky is how hard his odyssey has been on his family, particularly his mother, Sandy, and his twin sister, Cassie.

They all stood by him through some difficult times, including when Ricky's father allegedly made some inappropriate sexual gestures toward Ricky, resulting in his parents' splitting ways.

Ricky's mom, Sandy, is convinced that setback with Ricky's father altered Ricky's outlook on life forever. Ricky says he doesn't want to look back because if you blame someone for your problems, they have to be the ones to fix them.

People will say, well his mom and sisters got money and cars from Ricky after he turned professional. True. But if you know Sandy and Ricky's sisters Cassie and Nisey, you know they are great people who have always worked hard and don't care about material trappings. Sandy still works in Austin today. And she has been torn up by the ebbs and flows of Ricky's rollercoaster ride.

I remember talking to Ricky after he won the Heisman Trophy at Texas and he would say things like, "I don't want football to define me." So even back in the late 1990s, Williams was searching for an identity beyond football. And that is honorable. We should all be doing some soul-searching to see if we can get more out of this life and push ourselves.

The difference with Williams is the volatile, sometimes hostile stance he took AGAINST football. After covering the NFL, I was told by players themselves they all know when the drug test is coming. It comes before the season. Word leaks out. Everyone is prepared. There is virtually no testing during the season.

In other words, if you flunk a drug test in the NFL, you almost have to WANT to flunk it. And Ricky flunked four drug tests. You don't think he wanted out of football?

Who didn't side with Ricky when he told 60 Minutes, "When is it OK for me to retire from football? When my knees are shot?" And who wouldn't want to backpack in Australia and take nature walks to find some inner peace?

But he's got five kids. He's got people who love him who have stood by him, and he's walked out on them at different times of his life. In the "Run Ricky Run" documentary, his current girlfriend/life partner talks about how Ricky cheated on her and had a child with another woman. Ricky rarely sees the child (named Blaze), who lives in Hawaii.

As much as we want to romanticize the Ricky Williams' story as having a happy ending, that may be only on the football field. In many ways, in his private life, Ricky has brought as much pain to those close to him as he's brought joy. That's a tough legacy.

We saw Ricky turn college football upside down. From the 1995 game at Texas A&M to the Big 12 title run in 1996, the end of the Mackovic Era in 1997 and his surprise return to Texas in 1998 under Mack Brown, which resulted in Texas' second Heisman Trophy.

We saw Williams hire rapper Master P as his agent and get one of the worst contracts in NFL history. The Saints traded their entire draft for Williams in 1999 only to see an injury-plagued stint in New Orleans fall flat. We saw him rise again in Miami as the NFL's leading rusher (1,853 yards) in 2002, bottom out in Miami and then rise again.

When Ricky says he enjoys football now, I'm still not convinced. I think he enjoys keeping what's left of that $8.6 million judgment from being collected by Miami (the team has tabled that settlement indefinitely).

But I don't know that he even likes football or of it's something he's simply doing because he knows he has financial obligations like children, a life partner and a hope one day to become a holistic medicine doctor.

And that may be the most unbelievable twist of all. That Williams' talent is so immense he could turn off and on a talent in the cut-throat NFL at a position whose average career length is three years. And here is Williams 11 years after leaving Texas, still a vital part of the Dolphins' plans.

This journey has been almost as compelling and unpredictable as his drive for the 6,279 yards at Texas that broke Tony Dorsett's 22-year-old NCAA rushing record. Only, this odyssey has been about much more than football. It's been about one man's search for the meaning of life - no matter who it may have hurt or left behind.

(If you want to ask Ricky Williams about everything yourself, you can attend a reception with Williams on Friday night at the Bob Bullock Museum in Austin in which "Run Ricky Run" will be shown, followed with a question and answer session. Go to rickywilliamsfoundation.com for more information.)