The bond between fathers and their athletic-genius children is a complex, fragile and often treacherous one. If the father pushes too hard, the child rebels. If the father doesn’t push hard enough, the child might never reach their astronomical potential. And either way, the traditional protective and nurturing role of the father becomes transactional rather than emotional. When fathers take an active interest in their children’s athletic development, approval and support are conditional; blasting all those reps and showing up big at game time are what’s mandatory. The resulting generational wreckage can last much longer than any career ever could.
Before Tiger Woods his father Earl, before Venus and Serena Williams and their father Richard, and long before the feel-good tale of Home Run Derby champ Cal Raleigh and his pitching pop, there came Todd Marinovich and his father Marv — the ultimate sports-dad cautionary tale. Nationally famous long before he graduated high school, Todd Marinovich became the grim answer to the question: What if you attempted to genetically engineer an NFL quarterback?
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The answer, in Marinovich’s case, was chaos, chaos that still echoes today more than three decades later.
Marinovich, a southern California quarterback who played his college ball at USC and took snaps in the NFL for the Raiders, crashed and burned shortly into his NFL career, a victim of his own bad choices and — most everyone assumed — the immense pressure his father Marv placed on him practically from birth.
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The truth, however, is far more complex and, to Marinovich’s mind, far more favorable to Marv, who died in 2020. Marinovich — once dubbed the “Robo QB,” or, even less charitably, “Marijuanavich” — has at last put his own story, in his own words, into print. “Marinovich: Outside the Lines in Football, Art, and Addiction” documents, in painful detail, the battles that the onetime quarterback and present-day artist fought throughout his career and continues to fight even now — with addiction, with perception, with himself. It’s a harrowing but ultimately impressive and inspiring look at reconciling a public image with personal belief.
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“My most fundamental flaw was both a tremendous blessing and a horrible curse, but it was my reality,” he writes. “Without the zeal accompanying obsession, who knows if I would’ve succeeded in football? Someone else could have been the first college sophomore in history to declare for the NFL Draft. Yet, on the flip side, there wouldn’t have been a soul-crushing dozen arrests, five incarcerations, and over seven trips to rehab.”
There’s a reason, then, that he begins the book with this epigram: “This book is an act of self-love after decades of self-defiance.” (Disclaimer: Marinovich and this writer share an agent.)
For Marinovich, now 56, training began virtually at birth. His father, a former strength coach with the Raiders, developed a relentless regimen designed to maximize Todd’s potential and hone his discipline. But early in his autobiography, Marinovich makes sure to draw a line in the sand:
“No one pushed me into football, least of all my dad, Marv,” he writes. “I chose it. Any suggestions to the contrary were lies offered freely by the media to manufacture a Greek tragedy.”
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And yes, the media dove deep into the Marinovich story, starting long before he suited up for USC. Even as a high schooler, Marinovich was drawing national attention.
“That was a really trippy time for me, because I was so shy going into high school,” he told Yahoo Sports recently. “And then articles were talking about my diet, like I was a freak show — ‘He’s never had a Big Mac!’ It just wasn’t true. I was healthy, and I ate healthy, but, you know, living in America, you’re going to have a Big Mac.”
Todd Marinovich (center) signs his Letter of Intent to attend USC with parents Marv (left) and Trudi, on Feb. 10, 1988 in Mission Viejo, Calif. (Photo by Bob Riha, Jr./Getty Images)
(Bob Riha Jr Via Getty Images)
During this time, Marinovich honed his ability to remain cool under pressure. An immensely talented basketball player, he played in dozens of hostile gyms, sinking last-second shots to win games in front of rabid crowds. It’s the kind of training you can’t teach, you just have to experience.
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“I felt really comfortable when the time was running out that I want the ball,” he recalls. “Not everybody wants the ball when time’s running out. And that’s OK. Just give it up, just pass it to the guy that does.”
As much as he loved basketball, however, Marinovich loved football even more. Speaking today, he notes that there’s an almost otherworldly component to the game when it’s functioning at its highest.
“It’s truly spiritual,” he says. “It’s 11 of us who are out there at once. It’s so special when everyone has just got your back. All you’ve got to do is handle your guy, don’t let the guy down next to you. You’re looking at guys in the eye, and they know that you are not going to let them down. You’re going, I’m going to die trying not to let you down, bro.”
At his finest, Marinovich was something to behold at quarterback. He threw for 9,914 career yards in high school, a mark that was a national record at the time. (It’s since been nearly doubled.) Marinovich threw for 2,477 yards his senior year, more than contemporaries John Elway, Jim Kelly or Dan Marino did in theirs. In two years at USC, he crafted some instantly indelible memories — a last-second drive to beat Washington State in 1989, a triumphant 45-42 victory over rival UCLA in 1990.
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Those were good days for Marinovich and anyone in the Marinovich business. He was winning nationwide acclaim and shaking off his shyness to become a fixture on the L.A. party scene. He counted Charlie Sheen and Flea among his friends, and he was an unmistakable redheaded presence wherever there was a party to be had.
“There were some really amazing next-level times that I had before it got really bad,” he laughs, “and that’s just, that’s all I’ll say.”
But the cracks were already starting to show. He engaged in an on-camera shouting match with his head coach in what was then called the John Hancock (now Sun) Bowl on the last day of 1990. A few weeks later, he was busted for cocaine possession, but still managed to get drafted in the first round of the 1991 NFL Draft.
Todd Marinovich’s NFL career lasted just eight regular-season games across two seasons before things quickly derailed largely due to drug addiction. (Richard Mackson /Sports Illustrated via Getty Images)
(Richard Mackson via Getty Images)
He saw little NFL action, playing in just eight regular-season games, with one playoff appearance, over parts of two seasons. He threw for eight touchdowns and nine interceptions, plus a zero-TD, four-INT game against the Chiefs in a 1991 wild-card game. He dodged NFL investigators, often with grimly comical results — he would use teammates’ urine to pass drug tests, but got popped when one of his teammates gave him urine while drunk at four times the legal driving limit.
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After multiple failed drug tests and failed attempts at rehab, Marinovich was suspended for the 1993 season, and never played NFL football again. He attempted to catch on with the Canadian Football League, the Arena Football League and other organizations, but nothing stuck. Eulogies for his career pointed the finger at Marv, but Marinovich is adamant that the blame belongs on himself, and only himself.
“Marv was a thorny scapegoat, as he’d delivered the genes and created the environment offering addiction fertile ground,” Marinovich writes. “He could be a ruthless tyrant obsessed with perfection, but ultimately, his criticism was child’s play. The most damaging voice came from within. At the height of addiction, I needed drugs to silence my mind as much as others require air.”
These days, Marinovich lives on the Big Island of Hawaii, hanging out with his dog and creating art. (Check out his work on Instagram.) Creating art isn’t a bad life, he admits.
“Art takes me away,” he says. “I can escape into a place that … it’s hard to describe, but time is non-existent in this place, and there’s a flow to it. It’s kind of similar to athletics, there’s a flow to athletics. But with art, there are no rules, and in football, there are.”
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Todd Marinovich remains one of football’s great what-ifs. But even though his NFL career was a spark at best, he still tries to look back on his days at quarterback with pride.
“For me, it’s truly about the experience,” he says. “And I had some just beautiful, amazing — all the adjectives — experiences that the game has given me, and I’m grateful for it.”
“Marinovich: Outside the Lines in Football, Art, and Addiction,” by Todd Marinovich with Lizzy Wright, goes on sale Aug. 5.
