The Ranger

I think most people are probably confused when they see a Power Rangers chain around my neck. Whenever I pull it out, there’s always questions. But actually, there’s a story behind it. One that I’ve never really gotten the chance to tell. 

Looking back, I was that crazy kid who never stopped. Always been a daredevil. So it was only fitting that my favorite show was Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. If you’re too young to know what I’m talking about, then you’re really missing out. Seeing them fighting the bad guys, coming together to form the infamous Megazord and beating on the monster that episode — I was stuck to the TV. (Rita Repulsa? Ivan Ooze? Master Vile? Come on, man. Genius).  

Every Saturday, watching them on the couch when I was supposed to be at karate class, I was in another world. I wanted to be just like them. Literally. I was committed. Tommy, the White Ranger, was my guy. I remember asking my pops to teach me how to do a backflip like Tommy (knowing damn well that he definitely don’t know how to do a backflip neither!) 

He said, “Man, just go jump on the bed until you can flip!” 

“Really? I can jump on the bed and go crazy?” 

“Just don’t tell your mom.” 

I couldn’t slow down, and I didn’t want to. I just had this energy and I didn’t know what to do with it. Then one day, I found my calling. I remember being at my big brother’s football practice, watching all the other kids play. I couldn’t have been no more than four years old at the time. I wanted to run out there on the field with them so bad, but I was way too small. 

Of course, that didn't stop me. 

Without as much as a thought in my head, I took off. Jetting across the field in the middle of practice. The problem was, my brother’s teammates were doing wind sprints. You know that part in The Lion King when little Simba gets caught up in the stampede? That was me, man. I got knocked on my ass by those boys. 

I laid on my back gasping for air, not knowing that I just got the wind knocked out of me. But before anyone could help me, I got back on my feet and shuffled over to the sideline. I stood there licking my wounds, still wanting more than anything to be playing with those other kids. They had to hold me back from taking off again. 

Football was just in my blood. To me, it was my own lane. A way for me to be my own man. 

Growing up, I was always “my father’s son.” 

If you know anything about hip hop and L.A., then you have probably heard of the name Big U. My dad is kind of like a legend in the game. No, not kind of. He’s the O.G. From the work he’s done with artists, to all he's done for the community in Cali, his name stretches over all of the city, all over the whole state, and yeah — he happens to be my dad. Growing up, you never knew who would stop by the house or who would be at the dinner table. I still remember Nipsey recording some of his first songs in our basement. I don’t know anyone more plugged than my pops, and the respect he gets from every person he comes across, I still see it every day. 

It’s a big shadow. Because of how big of a figure he is in the community and who he is to the people, everyone wants to be under the name of Big U. When I was younger I never understood it. To me, he was just Dad. 

My dad has always had a big rep, but the great thing about football is that it’s its own world. It isn’t about who your parents are, but about what you can do on the field. I think that’s why I gravitated towards it more and more. Around the beginning of high school, I started to notice the attention I was getting, especially in Crenshaw. Football is everything down here. People think the West Coast is only known for hoops, but Crenshaw could compete with any place down South, and believe me, we got the talent to back it up. Everyone would be at the game when those Friday night lights would cut on. The band would strike up and the student section would be jumping. Folks would be out there tailgating for hours before the game, and you could smell it during warmups. A small town feel, but in its own way. 

Now everyone is talking about Big U’s son playing for Crenshaw High. Big U’s son is doing this. Big U’s son is doing that. That was when I could really feel the pressure and see just how far the shadow stretched. 

It wasn’t until I left for college at UNR that I got my first taste of independence. That's where I was able to define myself and my own lane in football. The first time Daiyan Henley could really be Daiyan, and eventually, The Ranger. 

My freshman year at Reno in 2017, I was balling. Believe it or not, I actually started out as a receiver. I had a great first season and I thought I had found my spot on the field. That following season in 2018, things changed. I found myself not playing like I was the year before, barely seeing the field and falling into a mental state that I had never been in before. A very dark place. Somewhere that I didn’t think I was capable of going to, to be honest with you. And a place that I hope I never see again.

When you’re going through a mental health issue, sometimes you can’t even realize how bad it is until you come out of that place. I was young, and I didn’t have many people I could talk to about it. I actually started journaling, something that I had never done before, just to get those thoughts off my mind. I didn’t know what to do, and I felt … lost. 

Barely making it through that season, I knew something had to change. I wasn’t happy where I was and needed something new, so I went to my coaches and asked to play on the other side of the ball. Maybe I just needed to hit somebody, you know? In 2019, I switched to DB, but at the time when I made the switch, the coaches on defense didn’t want me. I was written off before I had gotten a real opportunity. I saw the writing on the wall, and I was afraid of having another year in the darkness. 

I didn’t know if I would make it through to the other side if I fell back into that place again. So I talked with my family. I told them my frustrations, but I couldn’t let them know just how bad things had gotten for me mentally. I didn’t want them to worry about me and my pride was telling me that I couldn’t let my family see me in that kind of headspace. I was afraid to show that side of me. I’ve come a long way since then, but at the time, I just felt like I couldn’t be weak for them, you know? 

I decided that my best option would be to redshirt, focusing on my mental health and taking a step back since I wasn’t being used. I didn’t want to transfer, because that’s never been me. I’m not a guy to leave when things get tough, and I didn’t want to leave my brothers behind. So I came to my head coach and told him how I was feeling and asked to redshirt the year. 

I was met with a no. 

In so many words, he told me, “This isn’t a decision that you can make yourself. This is a coaching matter. And one that will be discussed by the coaches only.” 

I tried to tell him, “I’m being wasted right now. You guys don’t want me on defense. I didn’t play on offense all last year. What am I doing? You guys just don’t see me!” 

Not knowing what to do, I called up my dad and let him know what was going on. He was on a flight to Reno the same day. 

My dad and my coach had a meeting, and I don’t know what went down in that room, but when it was finished, they let me redshirt. 

But any college player who has been in my shoes already knows how everything played out. Those coaches already didn’t want me, so you can imagine how they treated me after I redshirted. The staff released the news that I had suffered a season-ending injury instead of just saying what had really happened, and I had to explain it all to anyone that asked about my “injury.” 

When 2020 came around, the whole defensive staff was fired, and in came Brian Ward, the new DC, who would end up being one of the best coaches I ever had.

It’s amazing what can happen when a coach just believes in you. 

After a couple of weeks of practice, I remember sitting in Coach Ward’s office. He was still getting to know everyone and he just straight up asked me, “Daiyan, why didn’t you play last year? I don’t get it?” 

I was diplomatic. 

“Just a tough situation. Everyone was trying to figure it out.” 

“Man, it just doesn’t make sense to me. You should have been on that field.” 

I didn’t want to get into the details of it all, but then he followed up. 

“So what do you want to do? What are your goals with football?” 

“Umm, I don’t really know. Hopefully I can get a shot at the league.” 

“A shot? Dude, you're gonna get drafted! You are good.” 

Now I’m looking at him like: Yeah, OK.

I’m thinking: You’re talking to a guy that was playing receiver. Hasn’t played in two seasons. Now I’m on defense with zero tape. I’m going to the league???

But he doubled down on it, telling me that I’m gonna be a draft pick, and that moment was so big for me. 

Honestly, I had forgotten who I was. 

Coach Ward believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. He lifted me up. That’s the biggest thing a coach can do. 

That season, I decided I wasn’t gonna let anyone tell me no. Nothing was going to stop me from being on the field. 

Two weeks before the first game of the season, my coach moves me from dime to inside backer. Second string inside backer. I was confused, but he told me to “trust the process.” 

By the second game of the season, I earned a starting role, and I never looked back. 

By my senior year, I started to go off. Besides the crazy stat lines, I finally felt my confidence starting to come back. And when things got tough, I felt like I had someone who actually had my back. As the season was coming to an end, I had one year of eligibility left and wasn’t sure where I was headed. When I heard Coach Ward was heading to Washington State, I knew where I was going too. 

Once I got to Wazzu, things weren’t easy. If anything, I was tested even more. This was my last shot to make it to the league. This time there’s no one to blame. I’m not dealing with politics or any other b.s. anymore. So I had no excuses. It’s all on me. I just stayed down and prayed up, man — just doing everything I could do, but the difference was that I finally had the support system of a team and coach that believed in me. 

With things going well for me, I started to notice this different side of me coming out. This alter ego. When the helmet was on, Daiyan was gone. That kid jumping on the bed, trying to do backflips, and running through my brother’s practice like a madman…. That kid was back. The same kid watching his favorite show every Saturday morning. The joy was back. The energy. The freedom. 

That’s when The Ranger was born. 

My first few years in college at Nevada, I never felt like myself. It felt like I was constantly climbing, just clawing to get to a place where I felt comfortable enough to pop out. That’s what The Ranger is to me. It’s poppin’ it. It’s being the best version of me on the football field. Before, I never felt like I could shine physically, because mentally I was in a dark place. It took me a lot to stay in it. Mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually. I was tested. Questioning all of it. Do I want to play football? Do I want to be here anymore? It wasn’t until I was able to play free, live comfortably, and begin to enjoy the sport the same way I did when I was a kid – that’s when The Ranger was formed. 

So it’s way, way, way more than a chain. 

It’s my story. From Crenshaw to Reno to Wazzu to the Los Angeles Chargers. The good and the bad. The darkness and the light. My story. 

Look, I know I’ll always be Big U’s son, and I’m proud of that. I’m proud of us. Of our story. Our whole family’s story. Think about how it’s all come full circle for us….

After my first preseason game in L.A., I remember I sat on that turf and looked around and I just wanted to cry. It’s not just being in the NFL. I’m home. In L.A. Back with my pops. Back with Big U. But not in his shadow. I’m shining right next to him now. 

After that game, I had nothing to do, so I went back to my parents’ house – the exact same house I grew up in – and just sat in the kitchen thinking. 

“Damn. I just played in my first NFL game. 

The kid from Crenshaw. It’s crazy….”

Since I was literally in my backyard, sitting at my own kitchen table, it kind of felt like I had just played a high school game. Right across the street from SoFi. Could still smell the food from the tailgate. All we needed was the Crenshaw band. 

I still can’t believe it’s all real. I’m exactly where I want to be. I know this journey is gonna be one with its ups and downs, but as long as I keep the same attitude, and face each day the same way, I’ll be here for a long time. 

And hey man — I finally figured out the backflip. That’s no problem. 

As far as forming the Megazord ……. let’s just say we’re working on that. 

Stay tuned. 

– The Ranger