The Real Romeo, Part I: 'You’ve got to see who I am'

Romeo Doubs is taking these playoffs by storm. We sit down with the wide receiver who escaped South Central Los Angeles. Here's Part I. Those scouts at the NFL Combine had no clue.

Illustration by Brave Buffalo

GREEN BAY, Wisc. — There’s mystery to the man. The public’s been supplied jigsaw pieces to this point. Not the social-media pandering encouraged at this position.

Romeo Doubs was a human machete making incisions all over the Dallas Cowboys’ secondary. Curiosity turned to awe for those who hardly knew No. 87 in green, which is most of America. After Catch No. 1 at midfield, the wide receiver did not tomahawk-slam the football into the most famed star in sports. He gently dropped it with zero emotion. He caught six for 151 yards in all — a clinic. By the end of Green Bay’s 48-32 wild-card romp, Doubs nestled between four bodies in the end zone to catch a touchdown and his celebration was muted.

Holding a No. 1 to the sky, Doubs hustled off the field before teammates could converge.

He is quiet. Extremely quiet.

He has hinted at a hard upbringing in South Central Los Angeles. Vaguely.

This former 132nd overall draft pick out of Nevada was even an oddity to NFL scouts, investigators by nature.

Fascination around these Green Bay Packers only grows, as a team in alleged rebuilding mode scripts its own story. These 22-, 23-, and 24-year-olds on offense resembled a juggernaut in Big D. The quarterback is an equal opportunist — there are no favorites — but Jordan Love makes the most magic with this 6-foot-2, 204-pound receiver, this father striding through the entrance of Republic Chophouse in downtown Green Bay. Doubs brings his longtime girlfriend, 9-month-old daughter and the scenery’s ripe for manifestation a few days before that Cowboys playoff game. The perfect time to stare ahead, squint and envision such greatness. For himself. For his family. For the Packers. Malani is cozy, napping inside the carrier. Lights are dimmed. Steaks are ordered. Soft music plays. Doubs speaks in a low hum — you need to listen intently — and each word is carefully crafted.

Only… he does not manifest. Because he is no dreamer. He never pictured the National Football League as a pot of gold waiting for him at the end of some treacherous underground tunnel. Football is changing his life but it’s not as if Doubs charted out a master plan at age 14. Simply, he made the right decision over the easy decision — repeatedly — in L.A. One workout, one practice, one game at a time, Doubs forever lives “in the moment.” Initially, Doubs says this is how all pro athletes think, but he’s wrong. He is different. Drastically different than his wide-receiver contemporaries. Because over two full hours, not only does Doubs refuse to build himself up. Doubs refuses to even discuss his game. Period. Asked what separates him as a player — perhaps that tenacity on contested catches? — he recoils.

“The biggest thing, man, is not talking about it,” Doubs says.

His girlfriend, Andrea, chimes in: “He doesn’t like to brag.”

Dominating the cornerback across the line demands alpha arrogance. This is pure 1-on-1 combat and the best of the best weaponize their mind to instill fear. They’re marvelously malicious: Mike Tyson walking toward the ring. Apex predators in the wild. Trash-talking characters obsessed with earning universal “Him” status. Bare minimum, a wide receiver will at least explain why he is… um… good.

“I stay away from talking about it,” Doubs says. “Because I know the moment I do, bad things usually happen. The mindset’s different when you don’t talk about it. You’re now in the progressive mode of, ‘OK what can I learn from this? What can I do from this?’ Compared to talking about it. Now, you really look like a fool.”

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He’s in no rush to meticulously detail the traumatic journey from Los Angeles to Green Bay, but he gets there. Doubs ever so gradually unlocks those memories and — when he does? — all those plays on the screen make sense. A true portrait emerges. Friends have died. Family has spent time behind bars. He evaded the trappings of South Central L.A. with more elusiveness than any defensive back will ever encounter on the field. He linked up with longtime coach Terry Robiskie — via mentor Keyshawn Johnson — and hardened into a different tier of worker.

He became a father, a miracle itself. Romeo Doubs takes a long look at Malani and does the quick mental math. Green Bay? Raising a baby girl? Starting in the NFL?

“It’s insane, man,” he says. “Not a lot of people really get to know me, as far as allowing people to get to know me. It’s nothing personal. I stay in my lane and hope it doesn’t poke other people.”

There was one week he needed to open up. Too much is on the line for NFL teams. Every draft pick is an investment. They absolutely must figure out how you’ll respond to adversity because adversity is a guarantee. Lord knows Doubs conquered his share, but GMs, coaches, scouts left the 2022 NFL Combine with a warped vision of Romeo Doubs.

Notes filling scouting reports described a completely different person.

This week in Indianapolis was a total nightmare.

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He cannot remember the exact meal that shut down his body, only that it was absolutely something he ate upon landing in Indianapolis. If he digested a stick of dynamite it would’ve been more pleasant.  

Ninety minutes after dinner, Doubs walked toward NFL personnel and coaches gathered in a big room for informal interviews and his stomach started to “bubble.” He got chills and started calling everyone he could. His girlfriend. His mother. “Everybody,” Doubs says. Across the table, Andrea’s eyes widen. Their FaceTime chat was something straight out of a horror movie. (“He was sick.”)

All symptoms from a severe case of food poisoning.

Tonight is the first time he’s sharing this information with anyone outside his inner circle. Mostly because Romeo Doubs has tried to wipe that week from his memory. He never saw any reason to explain himself to teams after the fact, but it’s true. Exactly when Doubs began interviewing for a job in the NFL, he endured some of the worst pain of his life.

“Stomach hurting. Chill bumps. Sweating,” he says. “Couldn’t really think straight. It was bad. It was terrible.”

This was not merely one team interview, either. If so, the damage to his reputation would’ve been isolated. Minimal. No, this informal setting in Indy is more of a rapid-fire NFL speed date. He cannot remember the exact number, but Doubs estimates he met 10 to 15 teams, stammering through conversation all along. One bad meal and teams were referring to this all as a “mental breakdown,” he recalls.  

He was sick all week. Lost 10 pounds in all.

One of his greatest strengths — his mentality — was suddenly ridiculed as a weakness.

Doubs knew it wouldn’t matter what he tried telling teams later, especially when bad turned to worse. That night, Doubs tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep with the chills. He remembers staring at the time — 1 a.m., bled to 2 a.m. to 3 a.m. He could not sleep… until he did. Until he overslept. The phone in his hotel room went off and, yikes. Doubs was late for his drug test.

“I was just like, ‘This is bad,’” Doubs says. “Once you have more than one person with the same mentality or the same exact mindset against one person? Explaining doesn’t help anything. You’ve got to live with it and then whatever persona they put on you, let it be put on you.”

He’s not exaggerating. One AFC scout told our draft analyst Bob McGinn that he deemed Doubs “mentally frail” before then adding: “He wigged out at the Combine. He had so much anxiety and apprehension that he stayed in his room and never came out. Did not participate in the combine. After the initial day, he never came out. That was very much a concern that our scouts had. He's probably no better than a third day guy at best.”

Other scouts offered versions of the same takeaway. Word of an “anxiety attack” spread.

Despite growing up in a city littered with pitfalls around every corner, he kept a squeaky-clean record. He wasn’t entering the NFL with a rap sheet like so many others. The fact that he made it to a four-year college was a monumental accomplishment in his family. Frail? If only those scouts witnessed one of his workouts with Terry Robiskie.

Thinking back, the stoic Doubs becomes visibly irritated.  

This felt like being wrongfully accused of a crime.

“That narrative got switched fast and there was nothing I could do,” Doubs says. “I just had to deal with it like, ‘Man, this is the NFL. Is this kid really strong? Can this kid do this? Can’t this kid do that?’ That’s the first thing y’all think about? At that point, y’all can say what y’all want because — at some point — you’ve got to get to know me. You’ve got to see who I am.

“That was probably one of the craziest times of my entire life.”

He wishes he could’ve sat down at a steakhouse with a representative from all those teams. Only then would they get the full picture. If he could go back in time, OK, he would’ve eaten something different. Other than that, Doubs wouldn’t change a thing because it’s impossible to show anybody who he is in 10-to-15-minute increments. He knows the league is bigger than him, too, so he also doesn’t even blame scouts for penning such scathing analysis. It’s their job to investigate how players are wired and there’s a very good chance they’ve seen players experience very real mental breakdowns that are justifiable red-flag warnings of trouble to come with 2 minutes left in a playoff game.

Teams need employees who can handle the reality that the NFL is cutthroat.

But Romeo Doubs also knows a slew of NFL teams had Romeo Doubs dead wrong.

He left Indy without a clue what’d happen next.

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There is no sugarcoating life in South Central.

“It’s not a safe place,” says Doubs, plainly.

He doesn’t want to slap stereotypical labels on his neighborhood because there’s trouble in all metro cities. But gang life is more than a fringe reality in Los Angeles — it’s a lifestyle that swiftly and savagely absorbed so many of his childhood friends.  

Take Jordan Patterson. They played Pop Warner together. Grew up in the same area. Patterson, a safety, even developed into one of the top recruits in the city. “Before you know it,” a despondent Doubs laments, “he becomes a gangbanger in the city of L.A.” Patterson was sitting in his sedan shortly after 12:45 p.m. on Sept. 30, 2020 when another vehicle pulled up beside his car and opened fire, per the LA Times. A UCLA commit at one point, the 19-year-old Patterson was pronounced dead at the hospital.

“I know his family,” Doubs says. “Even just talking about it, it traumatizes me.”

He’s silent for a few seconds before then mentioning another friend: “Rob.” They, too, met in Pop Warner. Rob became a gangbanger. Rob was killed in high school.

“I try to stay away from the conversation, try not to talk about it again. I’m a deep thinker and obviously I zone out and just… moving on.”

But Doubs can’t move on. These emotional wounds never healed, so he cannot pretend like they do not exist. All L.A. trauma helps explain his rise. He never witnessed anybody get shot and killed but it’s a miracle he didn’t suffer the same fate considering everything at home. He first points to his uncle’s death in 2007. His mother’s little brother was a rock in their lives.

That same year, both of his parents went to jail.

His mother was released after a year and a half. No further details are shared.  

His father was a different story.

“My dad,” Doubs says, “was actually on the run. And then he ended up getting caught up. He went in for about six, seven years.”

A quick search reveals that Jarmaine Doubs Sr. was wanted by police for attempted homicide, assault with a deadly weapon, robbery, terrorist threats and kidnapping. U.S. Marshals led a strike team. Along with two relatives, per the Las Vegas Review-Journal, he was accused of attempting to murder a woman named Elaine Neal because they believed her son killed another member of their family.

Looking back, Romeo is grateful all of this happened when he was so naïve. He was only seven years old, just young enough to not understand what was happening.

“You don’t really get that feeling of struggling or understanding what hurts you,” Doubs says. “If I was old enough to witness that, who knows who you become as you get older?”

This is not an uncommon upbringing. Sadly, every child in the eye of such a storm is vulnerable. That’s why Doubs sounds demoralized — no, defeated — thinking back to childhood friends who became “that guy” into high school. Everyone knew Doubs played football and, typically, that was enough to keep gangbangers at bay. But not always. There’s a saying in L.A., he explains: “Getting banged on.” Gangsters who knew Doubs would still approach to ask for his affiliation. Bloods? Crips? The question is posed as a threat.

Once, Andrea was with Romeo. She recalls someone rolling up to them both on a bike with a backpack turned around front. His hand reached inside that backpack, likely gripping a gun. “Are you from here?” he asked. Doubs kept walking as Andrea — a girlfriend who takes no shit — said, “Don’t we go to school together?” He rode away on his bike.

The hair may be standing up on the back of your neck. Doubs knows this all sounds chilling to those unfamiliar with this world.

Honestly, though, he gets it. Kids like this are reppin’ a gang and following orders.

“No different than having a general manager,” Doubs says. “You work for somebody. You’re under somebody’s construction. You’ve got to do what they say or you get the consequences.”

Striking juxtaposition sitting here in Green Bay. As Dad lays out this blunt reality for teens back home, his daughter wakes up from her nap. Mom gives her sips of water from a straw. Ray Charles’ playful “Hit the Road Jack” plays over the speaker. Both are thankful to raise a family in such a small community because both saw how easy it is to free-fall into a gang. Romeo always had sports. Even then, it’s easy to find yourself around the wrong group of friends.

One hangout, one conversation, one domino is all it takes to organically spiral into that world.

“Imagine I was here,” Doubs says, ominously. “Imagine if I was hanging out with this person, rather than running sprints with the team. Because as a teenager — those decisions in those moments — especially when you don’t want to do anything, it’s easy to just be like, ‘Oh no, I’m not going to practice. I’m finna go do something.’ And then that one time turns into three times and then three times eventually five, then seven…”

Next thing you know, that gang is your family.

They provide protection, identity.

Next thing you know, you’re setting down the football and putting on that backpack.

These are not joyous hypotheticals for Romeo Doubs, but this is also a wide receiver who was coughing up blood during the Packers/Bears game before this chat. He suffered a chest injury and went to the hospital afterward for testing. Earlier this season, he played through a hamstring injury that was more painful than anyone realized. Even the 23-year-old who’d rather undergo a root canal than discuss his own qualities admits L.A. is what made him so mentally tough.

All of this, he adds, taught him “to stay 10 toes down.”

He wasn’t perfect. There were times Doubs found himself saying internally, I’m not supposed to be here. But as far back as he remembers, someone else usually stepped in to say: “Nah, you stay back.” Everybody — “everybody,” he stresses — recognized his burgeoning athletic talent and collectively shielded him from danger. That’s where the most dominating presence in his life entered the equation. Peers knew how downright pissed his older brother would get if he found out Romeo was slumming around the wrong crowd.

Jarmaine Doubs Jr., aka “ManMan,” refused to let Romeo steer off track. Romeo estimates his big bro is 75 percent the reason he never domino’d into that “three times… five times…” trap. The age difference helped. Four years older, Jarmaine Jr. went through the football recruiting process a full cycle before him. Carved out a nice football career himself, from junior college to Southern Utah to the Arizona Rattlers of the Indoor Football League. He passed along advice he never received himself.

“That’s why I salute him,” Romeo says. “Some may say I did the dirty work, but he literally did the dirtiest part, just from taking the hardest road.”

Back home, Jarmaine Jr. is asked constantly why his little bro was the one to make it to the NFL and his answer is always the same. While Jarmaine Jr. was willing to share words of wisdom with anyone who’d listen, Romeo was the one who took advice to heart. Every teenager wants to “roam out,” Romeo adds, but few are willing to put the work in. The crux of everything — How did Romeo Doubs get to Green Bay, to this moment? — is not overly complicated. Romeo consistently made the “right” decision over the “easy” decision. In life. In football. In relationships. He uses Josh Gordon as an example. How easily we forget the ex-Browns receiver blowing up for an NFL-high 1,646 receiving yards in 2013. “Josh Gordon,” he adds, “was that dude.” Gordon, however, was suspended multiple times for substance abuse.

Growing up, Doubs saw an endless number of lemmings give in to temptation. Never to be heard from again.

“Making a bad decision is a lot easier than making a good decision,” Doubs says. “If somebody says ‘good decisions are easy to make,’ I’m going to take that as a lie.”

That’s why Doubs has zero problem cutting people out of his life. Most recently, he stopped talking to one of his best friends who was like family. This wasn’t bad blood, rather a “business decision.” He doesn’t divulge many details but, judging by the way he glances over at his girlfriend, this was an emotional split. The longtime friend was deemed a negative influence. No heart-to-heart conversation was needed. Rather, as Doubs ascended, the two naturally veered off into separate lives. His two hands split opposite directions over the table.

Reliving “What ifs” and gang life and forgotten friends obviously is not fun dinner conversation.

One word, however, completely brightens his mood: Football.

For the first time, Doubs cracks a huge smile.

“Football, man… What it’s done for me, it took me away from stuff I would’ve never thought I would’ve got to. It took me away from a lot. A lot, bro. I don’t even know how to put it into words at this point. What it has done for me? I’m speechless.”

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Go Long

He was not always this humble. Romeo Doubs pinpoints the moment he needed to check himself. Back in high school, he wasn’t invited to a summer football camp. Another kid was invited to this camp, received college offers, and this kid — in his mind — couldn’t hold his jockstrap.

“My arrogance at the time,” Doubs says. “My first thought was, ‘Oh, I’m better than this dude.’ Even after the fact, thinking about it now, it’s just like, ‘Who are you to say you better than somebody? When you didn’t even put yourself in position. Secondly, you were lazy.’ You think you have it figured out.”

From Jefferson High School to Nevada to the pros, Doubs learned to embrace “the beauty” of the sport’s struggle. He can relate to the story of Damar Hamlin, the Buffalo Bills safety who estimates that more than half of the kids he grew up with in McKees Rocks are dead. When we sat down in Buffalo, just like this, Hamlin insisted he wanted to give kids in his neighborhood a beam of hope. He then nearly died on a football field, became an inspiration worldwide and strapped on the pads again. He achieved his mission.

This is how we reconcile our support of a dangerous game.

Football is forever an outlet for teens teetering on that edge of “three times… five times…seven times.”

A reason to say “no” to fast money and pursue a college scholarship.

Yet, Doubs makes a critical distinction. Football only serves as that escape if you’re willing to make hard decisions. And every game, every practice, every workout presents you with those hard decisions. With its inherent physicality, this sport is unlike any in the country. Get smacked in a hitting drill and you’re more than welcomed to leave. There’s the door. There’s the street corner. It’s on you to stick with this as the alternative. The mentality it takes to play this sport, Doubs says, is “draining.” Back in high school, he’d quit workouts if things didn’t go his way. Twenty minutes later, he’d put his cleats back on, and resume.

Crying through workouts. Angry through workouts. Happy through workouts. Eventually, he got 13 offers of his own. Of course, Doubs chose Nevada because Mom didn’t give him any other choice. This was a quick, direct flight from LA.

Even in college, he considered quitting. His first fall camp, glove-less, he couldn’t stop dropping the ball. It was hot. He was cussed out every day. Conditioning each summer was always brutal, too. Strength coach Jordon Simmons, a former member of the United States 3rd Group Special Forces in Fort Bragg, N.C., would run players “to death,” he says. But he never quit. He bought into everything and matured into one of the best wide receivers in the Mountain West Conference under the mentorship of Eric Scott. Mom might’ve forced his hand, but Nevada proved to be the best landing spot for Doubs because Scott was an L.A. native himself. Scott coached a team Doubs played in high school.

He could relate. He knew which buttons to push.

“He played a part in this football journey,” Doubs says, “just as much as my brother did.”

Getty Images

Doubs improved each of his four years, finishing with 3,322 yards and 26 touchdowns on 225 receptions.

He only concerned himself with the task that given day. Nothing more.

“That’s why I preach on progression so much,” Doubs says. “Progression isn’t really seen often. Progression is more of the ‘Ah, okay…’ Kind of just brush it off. Up until someone gets in their final moment and then you start to do the research on him and then you start to see like, ‘Oh, I didn't know he did so and so.’”

He cites Kobe Bryant as an example. Everyone sees the five titles, the 18 All-Star appearances, the 81-point game, the killer instinct on the court. Few remember how his career began. Bryant didn’t even start his first two seasons. As a rookie, he famously ended the season with four airballs in the fourth quarter and OT against the Utah Jazz in the Western Conference Finals. But he learned from that moment. After studying the film, Bryant saw that each shot was on line but fell short because his legs were so weak. Physically, he wasn’t prepared to leap from 35 games max in high school to 80 that rookie season. That offseason, he completely changed his weightlifting program.

Doubs attacked his own weaknesses throughout college and the four years shaped him.

On to the NFL, he was in good hands. Former No. 1 overall pick Keyshawn Johnson became a mentor and knew exactly what Doubs needed to excel at the next level: Terry Robiskie. An NFL coach from 1982 to 2020, Robiskie gained a reputation as one of the best wide receiver coaches in the league. His workouts? Legendary.

Robiskie has never told Johnson “no,” and vice versa.

So, ahead of the 2022 NFL Draft, Johnson called with a favor.

“Work his ass until his tongue’s hanging out of his mouth,” Johnson told Robiskie. “Don’t give him one inch because he has all the potential in the world to be The Guy.”  

10-4.

Keyshawn had Robiskie’s word.

Those NFL scouts chatting with a sick-as-hell Doubs never learned the Real Romeo, but the Green Bay Packers certainly did.

Read Part II right here.