Sporting News, The: A house arrest

It's late afternoon, and Chiefs cornerback Eric Warfield is parked on a leather couch, alone with his dog. America's Funniest Home Videos is playing on a TV in another room. He glances at the time.

The boys will be here in a couple of hours. They'll play cards and pool and fight over video games, but eventually they'll go home. Warfield will remain, a prisoner in the house that once was the start and finish of countless nights out with teammates and other friends. Not anymore.

Warfield pulls up the leg on his sweats and reveals a 4x3-inch black box that reminds him of the last time he drank, last September in the hours following a Chiefs game. That night led to his third DUI in four years, 28 days in rehab, 10 days in jail and, finally, 80 days of house arrest.

There are, of course, worse places to be confined. From mid-March through the end of May, from 2 p.m. until morning, Warfield's prison is his 5,000-square-foot home in suburban Kansas City. It is complete with four bedrooms, two bars, several big-screen TVs, a movie screen and a hot tub. The place is so big that Warfield's electronic ankle monitor goes off as he walks around certain parts of the house.

"I don't want to make it sound too good because I'm on house arrest and the judge will think it's all glitz and glory for Warfield over at his house," says Warfield. He admits that driving with a blood alcohol level of 0.189 percent could have turned out much worse. "I actually got away kind of lucky," he says.

A pint-sized dog yips at his feet. Warfield scoops up the Chihuahua and explains the art of Internet shopping. You can buy just about anything--clothes, cars, pets. Warfield was bored one day when he saw Nelly online. He bought the dog, then spent $6,100 on a gold and diamond collar and $1,500 on a Louis Vuitton bag for carrying him to practice.

Before he was under house arrest, Warfield loved to go shopping at malls. He'd drop hundreds of dollars on clothes he never tried on. If they didn't fit, he'd give them to friends.

The old Warfield, the one who drank and partied, was king of the whim. He'd gather some friends and fly off to Las Vegas on a couple of hours' notice, eating and drinking and gambling until his wallet hurt. It had to be spontaneous. "When things are planned for me," he says, "they don't tend to be as much fun."

His life is more structured now. He attends mandatory Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and rehab aftercare. At night, his teammates help him pass the time in his house, playing cards, dominoes and video games. They know the rules: no alcohol, no bars, no nightlife. The upstairs bar, once stocked with liquor, is empty, save for some 12-packs of soda and Hawaiian Punch.

On the second floor is Warfield's master bedroom, which has a closet that holds about half of his 400 pairs of shoes. The closet is as big as the Johnson County, Kan., jail cell he occupied in March--his first day in the cell was the day he turned 29.

He began reading books during his brief incarceration, something he'd never made time for before. He has plenty of time now, and on his nightstand are five books--two copies of the Bible, Bill Clinton's My Life, Alcoholics Anonymous and Living with a Chihuahua.

Warfield doesn't drive anywhere these days. Sitting in his garage, along with several motorized bikes, is his latest pride and joy, a brand-new charcoal gray Range Rover. He hasn't even sat in the driver's seat yet. "I love Range Rovers," Warfield says. "Of all the cars I've driven, that's probably the most luxurious."

A limousine service picks him up every morning so he can attend the Chiefs' offseason workouts. Warfield's ankle monitor is shut off from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. while he's at Arrowhead Stadium. He still has to wear it, and he is not shy about showing it to curious teammates.

"I'm trying not to hide," he says. "I've accepted what I've done. I realize my mistakes. I realize I got off of the two previous ones because I had the money to pay off the court fines. Money can't get you out of this one."

By 2 p.m. he is home, again passing the hours with Nelly and his TVs until friends drop by for a while. He is far from the fast lane, but be says he doesn't miss the nightlife much--certainly not as much as he misses being able to play golf, go shopping, visit his mother. Or even take Nelly for a walk.