The Nkemdiche Prophecy

Between Robert Nkemdiche’s off-field issues and unique outlook on life, teams worry about his NFL future. Should they?  

- Seth Wickersham

ROBERT NKEMDICHE WANTS A PET PANTHER.

That’s how he plans to treat himself when he signs his rookie contract. He wants to take care of his family, and he wants to buy a panther. Right now, on this March afternoon, he’s at Handy Andy, a roadside barbecue joint in Oxford, Mississippi. They know him here. A few months ago—before he fell out of a fourth-story hotel room window, was hospitalized, was charged with possession of pot and was suspended for the Sugar Bowl, ending an All-America career as a defensive tackle at Ole Miss—he would walk in and simply wave to the cashier to begin his order: two double bacon burgers with pepper jack cheese and a Mountain Dew. But this is his first time back in a while, so he orders at the register, then makes his way to a table in the back, away from most patrons.

​Soon Nkemdiche is quadruple-tasking. He’s chugging. “Something about Mountain Dew, man.” He’s eavesdropping on a conversation between two 80-something men. “I like old people. There’s no pretentiousness.” He’s discussing his admiration for Pink Floyd. “Division Bell. It speaks to me.” And he’s watching Instagram videos of domesticated panthers. He likes the black ones, likes how their eyes glow. He stares at shots of people playing with panthers, wrestling with them as if they were dogs, nudging faces, fearless when they open their mouths. “It’s sick.” It’s insane. “No, it’s not. They’re like cats.” Can’t he see the headline? Visitor Mauled by NFL Star Robert Nkemdiche’s Pet Panther. “If someone comes over and is scared, I’ll put the panther away.”