Ryan Leaf believes he has a superpower.
Not flying. Not super strength. Not invincibility or teleportation.
His superpower, he says, is something much less flashy:
"Grateful perspective."
“I don't think other people have the same perspective I have,” Leaf told USA TODAY Sports. “How grateful I am for everything that has happened.”
And "everything" barely begins to cover it.
Even those too young to have watched Leaf play likely know his story. The former Washington State star led the Cougars to the 1998 Rose Bowl and finished as a Heisman Trophy finalist. In the lead-up to the 1998 NFL Draft, the biggest question in football was simple: Peyton Manning or Ryan Leaf?
The Indianapolis Colts chose Manning with the No. 1 pick. The San Diego Chargers selected
Leaf second.
What followed made Leaf one of the most infamous cautionary tales in sports.
A combination of poor play, injuries and clashes with teammates, coaches and the media derailed his NFL career almost immediately. Across 25 games, he threw just 14 touchdown passes against 36 interceptions and became synonymous with the word "bust."
But the struggles on the field were only the beginning.
Substance abuse, burglary and drug charges, multiple arrests and a suicide attempt followed. In 2012, Leaf was incarcerated in his home state of Montana after another arrest, seemingly reaching a new low in a life that had already experienced more than its share of them.
The downfall of Ryan Leaf has been documented for decades.
The more compelling story now may be the comeback.
What happened after the fall?
And how did one of sports' most notorious cautionary tales find a way back?
The freedom Ryan Leaf found in telling the truth
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Leaf has rebuilt a life that once seemed irreparably broken.
He found purpose not by running from his past, but by confronting it head-on.
That journey ultimately brought him back to football, this time as a broadcaster. Today, Leaf serves as the lead college football analyst for the Pac-12 on USA Network, a role that would have seemed unimaginable during the darkest chapters of his life.
How does someone make a comeback like that?
For Leaf, it began with accepting the truth about what went wrong.
For years, he believed he had to play a role. He convinced himself success required projecting strength, arrogance and invincibility.
"I thought that's who I had to be to be successful," he said.
Looking back, Leaf realizes reaching the NFL should have required a different approach. Instead of adapting, he doubled down. Instead of taking responsibility, he deflected it.
For years, he saw accountability as weakness, something that would cost him status, respect or what he describes as "macho points."
Now he sees it differently.
“It doesn't cost me to be accountable for my actions growing up,” he said. “I think people are just unwilling to be accountable because they don't like that version of them, looking back at themselves in the mirror.
“Once you're able to do that, accept that what it is, surrender to the fact that you don't have to be that anymore, that's incredibly freeing.”
Slowly but surely, that mindset helped Leaf work his way back into football.
He built a second career in broadcasting, spending time with ESPN, Pac-12 Network and CW Sports. During his stint with CW Sports, he partnered with veteran play-by-play broadcaster Ted Robinson, one of the most respected voices in college sports.
Years earlier, Robinson had called Leaf's games while working Stanford radio broadcasts. Decades later, he found himself sitting beside Leaf in the booth.
Robinson quickly became impressed with Leaf's ability as an analyst.
He praised Leaf's direct style, his willingness to explain the game simply and honestly, and his refusal to hide behind jargon or overcomplicate things for viewers.
Leaf's secret, he said, is simple.
When the cameras come on, he imagines he's just talking football with a friend.
Yet it was what happened away from the microphone that left the biggest impression on Robinson.
Ryan Leaf comeback wasn't in broadcast booth. It was in the life he built.
Aware of Leaf's history with addiction, Robinson recalls a dinner before their first game together when Leaf made a point to tell him he was comfortable with Robinson ordering a glass of wine.
It might have seemed insignificant.
To Robinson, it wasn't.
It represented the kind of self-awareness, honesty and growth that only comes through years of difficult work.
Over two seasons together, Robinson watched Leaf speak openly about every part of his past while remaining focused on the life he had built in the present.
He saw photographs from the years immediately after prison, when Leaf was struggling physically and emotionally. The contrast with the man sitting beside him in the broadcast booth was striking.
Most of all, Robinson noticed what mattered most to Leaf now.
Before every game, Leaf called his wife and children.
"You could see him beaming," Robinson said. "You could see how much it meant to him."
For decades, the story of Ryan Leaf was defined by everything he lost.
Today, it may be better defined by everything he found.
Ryan Leaf's mission now is helping others find their way back
Life is good for Ryan Leaf.
More than that, he wants others to believe it can be good for them, too.
Robinson recalls on the day before games, Leaf often sought out local recovery centers and rehab facilities, speaking with people battling the same addictions and personal struggles that nearly consumed him.
His outreach extends far beyond football.
Leaf regularly shares his story with college teams, schools, community groups and recovery organizations across the country. The audience doesn't matter. Neither does the sport. His message remains the same: Mistakes don't have to define a life.
Leaf credits Nick Saban with helping launch that mission. Years ago, Saban became the first coach to invite him to speak to a team when he addressed Alabama's players.
The experience opened a new chapter.
“It's not always the most friendly environment to rip off your scabs and tell people about some of your worst moments in your life,” Leaf said. “But there's also a teaching moment. There's a moment that shows how strong you are that you were able to come back, and now because of the decisions I make have given me the life of my dreams.”
That purpose eventually evolved into formal advocacy work.
Today, Leaf serves as a mental health and substance-use-disorder advocate for the Menninger Clinic, the nationally recognized psychiatric treatment center based in Houston.
Ironically, the partnership traces back to a football event.
At Peyton Manning's Pro Football Hall of Fame induction in August 2021, Leaf met Armando Colombo, president and CEO of the Menninger Clinic. Their first conversation wasn't about addiction or recovery at all.
They talked as fathers.
But like so many people, Colombo knew Leaf's story. The two stayed in touch, and it wasn't long before Leaf called with an idea.
“He said, 'Hey, I want to do more. I want to help more people. How can we try to accomplish something bigger?'” Colombo said.
The result has been a growing partnership that includes the "Recovery Playbook" podcast, which Leaf co-hosts with physician Daryl Shorter. The show combines Shorter's medical expertise with Leaf's lived experience and explores recovery, mental health and resilience through both professional and personal lenses.
Leaf also participates in events throughout Menninger's campus, speaking with patients, law-enforcement officers, families and healthcare professionals.
According to Colombo, his impact is remarkable regardless of the audience.
What stands out most, however, isn't Leaf's story. It's his gratitude.
Colombo says despite the countless people who thank Leaf for helping them, Leaf is usually the one expressing appreciation for being given the opportunity to help.
It's a simple gesture. One that never stops affecting him.
"His ability to relate to people who are struggling is incredible," Colombo said. "He's genuine. Everything comes from the heart. He's transparent about where he's been, what he's endured and why he's doing this work now.
"People see someone who went from the highest mountain to lying on the floor of a prison cell and then built an amazing family and a thriving career. But beyond all of that, he's willing to be vulnerable to help others. That gives people hope.
"It allows someone who is struggling to think, 'Wow, maybe I can do this, too.'"
The reason Ryan Leaf wouldn't trade his journey for a Super Bowl
Today, Leaf takes every opportunity to tell his story.
Not because he enjoys revisiting the darkest moments of his life, but because he hopes sharing them will help someone else.
His mission is to change the stigma surrounding mental health and substance abuse, to show people that seeking help isn't weakness and that recovery isn't something to be ashamed of. As Leaf often says, addiction is a disease, one that can be treated, and one that doesn't have to define a person's future.
Recently, after one of his speaking engagements, a young man approached him and admitted he was struggling and wanted help. Leaf was able to connect him with the resources he needed.
Maybe that conversation never happens if Leaf keeps his past hidden.
That's why, despite everything he endured, he wouldn't trade his journey for a successful NFL career.
Because the story stopped being about him a long time ago.
"I would have never had any sort of purpose if I had just been some good football player who won a couple of Super Bowls and rode off into the sunset," Leaf said. "None of this would have happened.
"That's why I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I got to go through the things I've gone through."
It's a remarkable statement from someone whose name once became shorthand for failure.
For years, Ryan Leaf was defined by what he lost.
A football career. Freedom. Relationships. His sense of self.
Today, he is defined by what he gained through the wreckage: perspective, purpose and the ability to help others find their way through struggles of their own.
The quarterback who once seemed to have everything now believes his greatest accomplishment came long after football.
And for the first time in a very long time, Ryan Leaf is at peace with that.
Pac-12's comeback story mirrors Ryan Leaf's in more ways than one
Leaf laughs when the conversation turns to the Pac-12's resurrection.
"There's got to be some really unique similarities around the idea of redemption and being left for dead," he said.
He would know.
The conference where Leaf became a star nearly disappeared after 10 of its 12 members departed, leaving Washington State and Oregon State to carry the banner alone. During those uncertain years, Robinson said few people championed the league more passionately than Leaf, who never stopped believing the Pac-12 could find its way back.
Now it has.
The rebuilt Pac-12 enters 2026 with nine members and a new television partnership with USA Network, where football serves as the centerpiece of the conference's relaunch.
To lead that coverage, USA Sports turned to one of the Pac-12's most recognizable figures: Ryan Leaf.
The role means more to him than he can easily put into words.
"They had a belief in me, maybe before I necessarily had a belief in myself," he said.
Leaf is paired with play-by-play announcer Nate Gatter and sideline reporter Lauren Green. In fact, Gatter isn't sure he would have the job without Leaf.
The two had crossed paths professionally over the years and developed an easy rapport. When Leaf learned network executives were searching for a play-by-play partner, he called Gatter and asked whether he'd be interested.
Of course he was.
A short time later, Gatter got the job.
Their professional relationship quickly evolved into a friendship. Leaf hosted Gatter and his wife at his Connecticut home, giving Gatter a closer look at the person behind one of sports' most recognizable redemption stories.
“He has had highs that very few people experience, and also lows that very few people experience, and he's now gotten through both of them to build a really wonderful life for himself professionally, but also personally,” he said.
“He is also an unusually transparent and honest person about those experiences. To recognize all of his pitfalls along the way is just a human story that I think we all respond to.”
That connection has translated to the broadcast booth.
The pair have received strong reviews through their first games together, including the highly anticipated Week 2 matchup between Boise State and Memphis.
Gatter believes part of the chemistry comes from Leaf's personality. He keeps broadcasts loose, injects humor when needed and never takes himself too seriously. That occasionally leads to comparisons to actor Will Ferrell, a comparison Leaf seems happy to laugh off.
Football isn't the only sport he'll be calling, either.
Leaf will also work basketball broadcasts, an opportunity he credits in part to his wife, Anna Kleinsorge, who helped negotiate the role into his contract. A longtime fan of the sport, he previously called Fordham games and quickly realized he enjoyed the challenge.
“I love the fact that I'm just not this – quotation marks – dumb jock who's just calling his own sport,” he said.
Even now, Leaf understands that many people still know him only as the player whose NFL career unraveled nearly three decades ago. Some haven't seen him since. Others have no interest in reconsidering their opinions.
Gatter admires how comfortably Leaf has learned to live with that reality.
“So many people have opinions about him that might be rooted in 1999, and they're not going to change no matter what happens, right?” Gatter said. “He lives in a world where his name is in the room before he is, including with people who have never met him and will never know him as a person. He has found contentment with that.”
Leaf isn't interested in winning sympathy or convincing everyone he has changed.
He's interested in doing good work.
He's interested in helping people.
And he bristles slightly at the idea his life should be viewed solely as a redemption story.
For every Ryan Leaf, there are countless others fighting similar battles who never played professional sports and never had cameras documenting their struggles. Recovery, he says, isn't a finish line. It's a daily commitment.
“That's the biggest takeaway in what the last 12 years have been; is a continuation of still wanting to learn, evolve and pick myself back up when I make a mistake,” he said.
It's difficult to overstate how much work it took to reach this point.
The life Leaf lives today wasn't something he imagined while walking away from football.
And it certainly wasn't something he envisioned sitting in a Montana prison cell.
That's where his "superpower" comes in.
The grateful perspective.
A perspective that reminds him not only where he is, but where he came from.
“When I'm standing in that booth on a Saturday night, I can look back 12 years to that date, I was sitting in a prison cell,” Leaf said.
“I'll just be able to just revel in that gratitude of where I'm at because it's just unbelievable.
"It's a miracle."
This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: Ryan Leaf lost everything. Now he’s the voice of a Pac-12 finding its way back too
