In the spring of 2003, high school senior Jeff Allison, "the pride of Peabody," lit up radar guns with his blistering 95 mph fastball and buckled knees with his hammer curve. New England isn't a region known for its ballplayers, but Allison, according to Baseball America, "shattered those stereotypes," and in 2003 the publication named him their High School Player of the Year. His final line looked looked like it came straight from a video game: a 9-0 record in 69 innings, with 142 K and just 9 BBs. His ERA? 0.00.
"His pitching motion is like you and I walking," said high school coach Ed Nizwantowski. "That's how easy it is."
Due to concerns over his signability, Allison fell to the Florida Marlins, who held the 16th overall pick; they awarded him a $1.85 million bonus, and were more than happy to cede to the demands of the lanky righty, who possessed a boatload of confidence to accompany his Puritan work ethic.
"I don't care where you're from," he said, bristling with working class pride. "I know where I'm from and I'm going to dominate you."
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Oxycontin, also known as OC, is a relatively new drug, first released in 1996 as a powerful, pain-killing prescription narcotic. It comes in pill form, and is supposed to be swallowed whole, with a time-release formula designed to slowly release the narcotics into the body. However, even chewing the pill can create a more intense high, while crushing and snorting it creates feelings of near-euphoria: walking turns into gliding, and worries disappear instantly. It could be 3 PM on a cold Wednesday afternoon, and you could be sitting in your third floor apartment in a triple-decker in Lynn, melted into your couch wearing nothing but boxers, in a room with scattered with empty beer cans and old pizza boxes--and still feel like the world is yours.
It soon caught on like wildfire in the Northeast, becoming the drug of choice for those who had dabbled in marijuana and Vicodin, but wanted a little bit more--and it was a prescription drug for pain, so it couldn't be that bad--or at least that was the mentality.
The problem with OxyContin: it's expensive, and extremely addictive. Even with a prescription, a bottle of 100 pills (40 mg/pill) costs roughly $400. Street value can be 8-10 times that--which boils down to about $40 a pill, or $1 per milligram of OC.
Recreational OC users became hooked, and for many what had started as a habit soon became a full-blown addiction that spiraled out of control. Nearly broke, users ultimately found themselves scouring the streets for a high that would produce the same effect. More often than not, they turned to a much cheaper and bountiful opiate: heroin.
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Jeff Allison first dabbled in Oxycontin while in high school, and he recalls instantly liking the feeling it produced: "You feel like you can do anything you want."
With a $1.85 million bonus, affording the drug was never a problem, and with his millions he burned a hole straight through his pocket, splurging on drugs and a tricked-out Cadillac Escalade. Soon local residents witnessed the Allison's Escalade around town, and raised their eyebrows as the vehicle rolled through shady parts of Lynn and Lowell. People had an idea of what was going on, and so did the Marlins, who placed their million dollar investment into a rehab center in Lowell during the 03-04 offseason.
After rehab, however, little changed for Allison, and he soon found himself mired in the throes of his addiction. It was in summer 2004--when the staties busted two of the region's most prominent OC suppliers--that the drug became nearly obsolete, forcing desperate OC users like Allison to turn to other drugs. It didn't matter how much money he had--OC's were simply off the streets and unavailable. One night, Allison and his friend Jimmy Leontakianakos drove to Lynn, where Allison purchased a $50 bag of heroin, and inserted a needle into his body for the first time.
He instantly overdosed, and his breathing stopped.
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Jeff Allison had a dream. In that dream, he looked into his hand, and saw a ball, but wanted something more. With all his might, he willed that sphere of white cowhide and red stitches into something even bigger--and sure enough, little continents began to form, and the milky hide turned a deep blue. Before he knew it, he held the Earth in the palm of his hand. He felt a burning in his chest, and became filled with pure ecstasy and power.
But all dreams must end. Jeff Allison woke up in a hospital bed, a hole in his arm, and looked into his right hand, only to watch the crushed powder of hundreds of pills falling to the ground through his sieve-like fingers.
And though he survived--revived by a team of doctors in the ER--his lasting legacy may utlimately be that of a fallen star--a pitcher who had everything in his grasp, but perhaps searched for more, only to see baseball slip away completely--leaving him behind, desperate and alone, a life fleeting and without purpose.
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