Editor’s note: This story originally published in March 2021 and has been updated with new information about Richardson’s legal situation.
On Dec. 29, 2020, at approximately 0918 hours, in the area of 4120 E. Van Buren St. at the Howard Johnson hotel, a verbal altercation occurred between victim Ronald Like and an unidentified Black male with the nickname “Big Mike” over money/drugs owed to Ronald. A witness who knows both Ronald and Mike observed Ronald and Mike arguing. Approximately one minute later, the witness heard three to four gunshots and observed Mike’s red Chrysler 200 flee the parking lot. — Phoenix Police Department probable cause statement
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Mike Richardson, or “L.A. Mike,” was a cornerback on arguably the best defense in NFL history — the 1985 Bears — and a featured rapper in “The Super Bowl Shuffle.”
Michael Calvin Richardson, or “Big Mike,” is awaiting trial in Maricopa County, Ariz., on counts of second-degree murder and misconduct involving weapons.
Through the course of seven felony convictions and many turns and spins, stops and starts, ascensions and dips, L.A. Mike evolved into Big Mike.
But before he was either, he was a son and brother in Compton, Calif.
His mother, Bobbie, was a teacher. His father, Calvin, known as “Blue,” was an Air Force veteran who kept his kids in line. “He would drive around in his camper, and you could do no wrong if he was in the neighborhood because he was watching over everybody,” said Tim Wright, a childhood friend of Richardson’s who now is a Chicago attorney and ordained minister. “His mother and father were incredible people who raised the community.”
Having six sisters — five older than him — created an interesting dynamic for Richardson. “They always babied Mike,” Wright said. “He was always the center of attention, being a boy, being one of the youngest. He had personality, he had talent, and he was good-looking. The girls had to take a second seat.”
Wright, six years older, became like a big brother to Richardson, driving him to Pop Warner practices, watching his games, and inviting him to train with him and his friends.
Early in Richardson’s life, Compton was mostly a middle-class community. The demographics started to change after the Watts riots in 1965. By 1970, when Richardson was 9, Compton had the highest crime rate in California, in part because of the arrival of the Crips. When Richardson was about 14, Wright observed him talking with some of the gang members. He told him to stay away, and Richardson heeded his advice.
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During a 2008 court case, Richardson’s defense attorney stated Richardson started using substances when he was 13, but to Wright’s knowledge, Richardson wasn’t using anything except marijuana. “I never knew him growing up to be part of a street element or involved in drugs,” Wright said. “He was an athlete. That’s how I understood Michael.”
Richardson’s affinity for football, along with his athleticism and toughness, was his salvation as a teenager. He played linebacker and was voted All-American at Compton High. He was the first defensive player to win California player of the year.
Ronald suffered approximately two gunshot wounds to his neck and or head. The Phoenix Fire Department arrived on the scene and transported Ronald to a local area hospital where he was pronounced deceased at 1010 hours. — Phoenix Police Department probable cause statement
College recruiters came after Richardson hard. He chose Arizona State in part because he liked the vibe at the reputed party school and the idea of living in Phoenix.
Freedom, as it often does, had a downside. “We partied,” said Willie Gittens, a teammate and friend. “We drank a lot of alcohol. We smoked a lot of pot. … Toward our senior year, cocaine got introduced and we started doing cocaine.”
But Richardson got away with it. As a freshman, he was moved to a new position, safety, and he immediately excelled, being named honorable mention All-Pac 10 and winning the team’s outstanding freshman award. Teammates voted him defensive MVP after his sophomore season. He made the all-conference team in his final three years and was All-American his final two years. As an All-American, he appeared on Bob Hope’s NBC-TV Christmas Special in 1981. He finished his ASU career with 18 interceptions — one more than future Pro Football Hall of Famer Mike Haynes for the most in school history. His senior year, he was a team captain.
The witness identified Michael Richardson as “Big Mike” from a known photograph. The witness identified Krystal Ward as the passenger of the red Chrysler during the shooting. — Phoenix Police Department probable cause statement
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Richardson was chosen by the Bears with the 33rd overall pick of the 1983 draft. On the first day of training camp, he lined up at a new position, cornerback. Leslie Frazier, a third-year cornerback, invited Richardson to stay on the field after practice to work on his technique and his reads. “He was so eager to learn and very humble,” said Frazier, who became a lifelong friend.
Richardson also connected easily with Richard Dent, who was part of the same draft class. They bought condominiums in the same building in Vernon Hills. “He taught me how to play bones,” Dent said. “His mother and my mother became very tight.”
Dent was blown away by the banana pudding Richardson made. It was nearly the equal of his mother Mary’s — the best he’d ever tasted. So when the Bears practiced in Suwanee, Ga., before a playoff game, Dent brought Richardson to his mother’s Atlanta house to make banana pudding for her.
As he did at Arizona State, Richardson established himself quickly, becoming a rookie starter and intercepting five passes. He broke his wrist in October the following season but managed to play 11 games injured. He came up with a game-ending interception in the Bears’ 23-19 divisional round playoff victory over Washington.
The following week in the NFC Championship Game at San Francisco, he struggled to cover Freddie Solomon, who had seven catches for 73 yards and a touchdown in a 23-0 49ers victory. Defensive coordinator Buddy Ryan criticized Richardson for playing poorly on the West Coast, which Richardson had done before. Ryan said he “didn’t play worth a damn,” and called him “strictly an East Coast player.”
Ryan, who gave most of his players nicknames, dubbed Richardson “L.A.” Everyone assumed the initials stood for the place Richardson came from, but there was a double meaning. “Lazy ass,” was how Ryan intended it. “Mike was very easy-going and laid back,” said Al Harris, a teammate of Richardson’s at Arizona State and in Chicago. “I think sometimes that was read as being lazy.”
Richardson sometimes was put in difficult situations by Ryan, who loved the blitz. Richardson was demoted to second string on the depth chart in 1985 minicamp. He won his job back in training camp and played well the rest of the season. “He’s really matured and got his priorities straight,” Ryan told the Chicago Sun-Times that October.
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Two months later, Richardson and many of his teammates recorded a song and an accompanying video. Richardson, looking stylish wearing white wristbands, was one of nine Bears with solos in “The Super Bowl Shuffle.”
“I’m L.A. Mike and I play it cool,
They don’t sneak by me ’cause I’m no fool.
I fly on the field and get on down,
Everybody knows I don’t mess around.
I can break ’em, shake ’em,
Any time of day,
I like to steal it and make ’em pay.
So please don’t try to beat my hustle,
‘Cause I’m just here to do the Super Bowl Shuffle.”
Dent cherishes a photograph of Richardson and him embracing taken in 1985 during the Bears’ 44-0 victory over the Cowboys. They were celebrating because Dent had scored his first NFL touchdown on a 1-yard interception return, and Richardson scored his first on a 36-yard interception return. “Me and my best buddy,” Dent said. “We had a lot of fun together.”
After the Bears won the Super Bowl, Richardson found himself benched again in 1986 training camp, this time for showing up two days late. Richardson said he was confused over the reporting date.
He wasn’t second-string for long, and he recovered with a career-high seven interceptions in 1986. He was named second-team all NFC by UPI.
Surveillance captured the suspect’s red passenger car arriving at the hotel and the suspect exited the vehicle. The suspect entered Room No. 111. A short time later, Ronald arrived in a gray Chrysler 300C and knocked on the door to room No. 111. The door opened and both the suspect and Ronald appear to have a verbal altercation which transitioned into the parking lot. The suspect was standing near the driver door of the Chrysler and Ronald walked toward him. The suspect raised his arm as if aiming a handgun and Ronald fell to the ground. The suspect got into the red passenger car and left the parking lot. The witness stated Michael’s girlfriend Krystal was seated in the front passenger seat of the red sedan when he fled the scene. Three casings and a plastic rod were located in the parking lot. — Phoenix Police Department probable cause statement
Richardson soared and then plummeted quickly in the NFL.
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He was absent at the start of camp once more in 1987, this time because he thought he should be the highest-paid defensive back on the team. He didn’t report until shortly before the season began, and by then, he no longer was a starter. Late in the season, he was promoted but then demoted again.
Richardson regained his starting job the following year but was benched for one game because he failed to show up for a morning meeting the day before a game in Los Angeles. He said it was a misunderstanding. Head coach Mike Ditka said he didn’t believe him. Then, in the 1988 NFC Championship Game loss to the 49ers, Richardson gave up a 61-yard touchdown reception to Jerry Rice.
The Bears left him unprotected in Plan B free agency after the season. He signed with the Raiders. Head coach Mike Shanahan made Richardson a starter in training camp, but the cornerback gave up three touchdowns in preseason games and was cut before the season began. Richardson was picked up later in the year by the 49ers, for whom he played the final three games of his career.
At 28, Richardson was a former NFL player.
There was no doubt Richardson partied hard during his NFL days. Almost all of the Bears did. During Richardson’s playing career, NFL players were drug tested randomly and suspended for one failed test. He never served a suspension.
Asked to reflect on his career in 2003 by the Dana Point News, Richardson said, “It was fantasyland for me during those seven years. I was a celebrity and enjoyed all the perks that came with the fame of being a Super Bowl champion.”
While Richardson probably should have played longer and accomplished more, his career was noteworthy.
“He was more than competent,” defensive lineman Dan Hampton recalled. “(Frazier) had certain skills that a lot of people thought were amazing, so Mike was getting more safety help. But we didn’t worry about him. He would pop people, be an enforcer. He wasn’t driven to be exceptional like Mike Singletary was. Damn good player though.”
In a boisterous Bears locker room, Richardson was reserved but not out of place.
“He never found himself in trouble,” Bears defensive lineman Tyrone Keys said. “Good guy. Kind of to himself a lot of times. Perfect teammate, that’s all I can say about him.”
In Richardson’s final season with the Bears, Ditka told the press he thought Richardson should have his vision checked because he wore glasses off the field. When asked about the glasses, Richardson said the lenses were not prescription, and he wore them because he liked the way they looked. “He was into being just right, making sure his hair was right and his clothes,” Frazier said. “He was a pretty boy in some ways like that.”
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In January 1989, Richardson, wearing nothing but a Speedo bathing suit, appeared in Playgirl magazine with Dent and Bears teammate Dennis Gentry.
An aspiring young actress whom Richardson’s teammates found quite attractive visited him in Chicago for a weekend during the 1985 season. After one of his games, Richardson chose to hang out with his buddies rather than take her out on the town. Halle Berry, it turned out, was not pleased. Richardson never lived it down.
Richardson rode a unicycle around training camp, which somehow was apropos of who he was. “He was very likable,” Harris said. “If you didn’t like him, you had a problem. I don’t ever even remember seeing him get angry.”
In Frazier’s memory, he can still see Richardson, Dent, Keys, William Perry, and Otis Wilson cracking on one another in the corridor of their locker room just off the entrance. “His laugh made all of us laugh,” Frazier said. It was a “goofy laugh,” as Harris remembers it. His teammates often imitated it.
When Richardson and his former teammates reminisced, there was more laughing than talking. The good times were what he remembered most.
On Dec. 30, 2020, the 2016 Chrysler 200 was located at the 8000 S. Arizona Grand Parkway. Michael Calvin Richardson and Krystal Maree Ward were located in the area and were taken into custody. — Phoenix Police Department probable cause statement
Blue and Bobbie Richardson were so proud of their son they found a way to attend almost every one of his professional football games. Family and friends, including Wright, toasted many Bears victories in the dingy underground players’ lot north of Soldier Field. Mike was grateful to his parents, and he bought them a van.
Blue and Bobbie passed away shortly after Richardson’s playing career.
“I thought that was devastating for him,” Keys said. “After his dad died, not knowing which way to turn, Mike spiraled and lost his way in the game of life.”
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His sister Mary Richardson-Lowry later said in court that her brother took a downward turn after their parents died in part because he was remorseful that he was not there to show his support during their final days.
In Southern California, the transition from the NFL to the real world was daunting. Richardson didn’t do much of anything for five years except look for a good time. He was sentenced in 1992 to four years in prison for selling or transporting a controlled substance. He later faced a second four-year term for another drug crime. “I just lost focus,” Richardson told ESPN in 2010. “At some point, the party has to stop, and my party didn’t stop. And if the party is 24 hours around the clock, eventually you’re going to get in trouble.”
He told the Chicago Tribune in 2011 that one of the reasons he used drugs was he had “false illusions as far as maybe (drugs) being a sexual enhancer.”
Richardson’s dependency could have been exacerbated by head injuries from his playing days. He was one of more than 2,000 players and their families who filed a lawsuit against the NFL in 2012, accusing the league of concealing information about the long-term effects of concussions. He was the only player in the suit who said head injuries led him to be substance-dependent.
“He never really talked about himself (having concussion issues), but he talked about players he played with and was kind of worried about it, what could happen to him,” said Gittens, who was reunited with Richardson in the early 1990s at a halfway house in Westminster, Calif., where both were sentenced to live there and undergo rehabilitation after drug offenses. “He knew he took a lot of hits … I could see how Mike having head injuries could lead him into doing some of that stuff, or keep him doing it. When you have trauma, it makes you do things that aren’t normally you.”
In the 1990s, Richardson knew he needed to find a career. He became a father and was married briefly. He long had been interested in cars since Blue owned a wrecking yard. A friend was selling cars under a tent on weekends, so Richardson helped out. He also went to auctions, purchasing used cars and selling them to dealerships. It led to becoming a salesman for Elmore Toyota in Westminster, Calif. Richardson worked a 1-9 p.m. shift and had a business card that said “MIKE RICHARDSON. ’85 Super Bowl World Champion.” He sometimes wore his Super Bowl ring.
“He was a very good salesman,” Wright said. “Michael had the gift of gab and the ability to personalize you in conversations. He had a kind of intensity that if you were in the room with him, you would be attracted to his charisma. … He wanted to one day have his own dealership.”
Krystal told investigators Michael and Ronald did not like one another. Several months ago, Michael had stolen approximately $200 worth of drugs from Ronald, and Ronald was holding Krystal responsible to pay back the $200.00. — Phoenix Police Department probable cause statement
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During a routine traffic stop in Garden Grove, Calif., in 2006, police found 28 grams of rock cocaine and 10 grams of methamphetamines in Richardson’s car. He faced 13 years in jail.
For Richardson’s trial, Ditka sent a hand-written note and offered to pay for Richardson’s rehab. Dent and Keys also wrote letters.
At the time, Richardson-Lowry was president of the Chicago Board of Education and a Chicago-based attorney with Mayer Brown LLP. She testified on her brother’s behalf, saying he had supported her financially when she was in law school. “That had been the role he has taken with other family members,” she said in a court case, according to ESPN. “That has been the approach he has taken with respect to friends. That has been the approach he has taken with respect to teammates when they have fallen on hard times or have found themselves on a path that was contrary to their interest, and contrary to societal interest.”
Also testifying was Wright, who by then had served as special counsel to Chicago Mayor Harold Washington, director of domestic policy for President Bill Clinton, and an advisor for both President George H.W. Bush and President George W. Bush. He also had mentored a young Barack Obama and participated in negotiations in South Africa that led to Nelson Mandela’s release.
Their efforts were persuasive, as Richardson’s 13-year sentence was suspended. He was ordered to spend one year in jail with five years of probation, pending his participation in a rehab program.
“I just feel like I am at that fork in the road,” Richardson said in court. “I feel like I am, for the first time, 100 percent committed to the actual process of change.”
In 2008, eight months after being released, Richardson was arrested for violating probation by failing to register as a drug offender and associating with another drug offender. He was imprisoned for 20 months, then released after a ruling that the terms of his probation had been too vague.
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When Richardson was freed in 2010, Wright knew he had to get his friend back to Chicago where people cared about him and his name could open doors. He convinced Richardson to relocate.
In Chicago, Richardson wasn’t thought of as an ex-con as much as he was one of yesteryear’s heroes. He attended the 1985 Bears’ 25th-anniversary reunion. He started showing up at other alumni events, making promotional appearances, and reconnecting with old friends. Richardson-Lowry got him involved with Chicago Public Schools.
Richardson looked for opportunities to speak to addicts and others who had struggles. He talked about wanting to be an example of someone who transformed his life and offered his cell phone to addicts who might need a friend. In a 2012 speech at Rosecrance Griffin Williamson Adolescent Treatment Center in Rockford, he said it all started to make sense when he was arrested in 2006. “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me — not the day I won the Super Bowl — the day I got sober,” he said.
With Richardson-Lowry, Wright and Dent involved in his life, he seemed to be thriving. He started a business, 101 Speed Training, to help young athletes. Dent, an entrepreneur who runs his own business, was happy to help shape his vision, and Hampton made appearances for him without compensation. One of his clients was Laquon Treadwell, who later became a first-round pick of the Vikings. In a 2016 interview with the Pioneer Press, Treadwell said Richardson helped him with life advice as well as football training.
During this period, Richardson made a commitment to his own children, Brockerick Taylor and Reili Richardson. He brought them to the 25th reunion of the ’85 team, and they walked on the field before a game at Soldier Field.
“They were beaming,” Keys said. “Beaming. I asked Mike how he stayed sober. He said, ‘Just ask my daughter.’ She said, ‘I told him if he’s going to be a part of my life, this is how it has to be.’ And she smiled that smile. She was a proud daughter.”
Richardson trained Broderick and Reili for speed and strength and even helped them with SAT test prep. He sent Keys their highlight tapes every weekend and called to talk about their progress. Long before the days of Zoom, a friend set up Richardson so he could FaceTime both his kids simultaneously. “He was doing all of that stuff like a coach and a dad,” Keys said. “It was like he had another lease on life.”
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Said Gittens, “I thought he finally got the monkey off his back.”
The surveillance video of the incident did not show Ronald raise anything in his hands or make any overtly aggressive movements before he was shot by Michael. — Phoenix Police Department probable cause statement
The last Bears alumni event Richardson attended was the annual homecoming and golf outing in 2016. He moved to the Phoenix area shortly after.
Richardson thought it was the right place for him because Reili was attending Arizona State on a basketball scholarship, and he wanted to be near her. He had been inducted into the ASU ring of honor in 2013, and he saw an opportunity to rekindle his relationship with his alma mater while working with Arizona athletes through 101 Speed Training. He moved into a family-owned property in a gated community in Mesa.
He wasn’t there long before shadows were following him again.
Over 32 months, Richardson was booked into jail six times for various offenses. He pleaded guilty in 2019 to conspiracy to commit dangerous drug possession for sale. According to Maricopa County court records, he violated one of his probations and tested positive for cocaine and heroin. His latest arrest was for the second-degree murder charge, as well as misconduct involving weapons.
Gittens, who has been sober for 20 years and is a personal trainer and coach at Valley Christian High in San Jose, Calif., said he started worrying about his friend about three years ago because Richardson wouldn’t return his calls. They had talked about once a week when Richardson was living in Chicago. He said they have not spoken in two-and-a-half years.
Wright and Dent tried to keep tabs on Richardson, but the distance between them proved challenging.
“I hated like hell when he went back to Arizona because I couldn’t touch base with him like we did when we were in Chicago,” Wright said. “We would talk from time to time, but not with the kind of intensity and regularity we had while he was here. I always felt without Richard and me checking on him and being with him, he was susceptible to that which tended to dominate his life. We never wanted to let him go because we love the kid.”
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Keys, who mentors young people through All Sports Community Services and is one of the glue guys from the 1985 Bears, attempted to keep up with Richardson as well. He found Richardson wasn’t as enthusiastic about his children’s sports endeavors as he had been when he was in Chicago.
Richardson came to Chicago last fall for an autograph show. When Keys saw him there, they embraced and agreed to meet up that night to watch a football game.
“I never saw him again,” Keys said. “And then I saw his mugshot.”
For a while, Keys was distraught to the point of not being able to speak about it. “I know what it does to his children, and I’m not forgetting the other person who lost his life,” he said. “It’s tragic. I hurt for his kids.”
Reili had more assists than any basketball player in Arizona State history. She plays professionally for Gréngewald Hostert in Luxembourg. Her half-brother, Taylor, has been a running back at Columbia University.
After Richardson was arrested, Keys left Taylor a message. “I just wanted to let him know the team was here for him,” he said.
Since his arrest, Richardson has been detained in the Fourth Avenue Jail in Phoenix, cell No. 27 on the third floor of the five-story building. His secured appearance bond was set at $1 million, and the next scheduling conference is set for Aug. 17. The initial trial date was vacated, and a new date has not been set. He still has not entered a plea. Krystal Ward was not charged in the incident.
Richardson’s defense team recently filed a motion for new determination of probable cause, claiming he was denied the right to a fair and impartial grand jury proceeding because the state of Arizona presented false and misleading testimony.
Court documents show that Audriana Miner, the Phoenix police detective in charge of the investigation and the only witness during the grand jury presentation, testified that Ward “did not see an item in the victim’s hand before Richardson allegedly shot him.” But according to a transcript in a Dec. 29 interview of Ward, she told Miner, “Anyway, then Ron all of a sudden walked — started walking really fast towards me. He whipped out this big old wrought iron stick. And it was like this long. And it looked like iron, you know?” Richardson and Ward were in Richardson’s car, but Ward said, “I thought — we thought he was going to break the windows with that pole.” The fact that Ronald Like was holding a potential weapon was corroborated to Miner in an interview on Dec. 29 by another witness, Ian Lee. Ward also said in the interview that Richardson’s actions were “in self-defense.”
The people who care about the 60-year-old feel helpless now. Harris said he wants to visit him. Gittens prays for him all the time. Hampton said what happened is distressing and perplexing.
“He was our brother, and until I know different I will hold out hope it’s not what we’ve been told,” Hampton said. “He was a free spirit but never a mean-spirited guy. We’re all hoping and praying this isn’t something that leaves him in a terrible light.”
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The Mike Richardson his friends know is not the Richardson they see in that mug shot. A “sweet guy” is how Dent thinks of Richardson. Gittens said he knows in Richardson’s heart he’s a good man.
“I cannot believe for one second that Michael was capable of taking a life unless it was in defense of his own or someone else’s,” Wright said. “That’s not who Michael was, it’s not who he is. Not on his worst day did he have that capability.”
So many of his days were good days.
Shaking Bob Hope’s hand.
Riding a unicycle from his dorm room to the chow hall.
Picking off Joe Theismann in the playoffs and making his parents proud.
Making banana pudding for Mary Dent.
Introducing his children to his teammates.
Inspiring struggling young people.
The day that matters most now is last Dec. 29, when he allegedly stood over a man in a puddle of his own blood.
Redemption has been the way Richardson has closed most of the chapters of his life’s story. So far, anyway.
(Top photo: Paul Spinelli / Associated Press)
