Beneath the Skinn

They call his position the "rover." Terrell Skinner plays at the back of the Terrapin football team's defense. His back is not pressed against the wall. He is the wall. Any big play allowed is, in part, his responsibility.

Responsibility. These days, Skinner can knock Virginia Tech star Ryan Williams to the ground, fly to the ball and level a hit just as the running back sees the open field.

Skinner stands in the defensive backfield. Next to fellow safety Jamari McCollough, the 6-foot-3 Skinner towers, his long arms reaching down to the middle of his thighs. He turns his head slowly, panning the field, looking for weaknesses.

Skinner isn't very vocal, but his voice is heard when it needs to be. He's not a defensive captain, but his presence looms.

"He's the last line of defense," safeties coach Kevin Lempa said. "Wherever he is, the ball can't get by him."

Responsibility. Those are the tasks a coach probably wouldn't entrust to a disillusioned youth, uncertain about his position — within his team and in life.

The Terrell Skinner Jr. of four years ago wasn't prepared to deflect a post route on one play, then blitz the quarterback the next. That Terrell Skinner Jr. was a lanky, athletic wide receiver just trying to figure out where he belonged. He was away from home for the first time, months after the birth of his daughter. That Terrell Skinner Jr. struggled in the classroom and yearned for the warmth of St. Petersburg, Fla., his hometown.

"He didn't ever looked like he was really comfortable," McCollough said. "He's always been quiet, but at the same time, he just looked sad."

When Skinner committed to the Terps almost five years ago, he was assured of anything but safety. In the years since, he has emerged as a playmaker, a key cog in a trying season. Even as the Terps (2-8, 1-5 ACC) waded through five straight losses, Skinner's play continues to rise. His teammates talk about "playing for pride." Skinner's pride is a 4-year-old daughter named Mariyah Skinner.

Saturday, she'll be in attendance when the Terps travel to Florida State. Living in Florida with her mother, Mariyah has only seen her father play once in person. She's old enough to understand, "My dad's in Maryland. He plays football, and he's No. 1," Terrell Skinner said, grinning as he recalled his daughter's words.

"I feel like I want to make an impression on her," Skinner said. "Show her what I've been doing all these years."

• "I CAN'T HAVE NO KID"

Terrell Skinner Sr. heard his eldest son out calmly. Then he told him to shut up.

Terrell Skinner Jr. had just informed his father he had impregnated a girl. The baby was due in April, and Skinner had roughly a month left in his high school football season. The Boca Ciega High Bogies needed their quarterback to focus, and Skinner needed to perform well in his final chances to impress college coaches.

"I told him, ‘We'll deal with the pregnancy after the season,'" the elder Skinner recalled. "I told him I didn't even want to talk about it. There was only a month left. We still had the opportunity to go through with whatever after the season. We had to take care of business first."

Sure. In the midst of making some of the biggest decisions of his life, the 17-year-old was going to brush aside the spector of impending fatherhood to concentrate on winning a few games for the blue and gold.

"My honest reaction? ‘I've got to get rid of this. I can't have no kid. I can't have no kid,'" Skinner said.

But maybe his father's advice worked. The game after finding out about his daughter, Skinner scored a game-winning touchdown on a punt return against a division rival. He finished strong, rushing for 200 yards in a playoff game and being named Pinellas County Player of the Year by the St. Petersburg Times as a senior.

His stock had risen, too. Skinner had committed early to the University of Central Florida in Orlando, about an hour's drive from Skinner's home. But his success had put him on a new recruiting plane, and the ACC pulled him away, landing him in College Park, about 945 miles from home.

Skinner signed on the dotted line in February, just two months before his daughter's birth on April 18, 2005. He was gone for training camp in August.

At the time, Skinner viewed football and fatherhood as separate entities. His decision was not changed by the newest member of his family.

"It should have [factored into the choice]," he said last week, "but it didn't."

Skinner told Rivals.com at the time that early playing time was a top priority in his recruitment.

• 945 MILES FROM HAPPINESS

Terrell Skinner Sr. took a familiar tone with his son. He had listened to every complaint. He knew his namesake missed home. It didn't matter.

"I wouldn't let him quit; I wouldn't let him leave," he said. "I told him coming back home was not an option. He knew he had to stay. When he told me he wasn't happy, I told him I wasn't happy."

Both father and son had their reasons for displeasure. Then a freshman, the younger Skinner was struggling in school. He had been placed on academic probation.

On the field, well, there wasn't any "on the field." Skinner was running in place for the Terps. After redshirting his first year, he converted to defense, believing he'd see the field easier as a safety.

He was clashing with coaches, to the point where head coach Ralph Friedgen kicked him out of practice one day. He wasn't adjusted to his new position, and he missed having the ball in his hands.

"Things were heavy on my mind," Skinner said. "If Coach wasn't going to give me the opportunity to go to the other side of the ball and play, then I'll just go home, transfer to [South Florida] or UCF, if they'll have me, and go from there."