Only one time did Ron Brown question himself, doubt the decision that baffled so many. It only lasted a moment, but sprinters, especially those as good as Brown, don’t deal in thoughts of fear, they don’t beseech themselves to regain their composure or confidence.

The public address announcer at the L.A. Memorial Coliseum had given the “On your marks” call over the loudspeaker. From the back of lane four, Brown inched forward in his white tank top and curtailed red shorts, a qualm setting over him as he took a few steps toward the blocks.

“I looked around and thought, ‘This is anyone’s race right here,’” Brown recalled. “I said, ‘Damn, it’s going to come down to these next 10 seconds’ … I had to shake that thought.”

For maybe the first time ever, Brown understood why so many had criticized him, why outsiders continued to be baffled that he took ‘Door A’ when ‘Door B’ offered more security, more money and more normalcy.

Before all that, the Cleveland Browns used their second-round pick in the 1983 NFL Draft on Brown and offered him a contract that, after a holdout, ballooned to nearly $1.5 million -- a figure well above the typical slot value.

With no bad blood, second-round picks aren’t supposed to tell the team that just drafted them, “Hey, thanks but no thanks. I’m going to try and make the Olympic team” How could someone gamble fame and riches on 10 seconds of uncertainty?

As Arizona Republic writer Lee Shappell wrote the day before Brown took the blocks during the 100-meter final at the 1984 Olympic Trials: “Ron brown has 10 seconds this afternoon to justify his existence in track.”

By the time he touched his knee to the ground and dug his white Converses into the blocks, justification wasn’t a question. As he does before every race, Brown began a breathing ritual of multiple deep breaths with a gradual outtake. He tried to envision how things would play out, to think about winning the race in such fine detail that he would come to see the future.

“I got to the point where I could calm myself down,” Brown said.

By the time the gunshot fired, fear was absent from his mind. With a powerful, high stride, he lunged for the finish line 10.23 seconds later. It wasn’t exactly what he hoped for. He was supposed to be Carl Lewis that day, the one out in front raising his arms at the 90-meter mark. But in the track trials, placement is less relevant. There’s one, two, three -- the trio heading the games -- and then everyone else.

And, in 1984, just about a year after he spurned the NFL for a chance to be an Olympian, Brown finished third and earned a spot on Team USA.

“It was a relief at that point,” he admitted.

****

Mike Haynes had an NFL Rookie of the Year trophy on his mantle, a few Pro Bowls under his belt and a Hall of Fame career in the making when he first met Ron Brown. He was at his alma mater, Arizona State, in the early 80’s working out with the track team during offseason training.

On one steamy summer day in the early-80’s, Haynes had just finished some resistance work -- or, rather, busting out of the blocks a few times while someone else pulled back on his waist with an elastic band. Feeling loose, that his body was made of pillows, Haynes decided to race Brown.

It was a 40-yard sprint. Through 30, Haynes saw only daylight.

“I’m ahead of Ron Brown. I’m sprinting my ass off thinking, “Oh my God, I’m beating Ron,” Haynes recalled. “And then, like a bullet, he went by me … I couldn’t believe how fast he was.”

Regardless of circumstance, that seemed to be the consensus of those who saw Brown.

“His mechanics were almost flawless,” said Bruce Frankie, a former ASU track assistant coach who trained Brown for the Olympics. “Ron Brown, he had gears that I don’t even think he’d used yet. He was so talented.”

“For him, it was an effortless transition from football to track,” said LaMonte King, a teammate of Brown’s on the ASU track team. “He was just a naturally fast guy with good technique and good out of the blocks and strong … The only person I saw who was similar was Herschel Walker.”

“He was a world-class athlete. Having his speed was a huge tool,” Todd Hons, who quarterbacked the Sun Devils in 1982 and ’83 said of Brown. “I’d throw it and be like, ‘Oh no, I overthrew him. And he had another gear that he’d turn on and separate from the guy and catch it.”

The odd thing about Brown’s football journey is that no one seemed to know how where he fit. He was a sprinter who played football. For a coach, that’s one hell of an advantage to have. It also causes doubt. Where do we play this guy, they’d ask? He returned kicks most of his life. He was a running back in high school. At Arizona State, he was a defensive back for three years before coach Darryl Rodgers moved him to receiver for his senior year.

“I was a track guy who really converted to football,” Brown said. “I enjoyed track more.”

“Ron had jet-like speed,” former ASU defensive coordinator Al Luginbill added. “He just was never a natural football player.”

The move to receiver, however, flashed his potential. During ASU’s 1982 Fiesta Bowl championship season, Brown caught 19 passes for nearly 400 years and five of the Sun Devils’ nine total receiving touchdowns. His speed and potential vaulted him up draft boards and turned his dream of the Olympics into something most figured was the dumbest financial move on the planet, like having an eighth-grader do your taxes.

But Brown’s priorities seemed to always deviate from the societal norm.

Finances rarely factored into his decisions. His parents taught him, “You don’t let money run you. You run money.” NFL fame, to him, was a flash in the pan, a means to an end that would simply allow him to pursue other interests. And for those who felt he risked everything on a 10-second race, he didn’t view the Olympics as a potential hazard but instead an opportunity.

Those five Olympic rings are special. Succeed under those five rings representing the USA and your name carries with it a sense of lore the NFL can’t provide.

“It was crazy, but it was a good gamble,” said Brown’s ASU track teammate Greg Moore. “He was the type of guy who always had his eye on the prize. His whole plan was making the Olympics and making the NFL.”

To those who knew how special his legs were, it would have been unfathomable to turn down a chance at the Olympics. The NFL will be there after 1984, they thought, the Olympics won’t.

“I prayed on it,” Brown said, “and God just said, ‘This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. See what you can do.’”

***

The replay is almost torture. Thirty-six years later, the YouTube relic is how we consume the 1984 Olympic 100-meter final, watching eight men compete for the title of the fastest man on the planet title two years before the current record-holder, Usain Bolt would be born.

And what must the friends and family of Ron Brown -- those who weren’t watching it live in L.A., of course -- have thought in real-time? The voice of the television announcer rose an octave as he bellowed: “And America may have gone one-two-three. (Carl) Lewis, (Sam) Graddy and Ron Brown in the photograph.”

The excitement was short-lived. Upon closer examination, Brown’s head extended over the L.A. Memorial Coliseum finish line fourth tenths of a second after Canada’s Ben Johnson (10.22 seconds), who would test positive for steroids four years later.

“He got in a little trouble with that start, he stood up a little early, and it put him in a different position, so he had trouble accelerating,” Frankie, who was in attendance that day, said of Brown’s race. “I really thought Ronny could have run 10.0, 10.1 at the worst.”

Making matters worse, Brown ran that day with a hamstring injury sustained in the weeks leading up to the games. And if he were healthy, might that have been enough to at least edge out Johnson for the podium?

“I thought he’d win it. That’s how good he was,” Frankie said. “I’m sure (the injury) weighed heavy on his mind because sometimes (physical) injuries can become psychosomatic injuries.”

Added Brown: “It didn’t really matter to me because if you don’t finish first, very few people remember second and third anyway.”

He’s not wrong. Can anyone name who stood beside Bolt on the podium of the last three Olympics? Maybe their friends and family. Brown expected to win that day, even with Carl Lewis in the field, even though he slipped into the Olympic final by a photo finish, despite the fact he was running hampered. That’s just how he is, how sprinters as successful as Brown must be to reach an Olympic final without faltering.

But, his thoughts on finishing fourth in the 100-meter final would likely be different if it weren’t for what happened a week later. Running the second leg in the 4x100-meter final, Brown was a part of the United States gold-medal-winning relay team, which, with a time of 37.83 seconds set the only world record of the 1984 Olympics.

It was Brown’s vindication. He had the track acumen. He had the last laugh to anyone who told him his Olympic dream was a farce. And now he had a gold medal.

“I just thanked God for the journey and the opportunity,” Brown said. “On to the next chapter of my life, which was football.”

***

Brown stayed in L.A. after the Olympics and less than a week after the gold hung around Brown’s neck for the first time, it was in the hands of Los Angeles Rams’ owner Georgia Frontiere.

The Rams acquired Brown’s rights from Cleveland, which had been incensed over Brown spurning them for the NFL, and signed Brown to a four-year, $1.7 million dollar contract shortly after Frontiere received her photo op with the hardware.

“(The gold medal) came up a lot (in contract negotiations),” Brown said. “I was a marketing tool for them.”

All of a sudden, Brown looked like a clairvoyant. He bet on himself out of college. That he could make the Olympic team. That he could seriously compete for a medal and keep up with Carl Lewis. That he could boost his NFL stock. That he could eventually cash on what people thought was a bad stock.

A year prior, Cleveland offered Brown an initial four-year, $900,000 that he said got as high as $1.5 million. In the next 12 months, Brown didn’t play a snap of football. His reward for being away from football for a year was, at least, an extra $200,000. For those guessing how much an Olympic gold medal is worth, there’s a ballpark.

“That’s what he wanted to do. That’s what he talked about. That’s how he prepared himself.” Moore said. “It was good seeing him go from a 10-speed bike to a Mercedes-Benz.”

King remembered a story from his days driving around Tempe with Brown. There was a house near campus that caught Brown’s eye, something about it that made him think of the future. Every day, he made it a point to pass by and catch a glimpse.

“He said, “King, I’m going to have a house like that one day.’ It was that kind of visualization, seeing yourself-doing-something (mindset he always had),” King said of Brown. “He always had a business mind.”

When asked about why his NFL career wasn’t more fruitful -- he played eight seasons in the league but only tallied a combined 98 catches for 1,800 yards and 13 receiving touchdowns -- Brown didn’t steer the conversation toward the typical athlete stereotypes. There was no injury to blame. No coach who screwed him over.

“I wish I would have focused more on football. I focused on my businesses,” Brown said. “Being a Hall of Famer wasn’t my goal.”

Instead, Brown bought a home in Anaheim. Sure, it was close to the Rams practice facility but, more importantly, it was only five minutes from the property that housed his limousine company and auto dealership, Ron Brown’s Auto Center -- a setting that quickly became like a second home. Some nights during the NFL season, he would stay at his dealership until 11 p.m., pouring over finance paperwork instead of game film.

Just as he was a track star who played football, he became a business owner who also just happened to run routes in the NFL. That’s Brown, though. Even when his plans fall perfectly in line, he looks toward new challenges, different passions.

There’s so much about Brown that’s unconventional, so many decisions that seem odd only because, well, there’s little precedent. Someone picking track over football. Being more concerned with a car dealership than an NFL playbook. Thinking you can knock off Carl Lewis in the Olympics. Who does that?

“I thought it took a lot of guts (to turn down the NFL), and he rolled the dice. But, like I’ve said, he’s a sprinter. We’re competitive. We go for it,” King said.

Over the phone, Brown explains his decision like he’s going over his morning routine. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. His choices, which garnered so much second-guessing, aren’t risky in his mind. His doubt, if there is any, is masked by unwavering confidence.

It’s the same assurance he felt before every race. When he would dig his spikes into the starting blocks and repeated a stream of steady, protracted breaths. When he would shut his eyes and begin playing a film of the future in his mind, repeated images of only him triumphing.

Do that enough times and scary decisions become deceptively simple.

“The whole thing about fear is how you manage it,” Brown said.

“When you get in that position, your body falls into what your subconscious has done a million times,” King added. “When you’re the best, and you run the fastest times, (in the blocks) you’re thinking, ‘Should I lean? Should I throw one hand up? Should I wave at my girlfriend? What should I do at the end of the race? Because I’m already going to win.’”