Athlete carries brother’s memory into title game
Since sibling’s death on Halloween at AirBnb party, life has taken on greater meaning
“It didn’t even hit me it was real until I saw him in the casket. (The funeral) was packed. That’s how I know he impacted hecka people. That was the dope part. It made me cry, but it made me smile at the same time, too.”
— Omari Taylor, Clayton Valley Charter High School football player whose older brother was shot and killed on Halloween
CONCORD » Omar Taylor wanted to let his son sleep.
It was the morning after Halloween, and Omari, Clayton Valley’s newly minted starting running back, had a big game looming that night — De La Salle.
But the father had been up all night. He had received a call around 11 that another one of his sons, Omar Jr., who had been DJing at a now infamous AirBnB mansion party in Orinda, had been shot and killed, one of five victims of a gang violence “bloodbath.”
After a long night filled with tears, hectic phone calls and racing to hospitals around the Bay Area, Omar Sr. returned home to awaken Omari for school — and break the crushing news that he would never see his older brother again. They both broke into tears.
But in the wake of tragedy, the 17-year- old Omari was clearheaded: He had to play that night.
“That’s what he would’ve wanted me to do,” Omari said. “I had to fight for my other brothers. That was my brother, but these are also my brothers. I lost one, but I got 60, 70 more.”
Omari gave a tear-filled speech in the locker room before the game, then rushed for 76 yards. Nobody in Northern California beats De La Salle, and Clayton Valley’s Ugly Eagles lost that night.
But they haven’t lost since, and today, they play for the California Interscholastic Federation Division 2-AA championship. They wouldn’t be there without Omari: He has turned tragedy into triumph — and there’s just one more game
left to win.
Amidst one son’s playoff run, Omar Sr. had to bury another.
It was exactly the fate — not an unfamiliar one — he had hoped his children wouldn’t have to endure. Omar Sr. was no stranger to gun violence, growing up in a rough part of Richmond. He worked hard to give his children a safer upbringing. And yet, a son was gunned down in Orinda, an affluent suburb just east of the Oakland Hills.
His firstborn, 24, left behind a 3-year- old daughter, a 22- year- old sister and three brothers, including Omari. At the funeral, Omari was with his family in the first row, feet away from his brother’s open casket. After hours of eulogies, it was time for Omar Sr. to put his son — and Omari to put his brother — in the ground.
“It didn’t even hit me it was real until I saw him in the casket,” Omari said. “(The funeral) was packed. That’s how I know he impacted hecka people. That was the dope part. It made me cry, but it made me smile at the same time, too.”
As the older brother by seven years, Omar Jr. wanted to instill in Omari the lessons he took from regrets in his own life. He stopped playing football and didn’t go to college. That’s not the path he wanted for Omari, who he “always knew had the potential to go to the next level,” their father said. Stay in school, he told Omari. Get good grades. And most of all, keep a strong mind.
Omari grew up watching Omar Jr. play football — on the sidelines of Pop Warner games his dad coached, then in the stands as Omar Jr. played for El Cerrito High. Omar Jr. was always the easygoing, laid- back brother, eventually giving up football to pursue music. He would drop everything to help a friend or family member.
“He was superhuman. He could do anything,” Omari said. “When he was here, I looked up to him, but maybe not so seriously. Because he was there and could just keep reminding me. But now that he’s gone, you know, I really gotta live up to him.”
Coach Tim Murphy was the first person Omari approached at school the next day. He spent the whole day with him going back and forth between tears, support and solemn silence. At first, Murphy didn’t know how to respond. How could you?
But he quickly learned that Omari didn’t need to be coddled. And in the days and weeks after, he has watched Omari transform into everything his brother wanted him to be.
“One of the things his brother preached to him was to not let your emotions get the best of you,” Murphy said. “Omari said that at the funeral, and that was a promise he was going to keep to his brother, and he’s really kept it.”
It started that night and has become more apparent in the weeks since.
Omari had a message for his other brothers before they took the field against De La Salle. He’d had a realization: Everything his brother had told him, he now needed to take to heart. As he teared up in front of the locker room, he told his teammates to treat every day like their last; you never know when your time will come.
“The way he’s handled it is like a lot of men twice his age couldn’t handle it,” Murphy said. “(It) is really the definition of caring about your team and taking advantage of a bad situation.”
And his team has responded. The offensive line, led by a left tackle who lost his cousin in a car crash this past summer, has taken on a new attitude. They’re blocking for Omari like Murphy has never seen them block for a running back before. In the four games since his brother’s death, Omari has rushed for 730 yards and 10 touchdowns.
Before every game, Omari says a prayer. Be with me, he tells his brother, knowing he’s listening and watching over from somewhere. For the past few weeks, Omar Jr. has been — in a way. Just under his heart is a fresh tattoo — Omari’s first — that reads MY BROTHER’S KEEPER, with his full name, Omar Emani Taylor, and Roman numerals representing his date of birth and death — 24 years, one month and six days between them.
The family all got matching ink to carry Omar Jr. with them everywhere they go. This weekend, that will be about 400 miles south in Norwalk as they watch Omari and Clayton Valley play Aquinas for a CIF championship.
The person who won’t be in the stands will still have a place on the field.
“My brother’s here with me all the time,” Omari said, pointing to his tattoo. “Right below my heart.”