ShareThisBen Roethlisberger quickly learned that with success came hysteria.
Not even two months into his pro career, Roethlisberger piloted his fifth win as the Pittsburgh Steelers' quarterback in as many starts, and went out afterward for a night on the town. Mike Iriti, who had known Roethlisberger since he was a stringy fifth-grader in Findlay, Ohio, accompanied him.
As they walked up the stairs of a bar, a woman grabbed Roethlisberger's arm -- then fainted.
"And I almost died laughing," Iriti recalled in a recent interview.
"It's Ben! But she sees him as this ungodly superstar phenomenon. That was my first glimpse of, Holy crap, this is what he has to go through every day. I wouldn't want to deal with that."
Roethlisberger has achieved incredible success -- two Super Bowl championships -- and wealth -- a $102 million contract, signed last year -- in a city that lionizes its sports heroes like few others.
The constant adulation has been both boon and burden for the 27-year-old superstar, whose off-field life was further complicated last month when a Nevada woman filed a lawsuit accusing him of sexually assaulting her when he was in Reno for a golf tournament last year.
The quarterback has denied the allegations, and those close to him said the accuser's story does not sound like the Ben they know.
But there are far fewer people who really know Roethlisberger now than when Pittsburgh first reached out to touch him.
Away from the football field, Roethlisberger can be remarkably generous with money and time for charitable causes, yet stingy and curt with service industry workers. He is warm with those closest to him, yet keeps a tight inner circle and is zealously protective of his privacy.
A couple of years ago, Roethlisberger's former basketball coach and athletic director at Findlay High, Jerry Snodgrass, told his former pupil he was amazed at the power Roethlisberger had to do good in the world.
"And do bad also," Roethlisberger responded.
"I was glad to see him go through what pro sports make you -- fame, fortune, whatever -- and understand the power he had from that," Snodgrass said. "I always felt he was in control of that and always knew the consequences."
The quarterback's complicated life was on display July 24, the day he made his first public appearances since the sex-assault allegations surfaced. Early in the afternoon he read a prepared statement vowing to fight the allegations, calling them "reckless and false," and took no questions from reporters.
Hours later he taped a segment of Shaquille O'Neal's reality show for ABC-TV before thousands of fans, some of whom had waited three hours to catch a glimpse of him.
But what was not on display also illustrated the intensely private young man. Behind the scenes at the TV shoot, Roethlisberger was hosting young patients from the Ronald McDonald House, giving special attention to a transplant patient from Kenya, a young boy who did not know who the football superstar was.
He has supported the charity since early in his career, when he began paying for catered Christmas and New Year's feasts at a local facility. He is also the honorary chairman of its capital campaign. A portion of sales proceeds from his barbecue sauce goes to the charity.
Then there is the money. Roethlisberger, a dog lover, gives to K-9 police and fire units around Pittsburgh, Findlay and the cities where the Steelers play on the road. Since late 2006 his foundation has given $246,000 to some 35 K-9 agencies and will donate more during this fall's road schedule.
While burnishing that image, he has simultaneously earned a reputation for sometimes boorish behavior on the Pittsburgh nightlife scene. Stories abound about a young man who refuses to pay cover charges, is aloof to fans and is petulant to bartenders, who consistently describe him as a customer lacking in courtesy and manners.
"I have been stunned at the number of people who have come up to me, out of the blue, and said 'What's up with Ben Roethlisberger? He's such a jerk,'" said former Pittsburgh TV sports anchor John Steigerwald.
One of the places where he has refused to pay to enter is the Cabana Bar, which he has frequented since moving to the North Hills area in 2006. His argument -- which is undoubtedly true -- is his presence will drive other patrons to the bar, but some chafe at his demands for special treatment.
"I hate even to have to root for the Steelers when he's the quarterback," said bar owner Mark Baranowski. "Appreciate the people -- don't think you're above them all. It really makes me sick."
Roethlisberger denied a request to be interviewed for this story.
Many stories about Roethlisberger's carousing stem from his 2004 rookie year, when he went out regularly to bars. Having left Miami of Ohio after his junior year, he was leading the team to a 13-0 record as a starter -- and setting an increasingly obsessed Steeler Nation on its ear.
Former Steelers running back Jerome Bettis said he's often witnessed the intense female attention Roethlisberger draws.
"There's a lot of downside to that, because you don't know what their intentions are," Bettis said. "It's hard for some people to conceptualize that it happens on a regular basis ...''
He still hits the South Side, where he held bar crawls with friends the past two summers. Right tackle Willie Colon, who socializes with Roethlisberger, said the constant attention is "tough on him. It is. Sometimes he may get a bad rap because he's not as welcoming, but at the same time he's a human being and he deserves his privacy and his time to let go. I think everybody who's a fan should respect that."
Not every fan does.
It's easy to tell when Roethlisberger arrives at a bar, says Greg Parrotto, of Grazie restaurant, which is adjacent to the Cabana Bar. First come the camera flashes. Then, after patrons telephone or send text messages to friends, 200 to 300 people will show up within the half-hour. The same thing happens when the quarterback shops at Home Depot.
"He walks through the door and people will start calling," said Ken Roethlisberger, Ben's father. "We'll be places and all of a sudden people will show up with a football -- a store, where somebody wouldn't normally be carrying a football. We've seen people run to stores to buy something and show back up to get an autograph. And he's not the kind to turn people away, so the best thing you can do is get out of there as quick as you can."
(Contact Daniel Malloy at dmalloy@post-gazette.com or Tim McNulty at tmcnulty@post-gazette.com.)
(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, www.scrippsnews.com.)
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