Sentence Commuted, Former Prisoner Can Now Watch His Beloved Panthers

This feature is part of Super Bowl Week at VICE Sports.

During the 19 years Douglas Lindsay spent in federal prison, he did his best to let go of the outside world. It was not easy, of course, but it was what he told himself he had to do.

He took jobs as he bounced around five different locations in the federal prison system. He went to church. He consumed novels. He insulated himself from an exit that was never supposed to happen—disassociation was a coping mechanism.

"Did my best to prepare for freedom when it came," he said. "But I didn't know if it would come."

Yet, Lindsay would not let go of the Carolina Panthers. He had been a fan since they came into existence in 1995, just across the state border from his native South Carolina. In 1996, the Panthers surprisingly went 12-4 and made the NFC Championship game. It was the same year Lindsay was sentenced to life in prison for conspiracy to possess cocaine and with the intent to distribute.

On February 1, 2004 he watched the Panthers play in their first Super Bowl from his cell in Lee County, Virginia. Sitting on a chair in his room, headphones over his ears so he could hear the audio, Lindsay followed on a roughly 27-inch big-box television as they lost to the Patriots.

He did not have much hope for the Panthers this year. When they lost Kelvin Benjamin, their top wideout, in the preseason, he thought, like most pundits, that it consigned Carolina to mediocrity or worse. Then came this unexpected and magnificent season, where Cam Newton has transformed into an MVP-caliber star and the Panthers are the favorites this weekend against the Broncos.

"I really don't know how we're doing it," Lindsay said this week.

This Sunday, Lindsay will watch the Panthers play in the Super Bowl again, and this time, for the first time, as a free man, surrounded by his family in Newberry, South Carolina.

In March, Lindsay's life term suddenly had an end in sight. His sentence was shortened until 2023 because of the Retroactive Crack Cocaine Guideline Amendment.

Then, in July, freedom came even quicker than he might have expected. Lindsay was one of 46 federal prisoners to have their sentences commuted by President Barack Obama. The administration freed non-violent drug offenders whose sentences had been set under more punitive guidelines than they would face today. It was a significant stroke of luck for Lindsay.

"That is one of the most remarkable things because if the President doesn't do that, there's no other way for these people to get back into court," said Mary Price, the general counsel for Families Against Mandatory Minimums (FAMM), a non-profit organization advocating for fairer sentencing laws.

"The only chance they have is presidential clemency, and it's a slender chance."

Katina Smith, mother of Denver Broncos star wide receiver Demaryius Thomas, was also among that group of 46 prisoners. In 2000, Smith was sentenced to 292 months in prison for the same crime Lindsay had committed. This Sunday, she will be allowed to watch her son play in person at Levi's Stadium.

Her story has received much attention, and deservedly so. The mother of an NFL star finally able to attend his games after 15-plus years in prison—and now the Super Bowl, no less.

But Smith is also an outlier. While she re-enters everyday life with the benefit of Thomas at her side, most newly released prisoners must quietly reintegrate back into society.

"Her life is a lot easier," Lindsay joked.

He said this as he drove to work on a recent afternoon. Shortly after his release, Lindsay found a job at a local pasta packaging plant in Columbia. He drives a forklift and works the midnight shift. His brother, Al, works there, too, and he believes that connection helped him land work so quickly—only a month after his release. It is also important because without a car or license, he depends on Al for rides to the factory.

Lindsay has moved into his brother's home, as well, living there along with Al and his wife. After he left prison, on October 8, he spent his first month out in a halfway house. It wasn't much different, he says. There were curfews and he had to get permission to leave. But it was still liberating.

"It was amazing," he said, recalling his first day out. "To see how things have changed so much. I'm talking to you from my bluetooth. When I went into prison, the flip phone had just come out."

Lindsay admits his predicament started because of poor choices. He had served four years in the Army after graduating high school. When he came home, he worked with children with special needs.

But he also began to sell drugs. He got involved, he says, because it came easily to him. In 1996, he was arrested as part of 14-person conspiracy, according to FAMM. Instead of taking a plea like his co-defendants, he went to trial. He was found guilty and handed a life sentence.

He still cannot believe it. On the day he was sentenced, he stood in handcuffs next to his mother in the courtroom and listened as the judge announced his fate.

"Yeah, we were selling dope," he said. "But we were small-time nobodies."

He reacted with similar incredulity when he learned he was granted clemency. Lindsay was called into an office in the prison after work one day this July and told he would be free. "You serious?" he repeated. He was told not to tell anyone until the paperwork was official. By the time he called his mother the next day, she had known for more than 24 hours. She had heard it on the news two hours before he had been notified.

While he had seen his family often enough as he moved around five different prisons during his sentence, returning home was still not easy. On his first night officially free, he had trouble sleeping. Lindsay has always struggled sleeping when he moves to a new environment. Prison and a bedroom in his brother's home were no different in that regard.

And when he stayed with his mother, it began anew.

It took him more than a week to wean himself off his prison schedule. There, he would get up around 5 AM to prepare for work at 7, sewing military logos on shirts and uniforms. Now that's when he gets to bed.

Lindsay's days are routine-oriented. On workdays, he takes 12-hour shifts and does not get out until the morning. He gets home, eats a bowl of cereal. He does not fall asleep until 7:30 AM, and he doesn't wake up again until 1 PM. After watching SportsCenter and eating breakfast, his day repeats. He spends his days off from work just recuperating, since he's left so tired by his schedule. Once a month, he logs online and updates his parole officer on his salary and who he's been seeing—as he will for the next five years, as part of his release.

Freedom has come with adjustments, too, though they're not so different after all. The world has changed around Lindsay in these two decades, technology, perhaps, more than anything else. He is amazed by his new phone, an Android, though he is still learning how to use it. Fast-forwarding from landlines to smartphones can't be mastered in just two months.

Still, he's noticed their effect on society. This has stood out most of all.

"Everybody's got a phone, everybody's head down on the phone at all times," he said.

"They're looking at it. They're doing something with it."

People, he says, are a lot busier now. Their heads are down. They are more walled-off and to themselves. In that sense, prison—where he learned quickly how to judge people, to understand with whom he could associate—has trained him well. He came to appreciate solitude because it was so unavailable.

"It can make you very isolated," Lindsay said. "You really don't want to deal with people. You have to be very comfortable being by yourself. Even in prison you can be by yourself."

Relating with people, talking to them, and being in their company has been difficult at times. He is still happiest when he's alone. Being around others, even his family, is work. He must sometimes force himself to be more friendly and accommodating.

It is why he lists getting a home of his own as a goal. For now, he has the room in his brother's house, where he can close the door and be alone without worrying whether someone else will barge in or wake him up in the middle of the night. But it is not his own.

His 48th birthday is in May, and by then he hopes he can afford it.

For now, he will take pleasure in the simple things: freedom, technology, and the Panthers in the Super Bowl.