Alijah Metz: Between Two Worlds

I. Forging A Way Out

Alijah Metz is a man caught between two worlds. In one, the lights of the stadium are bright, the roar of the crowd is a promise, and his uniform, a Canadian university shield, is the hard-won armour of an athlete preparing for the OUA semi-finals.

In this world, Metz is a commanding defensive lineman, a master in explosive movement, fuelled by a philosophy he carries into every practice: to be “one percent better every day.”

He is living the dream he first envisioned as a five-year-old, captivated by the violence and poetry of the game.

The other world is a shadow he left behind, yet one that still eats away at the edges of his memory – the small, impoverished town of Cumberland, Maryland. It is a place where businesses dried up and addiction bloomed, where needles lay in his yard and the constant choice between electricity and hot water was a brutal reality. It is the place where his 13 siblings stumbled through a vicious, repeating cycle of jail and rehab, casting a path Metz seemed destined to follow.

Metz’s story is not just about an American college transfer to Canada; it is about an escape. It is the story of a young man who wielded the aggression born of his broken home as a weapon on the football field, channelling his rage at the world’s unfairness into a singular, solid push for success.

To understand Alijah Metz – the confident athlete now focused on playing professional football – you must first understand the devastating odds he overcame.

II. Cumberland, Maryland: The City That Faded

The small, once-beautiful city of Cumberland, housing only about 19,000 people, is what Metz calls home. Despite its surrounding mountains, fast-flowing rivers, and gorgeous waterfalls, the town has become susceptible to economic depression—mostly blue-collar workers, short-lived businesses, and simple dining options.

While you can find basic necessities such as groceries and pharmacies, minimal public transport forces residents to walk long distances or be financially stable enough to own a car.

With many manufacturing plants moving out of the city, job loss was inevitable. The city quickly turned from vibrant to deserted. Over the years, with no money rolling in, the over-prescription of opioids to pain-enduring blue-collar workers began rapidly. A few policy changes in prescription, and the proximity of Cumberland to Baltimore, a major drug hub, led to the introduction and rise of illicit drugs such as heroin and fentanyl.

Kids who grew up in Cumberland were “dying” to move out of there at the first opportunity. Metz recalls seeing the state of his hometown, seeing people around him fall into the trap of drugs one after the other, and having the same mindset:

A troubled neighbourhood in Cumberland, Maryland

“Gotta get out of here as soon as I can.”

III. Family, Fracture, and a Grandmother’s Strength

Amidst the social wreckage of Cumberland, the landscape of Metz’s home life was equally complex, fractured, and extraordinarily large. He was one of 14 children with only one full sister, Mindy—a chaotic combination from different mothers yet sharing the same strained economic roots.

With an absent father and a mother struggling with her own “issues,” the stability necessary for a young, ambitious boy to thrive simply wasn’t there. For a great deal of his childhood, Metz found his mother’s presence unsettling, their relationship strained and often distant, a dynamic he confessed made him actively not want to be around her.

His situation at home led to aggressive behavioural issues at school. At that point, he decided to part ways with his mother.

It was into this chaotic scenario that a singular, unwavering force stepped forward: his grandmother. Her house became his sanctuary. Metz spent the majority of his life under her roof, and she quickly became the pillar of support around which his entire world relied.

She was more than a guardian; she was his first, and still his biggest, supporter—the essential reason to “why I do what I do.”

With Put On by Jeezy playing in the car, she ferried him to every practice, every game—a dedication that often came at the expense of other necessities. When the family’s poverty forced them into agonizing choices (like deciding between keeping the water hot or the electricity on), she shielded him from the worst of the stress.

Metz’s grandmother provided him with clothes, meals, and the invaluable logistics of getting an aspiring football player where he needed to be.

Yet, even within that safe space, the reality of his family and their lives was never far away. His eldest brother is currently incarcerated; another goes in and out of rehab.

In a family familiar with struggle, his grandmother was the fixed point—the woman whose quiet sacrifice and fierce belief in him provided the literal and figurative foundation for Metz’s escape.

Metz with his sister Mindy

IV. A Turning Point

As he sits across the desk in his navy-blue Lancers hoodie and grey sweatpants, he looks down, pauses, and remembers the time when he decided to forge his own path.

One lonely dark night, as Metz was slowly walking back home, it struck him that unknowingly, he was already following the same path his elder siblings had walked. Staying up until 1 a.m., doing “stupid stuff,” egging people’s houses—he got scared at what could happen to football if the police learned about his involvement. He says that’s what shook him.

From there, a rebirth was possible for Metz. He quickly learned that his football excellence on its own wasn’t going to take him to college; he also needed to focus on school to improve his marks.

His interest in English literature and history continued to increase through his later years of high school, earning him his highest grades.

V. Maryland, Duquesne, and the Lessons of Disappointment

The same focused aggression that marked Metz’s play on the field eventually seeped into his academic life. That effort paid off. His potential, particularly as a tight end, garnered attention, closing in on an offer from the University of Maryland.

It was a strong validation—a signal confirming that the sacrifices his grandmother made, and the personal demons he fought, had led him to taste accomplishment.

He had constant support and inspiration from senior players like Ty Johnson, current running back for the Buffalo Bills, who also hails from Cumberland.

“I mean, yeah he is, but you know he’s like my guy, like I know him.”

Then, everything changed. The COVID-19 pandemic erased the already set structure of recruiting. Virtual visits replaced stadium tours, and the landscape of college football became unstable. When the dust settled, the Maryland offer was gone.

Metz ultimately committed to the last offer left—Duquesne University, a Division I school in Pittsburgh—where he was recruited as a defensive end, a position that ignored his offensive skills.

His arrival at Duquesne was a period of initial promise. He speaks with genuine warmth about the people on campus and a supportive coaching staff. Yet, bitterness followed. Metz found himself in a difficult relationship with his head coach, describing a suffocating lack of opportunity. Despite the tireless advocacy of his position coach, Metz barely saw the field—three games in three years.

Eventually, that same position coach encouraged Metz to look elsewhere:

“We showed your tape again and again. The answer was no, always an excuse.”

But he also added:

“If you go somewhere else, you’ll get the opportunity you deserve.”

That conversation lit the spark for Metz’s most unexpected move yet.

VI. Bowie State: Another Hurdle

His time at Bowie State was brief—not because of performance, but because of disorganization.

Metz moved to Bowie believing his full scholarship covered housing. It didn’t. He was homeless for almost 24 hours before being placed in an apartment the coach said would be covered. Months later, he received an email demanding $2,500 in back rent.

The confusion, and the silence from his coach—who took over a month to reply—pushed him to walk away. He returned to Duquesne, determined to finish his degree.

VII. Northbound to Windsor

Then came a text in April 2025 from a coach in Windsor, Ontario.

It was an invitation to check out the Lancers facilities and show what he could do. Metz accepted.

Canada felt right. It would mean adjusting—to a new country, new rules—but it offered the opportunity he had long been searching for.

His grandmother, though emotional about him leaving the U.S., understood.

At Duquesne, he had felt stifled. At Windsor, he found freedom.

The University of Windsor coaching staff valued not just his athleticism but his humanity. They saw his intensity not as a problem but as proof of perseverance. Within that atmosphere of belief, Metz thrived.

No longer fighting internal politics, he poured his energy into performance. The defensive line became his domain, and his natural athleticism was celebrated.

VIII. “Today, Not Tomorrow”

Metz’s current moment of athletic achievement isn’t defined by ego, but by quiet commitment. His success is built upon a mantra once said by a supportive coach from his youth:

“Today, not tomorrow.”

This phrase is more than motivational—it’s a rejection of the procrastination and despair that haunted Cumberland.

It demands accountability. It demands effort—now.

But Metz’s deepest desire goes beyond the pro gridiron. The boy who fought through poverty and addiction wants to become the mentor he never had.

“I want people to look up to me and realize, man, he started from the bottom. He overcame everything he went through. That, is what success means to me.”

As the setting sun’s rays hit Alumni Stadium, Metz trains hard, Put On by Jeezy blasting through his headphones.

He stands as the embodiment of that goal—still the boy from Cumberland, Maryland, but transformed.

His story began with chaos and poverty, but it continues here, on Canadian soil, secured by his own fierce will—a journey that proves, undeniably, that the deepest escape isn’t just about finding a new place to live, but about shaping a new person to be.