The elevator door opened Sunday morning and the lobby crowd parted as if fearing for its safety. Out marched four big, bad Baltimore defensive linemen in camouflage fatigues, followed by middle linebacker Ray Lewis in full-length mink, diamond earrings, shades and take-no-prisoners game face.
Here was a picture worth a thousand trash-talking, Tagliabue-loathing words. Lewis and his defense soon set back the NFL’s “gentleman warrior” marketing theme a thousand or so years.
“We all talked some serious noise about Tennessee last week,” said the Ravens’ Shannon Sharpe, “and we came into their house and backed it up. We bullied the bullies.”
Just when NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue thought it was safe to embrace heaven-sent Kurt Warner, praising God and passing the baton to a track team of PlayStation receivers, Lewis was accused of a double murder committed in Atlanta hours after the Rams won the Super Bowl. Just as the NFL was declaring war on its “thug element,” Lewis beat the rap, appealed Tagliabue’s $250,000 fine and terrorized the league and the Titans.
On this Sunday a year ago, Warner’s Rams and Randy Moss’ Vikings took domed-stadium, fast-track offense to a level never imagined. This time Lewis’ Ravens and Eddie George’s Titans took football back to its brutal roots, back to the mud and blood, back to the not-so-glitzy future.
This was a much faster, more athletic Dick Butkus versus a much bigger and stronger Bronko Nagurski. The collisions that took place on Adelphia Coliseum’s soggy turf were as violent as football has seen. This was as much damage as humans can do to each other without using fists or weapons. This was clothesline tackles and headhunting. This was no place for a United Way commercial.
This was the ’85 Bears against the ’85 Bears, one offensive touchdown per team. Yet this was 3 yards and a cloud of diss. New highs (or lows) were set for pregame insults and postwhistle taunting. Please don’t try this at home, kids.
This was a playoff game won with 134 yards of offense. Trent Dilfer, who soon could qualify as the worst quarterback ever to play in a Super Bowl, completed five passes. His offense was 2-of-11 on third down. His Ravens won 24-10.
Quoth the commissioner, “Nevermore.”
They won mostly because Lewis struck fear in the big hearts of the Titans. Lewis backed up last week’s chest-beating by teammates. Chris McAlister told reporters that George began “folding up like a baby” (assuming the fetal position) on carries after Lewis hit him during the Ravens’ regular-season win in Smashville. But it’s easy to question a rival’s manhood when you’re standing behind the new millennium’s Lawrence Taylor, the NFL’s defensive MVP, the baddest man on the planet.
Lewis didn’t just tackle the Titans. He tried taking the old “knock their heads off” cliche literally. Quarterback Steve McNair seemed to lose his edge and nerve after Lewis drove him into the turf. George (91 yards rushing and eight catches) fought his guts out but began hearing Lewis’ flying footsteps on over-the-middle passes.
When George couldn’t quite hold a throw slightly behind him, Lewis snatched the bobble and was gone 50 yards for the clinching TD. His is the new face of the NFL, or maybe the old one minus PR airbrushing. More Ray Lewises play this gladiator’s game than the league wants fans to believe. I love watching it but accept it for what it is.
Ravens coach Brian Billick blasted reporters for continuing to ask about Lewis’ murder trial. He accepted a plea bargain and was given probation for obstruction of justice. Yet the fact remains that Lewis ran with the wrong crowd. Baltimore insiders say his scare in Atlanta hasn’t kept him from making the nightclub scene. He conquers. He basks.
As Lewis told ESPN the Magazine, he “came from thugs” and can’t stop associating with thugs because there are thugs “in every NFL huddle.” He speaks raw truth. Growing up around guns and drugs, he learned to fight for his life. He fears no man. And so his defense fears no offense.
That defense is not better than the ’85 Bears. But Lewis is more valuable to his unit than Mike Singletary was to his. “We just have one superstar,” said Sharpe, “and a lot of guys who don’t care about publicity or endorsements.”
That Bears’ defense had six or eight guys vying for fame and fortune. This team is all about Lewis, and so was this game.
