Ray Lewis, Ed Reed, and the Noise They Make

I understand what everybody loves about Ray Lewis.  Why his speeches spin on repeat like a showing of “The Master.”  Why he’s gone from the only Super Bowl MVP who wasn’t going to Disneyland to an inspirational speaker.  Honestly, it’s a positive thing.  Only good can come from a role model who messed up in his life and found the right path.  I admire what Ray Lewis means to a lot of kids out there.  He’s a symbol of redemption.  You aren’t defined by the decisions you’ve made in the past.  There’s hope.  And as over-dramatized as his soliloquies are, if it makes even one struggling kid think twice about doing something dangerous and stupid, he’s eclipsed every accomplishment he’s gained as an NFL player.  So as his final game approaches, the embellishments are inevitable.  You simply can’t escape the Lewis coverage.  So when I say that I understand what everybody loves about Ray Lewis, it’s not so much that I love those things, because I really, really don’t.  It’s honestly difficult for me to not roll my eyes every time I hear Lewis waxing poetic about brotherhood and the game of football.  But if that sort of theatricality gets his message out to more people, good.  Everyone deserves a second chance, and Ray Lewis has certainly had his and used it in a positive way.  No question about that.  But as absolutely great as he was, and that’s about the only part of his image that isn’t over exaggerated, I wasn’t upset when I learned he was retiring after this season.  I was, however, happy to hear about a different Ravens retirement plans, or lack their of.  While Lewis dances and shouts like a man with nothing to lose, Ed Reed methodically eyes the field with the vision of a man who knows he has everything to gain.

            Lewis’s controversy early in his career was his fault.  What he did or didn’t do is irrelevant.  He put himself in the position, and he’ll be the first to tell you that.  But in two days, Ed Reed will be a year removed from a different kind of tragedy.  One that hit home.  A year ago Saturday, authorities identified a body from the Mississippi River as Brian Reed, the brother of Ed.  He was 28 years old when he died.  He left behind a son.  His brother was driving another brother’s car on January 7, 2011 when Ed and the family reported that Brian was driving the car without authorization.  Apparently, Brian was suffering from “mental issues” that day, and the family just wanted to bring him back home and calm him down.  An officer saw Brian with the car that was out of gas.  The officer then offered to help him get gas, and Brian declined.  The officer said the conversation was “amicable.”  Once the officer got a call over the radio that the car was being driven without authorization, he began to pat down Brian.  As he started, Brian ran off and eventually jumped in the river.  There was nothing illegal going on.  Nobody knows why he did it.  I’m sure Ed knows more than the family let on, and that’s probably the way it should be.  He’s never been much for the talk.  He’s never been the same as his fellow defenders, who goad teams on and call them out in an attempt to rattle them.  No.  Ed reed knows how fragile everything is, just like Lewis.  Funny thing is you won’t hear him shouting on Super Bowl Sunday.  No pregame shenanigans.  I have a distinct feeling you won’t see Ed Reed dance any time soon either.  Maybe a kneel, a prayer, and a look up at the Bayou sky above.  The same sky Brian looked at in his most desperate and isolated time.  And then Reed will stand, maybe bounce on the balls of his feet quickly, and look out at the game that’s about to unfold in front of him. 

Cam Cameron and the Harbaugh's Desicions

Cam Cameron may have gotten fired during the NFL season, but he’s certainly not a stupid person.  Cameron called John Harbaugh’s decision to fire him “a brilliant move.”  What an enlightened view.  Cameron’s quote doesn’t only make him look selfless, but also perceptive.  He’s right.  It’s not so much the change in philosophy from Cameron to Jim Caldwell that’s sparked the Ravens.  It’s the shock of having one of your coaches fired and realizing that you, as a player, need to step up in anyway possible.  Cameron put it best himself when he said, “Everyone on the team took a look in the mirror after that.”  It was time reassess the team, and the best way to grab their attention was through firing one of their own.  It must’ve been a terrible moment for Harbaugh, who hired Cameron in 2008.  But he’s a great coach, and made a great decision.  It would’ve been the easy move to keep Cameron around and hope that the Ravens broke out of the stale streak they were in.  It wasn’t that they weren’t winning; it was that they looked uninspired.  And that’s not how you get to the Super Bowl.  But like his brother Jim did with Colin Kaepernick, John took a calculated risk.  They could be good with Cam Cameron, but not great.  And if you fall short of greatness, you fall short of a championship.  

            The truth is, this might work out for Cameron.  He interviewed to become the offensive coordinator of the Jets but didn’t get the job.  What he did get, however, is some credibility.  I’m sure others around the NFL will have the same reaction I did to Cameron’s statements.  They were smart, honest, and realistic thoughts that proved Cameron was in a good place and content with the developments of the last season.  That’s probably something a head coach would look for in an offensive coordinator.  And if he doesn’t find a job, at least he understands Harbaugh did what he had to.  I’m sure that’s no consolation for an experienced coach whose firing led to a Super Bowl run.  Those are his Ravens out there.  I imagine he’s brimming with pride at the same time as he white-knuckles his frustrations.  The reality of the NFL is if you don’t get the job done, you’re going to be out of a job pretty quickly.  That goes for players, executives, and coaches.  Cam Cameron always knew that.  Perhaps that’s why his comments seemed so reasonable and intelligent.  If only their had been a different way.  But for the Harbaughs, strong decisions are the different way.  It’s the reason they’ll be sucking down crawfish next weekend and every other coach in the NFL will be looking on.  

Tim Brown Accuses Bill Callahan of Throwing Super Bowl XXXVII

The Bucs-Raiders Super Bowl is one of the first I remember.  It was the year after the Patriots had won it all, which I remember so vividly it scares me.  The Bucs-Raiders, though, was my first social football experience.  I watched in a basement, with a bunch of my friends, with no real preference in the outcome.  I remember it feeling smaller than other Super Bowls.  Maybe it was the mediocre quarterbacks.  Maybe it was the teams.  Tampa Bay and Oakland were harmless cities fighting over some abstract and invisible plateau in my mind.  Not a big deal.  But today, news broke that Raiders receiver Tim Brown believes that Bill Callahan, the head coach at the time, “sabotaged” the Super Bowl for the Raiders.  According to Brown, Callahan adjusted their strategy at the last minute, completely throwing the team off.  Supposedly, they prepared all week for a heavy run attack and Callahan decided the Friday before the game that the team would throw ball more than 60 times in the game.  The result was ugly.  The Buccaneers won 48-21.  The motivation for throwing a Super Bowl?  Jon Gruden and Callahan were close friends, and Callahan had problems with the Raiders to the point that he really did resent the organization.  Callahan came to Oakland to be the offensive coordinator for Gruden, who was the head from 1998-2001.  When Gruden left, Callahan took over even though he was only in Oakland because of Gruden.  Even though Brown’s claims are extreme, they seem to have some merit with other players.

            Another Raiders receiver thought something was off with the 2002 Super Bowl.  He’s also the greatest to ever live.  I just listened to Jerry Rice wiggle his way through an interview in which he essentially confirmed Brown’s comments.  Rice, being the loyal and humble ESPN employee that he is, couldn’t out-right state that he believed Callahan sabotaged the game, but he certainly agreed with Brown.  He discussed how odd it was for a coach to completely change his game plan so close to game day.  Rice, a well-traveled veteran, picked up on the strange vibes.  He also talked about Callahan’s contempt for the team and how he could just see that the coach didn’t like him from day one.  Both receivers discussed incidences where Callahan walked off the field during the middle of games.  These are some serious claims with even more serious implications.  Was gambling involved?  Who else knew or suspected that Callahan sabotaged the game?  Is it even true?  It’s pretty difficult to believe that first Super Bowl, the one where I learned that the big game was as much about celebrating where you are and who you’re with as who won, was fixed.  But now that I think about it, it isn’t that hard to believe.  And to be honest, I don’t care.  Bill Callahan doesn’t have the slightest effect on my memory of that game.  Tim Brown could’ve been stripped of pads and tarred and feathered on the field and I wouldn’t have noticed.  I was learning how to watch a Super Bowl without a rooting interest, and that education will come in handy February 3^rd.