Next Man Up

by John Feinstein

  The new nickel back appeared to be very happy to be with his new team and he was clearly pleased when Lewis asked him to lead the team’s pregame prayer. He did so in a loud, enthusiastic voice, giving thanks for “our ability to play and love this childish game.” His “amen” was echoed loudly around the room. When he walked to the sideline after the team had been introduced, head linesman Jerry Bergman called out to Billick, “Hey, who’s the new guy?” Sanders walked over and hugged Bergman. He was clearly delighted to be back.

  “Always be nice to the officials,” he counseled. “You never know when you’re going to need them.” Everyone laughed. “No, I’m serious,” he said. “I used to say to guys, ‘Hey, if I’m using my hands too much, tell me, if I’m doing something wrong, let me know.’ You do that, they’ll warn you, give you a heads-up. It’s a lot better than finding out when that flag lands at your feet.”

  Sanders’ feel for football was obvious throughout the game. He seemed able to call almost any play before it happened. On one third-and-3 for the Giants, he began screaming, ‘Run, run,’ an instant after the offense had lined up. How did he know that with such certainty? “You look at the linemen’s knuckles,” he said. “If they’re flat on the ground, it’s a run because they’re going to push forward on them. If they’re up in the air, it’s a pass, they’re getting ready to backpedal.” When someone said that Sanders had wasted his time working in a studio and should have been in a booth as a color commentator, he shook his head emphatically.

  “No way, man,” he said. “Not enough face time in the booth. I’m not going to put on one of my suits to be on camera for forty-five seconds all day long.”

  The only person with more people to greet than Sanders was Jim Fassel, who was greeted by most in the stadium as a returning hero. He hugged co-owner John Mara and was bearhugged by Giants star Michael Strahan, who made it clear he wished Fassel were still coaching on his sideline. Fassel did a double-take when he saw Sanders in the locker room. When he had left the Sunday meeting, the plan had been to sign Sanders on Friday. “I told everyone he wouldn’t be here tonight,” he said. “I’m going to look real plugged-in with my new team, huh?”

  The game itself was just about everything the Ravens did not want it to be. On the Giants’ first series, quarterback Kurt Warner found receiver Tim Carter behind McAlister for a 50-yard gain. Welcome back to the NFL, C-Mac. That wasn’t all bad, because as McAlister said afterward, “Better to get blooded now rather than later.”

  If that had been the worst moment of the first quarter, no one would have complained. But it wasn’t. With 2:57 left, on what was almost undoubtedly the first-team offense’s last series, the Ravens had a first-and-goal on the Giants’ 7-yard line. The call was a routine sweep left, with Chester Taylor, already in the game for Jamal Lewis, following Ogden and Edwin Mulitalo. Taylor bolted to the 3-yard line before he was piled up. As the players unpiled, though, one person didn’t get up: Ogden. He was on the ground, reaching for his right leg, clearly in a lot of pain.

  The Ravens’ sideline went silent while trainers Bill Tessendorf and Mark Smith raced to Ogden, followed by Andy Tucker and Leigh Ann Curl, the team’s head physician and surgeon, respectively. Watching the medical people work on Ogden, Billick, hands on hips, face a blank mask, kept saying repeatedly: “Get up, get up. Come on, get up. Please get up.”

  Ogden was finally helped to his feet and went to the sideline, walking very slowly, supported by Tessendorf and Smith. As he went by Billick, headed for the bench to be examined, Billick patted him on the head. Tucker walked by Billick and in the softest voice possible said simply, “Knee.”

  Billick was pale. So was everyone else. On the next play, Boller hit Kevin Johnson in the end zone for a touchdown. It was the offense’s best drive of the preseason. No one on the Baltimore sideline so much as cracked a smile. If Ogden was seriously hurt, all the hopes that had been discussed since minicamp were seriously jeopardized. Ethan Brooks, who went in to the game in his place, was a competent NFL offensive lineman, a good backup to have on your team. But he couldn’t possibly be anything close to Ogden for the simple reason that there wasn’t a left tackle in the game as good as Ogden. He was the heart and soul of the offensive line, the person Jamal Lewis liked to run behind, the key protector for the young quarterback.

  While Tucker and Curl examined Ogden, McAlister intercepted a Warner pass on the sideline and returned it 23 yards for a touchdown, giving the Ravens a 14-3 lead. As he came off the field with a big smile on his face, Billick grabbed him. “Don’t think that means you can miss training camp every year,” he said. He was smiling when he said it, but McAlister knew he meant it.

  In the meantime, everyone was still more focused on what Tucker and Curl were doing than on what was going on on the field. Finally, they reported to Billick: It was, they were almost certain, a sprained MCL. They couldn’t feel a tear in the ligament, although an MRI would have to confirm that. They were confident it wasn’t a major injury.

  “Will he be ready for Cleveland?” Billick asked.

  “Maybe,” Tucker said. “We’ve got ten days. He’ll need every single minute.”

  Ogden had his leg stretched out with ice on it, but he was smiling again. “I scared the hell out of myself for a minute there,” he said. “I had a sprain on the other leg once, and that’s what this felt like when I came off. It’s a relief, knowing it isn’t serious.”

  Everyone was breathing again. Even if Ogden didn’t play in Cleveland, it would be just one game. That was a big deal—every game in the NFL is important—but it wasn’t a disaster.

  The rest of the game was comic relief. Midway through the second quarter, with most of the starters out of the game, word came down from the press box to Jeff Friday that nine Ravens had been spotted with uniform violations. Friday was the Ravens’ strength coach. But on game day, he had a number of duties that had nothing to do with strength. He was the “get-back coach,” which literally meant he was in charge of making certain players and coaches did not get too close to the field while the game was going on. In the heat of the game, people instinctively move closer to the action. It was Friday’s job to move them back, either by asking, yelling, or occasionally pushing them backward. The job is considered so important that the officials always ask before a game who a team’s “get back” coach is.

  Friday was also in charge of charting time-outs so everyone knew from possession to possession whether a TV time-out was coming up or if play was continuing. There are five TV time-outs in each quarter of each NFL game (which means there is exactly one hour during each game when everyone simply stands around waiting for the signal to play), and Friday kept track of how many had been used and checked with the TV official stationed on the sideline to learn if a time-out was coming up after a change of possession, a score, or a kickoff. The answer, more often than not, was yes.

  Friday’s last assignment was his most difficult. The NFL has—to put it mildly—strict rules about players’ uniforms. They must conform in every way possible. Anything that is even a little bit different is against the rules. Different-colored socks? Not allowed. Towel? Against the rules. Uniform shirt worn outside the pants? No way. Uniform cut differently? Verboten. And so on. The rules apply to everyone on the sidelines. Leigh Ann Curl had received a call from the press box a year earlier because she was wearing a shirt with an Under Armour logo underneath her Ravens-issued (Reebok) jacket during a game. “I had unzipped the jacket just a little and I guess a tiny bit of the Under Armour logo [Under Armour is a Ravens sponsor but not an NFL sponsor] was showing. They nailed me.”

  In every NFL stadium, a former player is paid to act as the league’s “clothes Nazi.” Before the game he walks among the players during warmups, noting any possible violations. He lists them all on a league-provided form and gives them to the “uniform coach”— Friday, in the case of the Ravens—before the game. It would then be Friday’s job to make sure the players were aware of the violations a
nd would correct them before game time. If a player is still in violation when the game starts, the CN (clothes Nazi) phones down to the sideline. If that warning is ignored, a report is sent to the league and the player is subject to a fine. Some players simply ignore the warnings and pay the fines because they want to make a fashion statement. Occasionally a player appeals the fine and wins because of a misunderstanding.

  In Baltimore, the CN was Bruce Laird, a former defensive back for the Colts who was also a weekend talk-show host. Laird still looked as if he could jump in uniform and play, and the players respected him enough that they rarely gave him a hard time when he let them know about their violations. Typically, Laird would find between twenty and thirty violations during pregame and hand the list to Friday, who would go through the locker room to try and get everyone straight before kickoff. It was not in Laird’s nature to play the role of hall monitor, but he—like all the other CNs—knew that Big Brother was watching in the NFL offices in New York.

  “I’ve gotten memos because they’ll look at the tape and see some kind of minor violation,” he said. “I got one once because a player had written his number on the back of his shoes and I didn’t catch it. It’s amazing some of the things they worry about.”

  The CNs are paid $500 a game and get parking close to the stadium. “If it wasn’t for the parking, I might give it up,” Laird joked. “It’s a lot of work and headaches for what they pay you.”

  In New York, the CN was Joe Morris, the former Giant running back who had been a key player on their Super Bowl-winning team in 1986. The New York CNs have to be especially vigilant because, more often than not, there are league officials in the press box for games played in Giants Stadium. That was why Morris had sent word to Friday right away instead of waiting until halftime. When Friday began telling players that they needed to—among other things—tuck in uniforms, roll down socks, and remove towels hooked to belts, there was a mini-revolt.

  “We’re not even still in the game,” said Kyle Boller, nailed for untucking his jersey after coming out of the game.

  “This is going too far, it really is,” agreed Ray Lewis, guilty of the same crime. “Tell the guy we want to talk to him.”

  Friday sent word up to the press box that his players would like to talk to Morris. A few minutes later Morris emerged from the end zone tunnel. Those who had seen him play for the Giants did a double-take as he approached the sideline. Since his retirement, Morris had put at least fifty pounds on to a five-foot-nine frame. As a running back, he had been built solidly, stocky and low to the ground, tough to tackle. Now, dressed in shorts, a golf shirt, and sandals, he looked like the before picture in a health-club commercial. As soon as he walked behind the bench, the players pounced.

  “You can’t fine us, we’re not even in the game anymore,” Boller said as Lewis and Ed Reed walked up to join him.

  “I don’t want to fine anybody,” Morris said. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

  “You fine us, you’re going to have to fine everyone in the league,” McAlister said, joining the group.

  “You working on commission?” Reed added.

  Morris laughed. He had been a player once and he knew how players thought. “Guys, do me a favor, tuck your uniforms in and pull your socks up at halftime. We’ll let that be the end of it. I won’t even write it up for your uniform coach.”

  Everyone looked at Lewis, always the leader. “Okay, man, we’ll take care of it,” he said. “But try to remember it’s just a preseason game.”

  “I know,” Morris said. “But that doesn’t mean they aren’t watching me. Okay?”

  Everyone seemed to agree on that. “Who is that guy?” McAlister asked as Morris walked away. When someone told him it was Joe Morris, he was clearly surprised. “Joe Morris, the running back?” he said. “That guy was a great player. Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at him so much.”

  That pretty much ended the shouting for the evening. The Giants were booed by their fans at halftime, and it didn’t get much better for them in the second half, even with both teams deep into their bench. The officials kept the flags to a minimum, and the second half went quickly—except when Coughlin insisted on using all his time-outs in the final three minutes, trying for a consolation touchdown in a meaningless game. “What’s he thinking?” Fassel asked Billick. “All you do is risk someone getting hurt at this point.”

  The news that Ogden’s injury appeared minor loosened things up on the bench. “Hey, Deion, I’m glad you’re here,” Matt Stover said, sidling up to Sanders. “Means I’m not the old dog around here anymore.”

  “How old are you?” Sanders asked.

  “Thirty-six.”

  “Damn.”

  Sanders was thirty-seven. In fact, he was planning to wear number 37 (he had worn 21 in the past, and McAlister had offered to make him a deal for it, but he didn’t want it) because his kids wanted people to know exactly how old their dad was every time he made a play. The final score was 27-17. Billick rarely presents game balls after games—he lets the coordinators decide who should get them—but in this case he made an exception.

  “I think there’s someone in here who deserves a little special recognition tonight, don’t you, guys?” he said. Then with a big smile on his face, he flipped a ball to Fassel, whose smile was even wider. “I’ll find a place for this one,” he said. “I promise you, it will go in a prominent place.”

  There was laughter all around the room. Everyone was having a good time. They were convinced that the fun had only just begun.

  12

  Crossing the Street

  THE SECOND ROUND OF CUTS would be tougher than the first because many of the players being let go were good enough to play in the NFL. What’s more, decisions had to be made on which players were likely to make it through waivers so they could be re-signed for the developmental squad. Some of the cuts were veterans: Ron Johnson had pointed out to Billick coming off the field in New York that he had played the entire second half without picking up a penalty. Billick felt a twinge of sadness because he knew that that half had been Johnson’s last as a Raven. The same was true of Lamont Brightful, whom everyone on the team liked. He had simply been beaten out of a job by B. J. Sams. Javin Hunter had willingly switched from wide receiver to cornerback and had shown flashes of potential. But not enough to make the team.

  There was considerable debate about Lance Frazier, a tough little rookie cornerback from West Virginia. The coaches loved his attitude, felt he had the potential to become an NFL cornerback, and thought he would be an asset on special teams. But Frazier wasn’t as good as Chad Williams or Ray Walls, the team’s two young backup defensive backs, and Corey Fuller was going to make the team because of his experience and the strength of his personality in the locker room. Frazier might have made the roster as a special teams player, but the Ravens already had several players who were strictly special teamers, notably Harold Morrow and Ovie Mughelli, technically running backs but on the roster strictly because of their special teams ability.

  In the end, it was Ozzie Newsome, who rarely spoke during cutdown meetings unless specifically asked his opinion, who stepped in to cut off debate. “Fellas, I understand why you love him,” he said, addressing the defensive coaches. “He’s a great kid, he’s a worker, but what would happen to us if someone got injured and he had to play corner? He’s just not good enough to do that. He’s not big enough or experienced enough. I’d love to keep the kid, but in the end, we really can’t.”

  That pretty much finished the discussion on Frazier.

  There was another issue that had to be dealt with: Ogden’s likely absence the first week. Ethan Brooks would step in as the starting left tackle, but another lineman who normally either would have been cut or kept on the developmental squad would have to be activated. Deciding to move Tony Pashos, a second-year tackle who had spent his rookie year on injured reserve, from the developmental squad to the active squad wasn’t that difficult. Deciding whom to c
ut wasn’t nearly as easy. The scouts, led by Phil Savage, wanted to cut Morrow on the grounds that he was a specialist on a team filled with them. The Ravens carried two placekickers—Matt Stover for field goals and extra points and Wade Richey to kick off—in addition to Morrow and Mughelli, who weren’t likely to play a down from scrimmage all season.

  Each NFL team is allowed to suit up forty-five of its fifty-three players each week, a rule that makes coaches crazy. “If you’re paying fifty-three guys, why not play fifty-three guys?” Billick always says. Among the Ravens’ forty-five each week were the two placekickers, the two special teams players, long snapper Joe Maese, and punter Dave Zastudil. That left only thirty-nine spots for everyone else. Nevertheless, the suggestion that Morrow be dropped from the opening-day roster brought a scream of pain from Gary Zauner, who had coached him both in Minnesota and in Baltimore.

  “You kill me if you take Morrow away,” he said. “The guy is the best wedge buster we have and he’s the emotional leader of our kick teams. Plus, he’s one of our best guys in the locker room.”

  No one doubted what Zauner was saying. But cutting him for the week still made the most sense. If a younger player like Gerome Sapp or Mughelli were cut, he would have to clear waivers and would probably get picked up by someone. Because he was in his ninth year in the league, Morrow would not have to clear waivers. Players with four years in the league are not subject to waivers when cut from a team until after the trading deadline, which comes at the end of the sixth week of the regular season. Morrow would become an instant free agent. “We would need to love him up,” Billick said. “Tell him it’s just a one-week thing and we want him to be part of this team so he doesn’t sign with anyone else. I think if he’s certain we’re going to bring him back right away, he won’t go anyplace else if he has the chance.”

  Newsome was shaking his head. “It’s not that simple,” he said. “He’s on the roster the first week, his salary is guaranteed the entire season. If he’s not on the opening-day roster, it isn’t guaranteed.”