Finally, he called them up. They came slowly, tired, devastated, hurt. “There is nothing I can say right now to make anyone in here feel any better,” Billick said quietly. “I know what a lot of you guys went through today, trying to play hurt. What we are probably facing now is the toughest kind of week there is in the NFL. We have to deal with it like men. Now we have to play for the love of the game. And we all have to take a good, long, hard look at how we got to be in this position.”
A few minutes later Ray Lewis walked slowly into the training room to have the soft cast he had been wearing taken off for the plane ride home. His discomfort was so great that he could barely stand up. There were tears in his eyes as he sat on the training table. He was clearly in a great deal of pain.
And his wrist hurt like hell, too.
28
The Final Hours
NEVER IN THE NINE-YEAR HISTORY of the franchise had the Ravens faced a week like the final one of the 2004 regular season.
There had been years when they had been mathematically eliminated from the playoffs going into the final week, but those had been rebuilding years. This had not started out to be a rebuilding year. It had started out as a year when the goal had been to make it to the Super Bowl.
Billick and everyone else had put every ounce of energy they had into the season, and now, barring a miracle, it wasn’t even going to produce the playoff trip Billick had believed was going to be there if they just showed up for sixteen weeks. Technically, they still had a chance, but it would take the three 9-6 teams all losing while the Ravens beat the Dolphins. Once Billick realized it was still mathematically possible to reach the postseason, he clung to that hope as if it were a lifeboat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
“That has to be our approach this week,” he told the coaches during the Monday meeting. “The mentality all week long has to be that we’re playing for something.”
Even as he said that, his mind was racing ahead. His questions to the position coaches that day were more about the future than about the present. What did Matt Cavanaugh think Kyle Boller needed to work on most during the off-season? (Footwork and self-confidence.) Did Jim Colletto think that Ethan Brooks or Orlando Brown could be effective for sixteen games at right tackle? (Maybe, but neither would ever be an especially good run blocker.) What would they need to do to convince Jamel White, who had proven to be another George Kokinis/Vince Newsome find, that he should stay in Baltimore even though there was no chance he would be a starting running back? (Love him up, explain his role.) If there was only enough money to sign either Dan Wilcox or Darnell Dinkins, which one did Wade Harman, their coach, prefer? (Wilcox did more things, but Harman wanted both back.) Did David Shaw think some of the problems Clarence Moore had experienced—especially going over the middle—in recent weeks were the result of having “rookie legs,” or was it something in the kid? (Shaw said he believed it was rookie legs.) If Ed Hartwell signed somewhere else, as was likely, did Mike Singletary think T. J. Slaughter was ready to start? (Yes, but he wasn’t going to be Hartwell.) Did Rex Ryan think Dwan Edwards was going to be a factor on the defensive line at some point? (Yes, he was coachable and quick, he just hadn’t been ready this season.)
There were short-term decisions to be made, but they would come later: Ray Lewis and Deion Sanders had played in considerable pain in Pittsburgh; was it worth trying to get them on the field this week? “The way we might have to look at it is if we can get past this game without them, there’s a better chance they’d be ready in another week if we had a playoff game,” Billick said. The flip side was the danger of the message that would be sent to the players: we don’t think much of Miami.
The Dolphins were coming in on a bit of a roll. They had won more games in December than the Ravens (two to one) and had upset the Patriots two weeks earlier. “Those were home games,” Billick pointed out to the players at their Wednesday meeting. “Let’s find out how they respond when we come out and get right after them the way we did the Giants. Their cars are running in the parking lot, they’re ready to get out of here and go home. Let’s make it not worth the effort to them early.”
He had already thrown the schedule on the board one more time so they could see for themselves that they were still in the playoff race. “Fellas, these are the brutal facts,” he said, reverting to the self-help book that had been the season’s theme since June. “Pay attention to this for a minute because what you’re going to hear in here is a lot different than what you’re going to hear away from here: we are still a part of all this. There are sixteen teams that aren’t part of this, that have no chance. They play Sunday and go home—period. We aren’t one of those teams. Do not eliminate yourselves mentally and emotionally. Remember one thing: the difference between last season and this season right now is one game—one game. I know it doesn’t feel that way, but that’s what it is. We’ve lost three road games in the last month to teams that are a combined 39-6. Last year, the last five teams we played had losing records. So, it’s been a different kind of challenge. So far we haven’t been up to it. But we have one more chance. Which is why this week boils down to one simple thing. He paused, then clicked the button that put the words on the screen in bold red letters:
BEAT MIAMI
He went through what it would take to accomplish that and then paused. He had been thinking for most of the morning about whether to say what he was about to. He had decided there was really nothing to lose.
“I’ve talked to quite a few of you guys the last couple days,” he said. “Players and coaches. Every one of you has expressed frustration with where we are and the wish that we had been a little better when we needed to be. But not one guy—not one guy—has said to me, ‘Coach, I haven’t done as well as I should. What can I do to be better?’
“Now, I love this room, I think you all know that. But that’s what has been missing. I know the want is there. I know all of you are hurt and I know all of you have things going on in your lives with families and kids and concerns about contracts. That’s everyone, players and coaches. I understand all that; it is all legitimate. But this week I want all of you to do one thing: think about how I can get better. Just worry about that for the next few days and nothing else.
“As you sit here right now and listen to this, you’re going to have one of two thoughts:
“What poor SOB is he talking about?
“Or, why is he calling me out?
“The second one is better.”
There was no way to avoid a tension-filled week. Everyone had to face the inevitable questions about what had gone wrong. On Wednesday, Chris McAlister stood in the middle of the locker room and said he didn’t think this team had been as close as previous teams. He wondered if perhaps some of it was the size of the new facility. “We’re so spread out in here,” he said. “Guys don’t talk and hang out the way they did in the old place.” He went on to add that he thought the team had become cliquish, which was a problem, too.
Billick didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he heard about McAlister’s comments. On the one hand, it was borderline funny that McAlister, the team’s ultimate loner, would suddenly be concerned about cliques and the team not being close enough. It was genuinely funny that anyone on the team would long for the old facility, which everyone had been crying to get out of for years. Billick dealt with that with humor: “If Chris McAlister would like to go dress in the old facility, we can probably arrange it,” he told the media.
The part that wasn’t funny was anyone’s talking openly about the team not being close and being cliquish. Everyone knew this was a direct shot across Ray Lewis’s bow: McAlister was not a part of Lewis’s group and there were others in the room who also felt left out. On the other hand, everyone knew if the team had been 10-5 instead of 8-7, no one would be talking about cliques or worrying about who was left out and who wasn’t.
“It’s a chicken-and-egg thing,” Billick said. “Did frustration in the locker room—or too big
a locker room—cause us to be 8-7? Or is being 8-7 causing frustration in the locker room? My bet is that it’s the latter. To some degree, if they weren’t all a little bit pissed-off right now, I’d be worried. They should be pissed-off. We’re all upset about what’s happened. If we weren’t, something would be wrong.”
Billick was a lot more upset that night when two local TV reporters—Mark Viviano and Sage Steele—broke the story that Cavanaugh was going to be fired as soon as the season was over. This was hardly a shock to anyone—especially Cavanaugh—but given the delicate psyche of the entire building, the last thing Billick wanted was to deal with questions about the future of his coaching staff, especially its most controversial member, three days before the finale.
He was angry about the report, perhaps surprised that the story had been broken by two TV reporters, one of whom—Steele—worked part-time for Rave-TV, the team’s in-house TV production group that had never asked her to back away from a story—past or present. Even so, Mike Preston enjoyed pointing out on occasion how many members of the local media were on the Ravens’ payroll. The Baltimore media wasn’t the New York or Philadelphia media by any stretch, but it was certainly far less in the tank for the Ravens than the Washington media was for the Redskins. In Washington the Redskins were about to wrap up another 6-10 season—one that had started with many in the local media predicting a deep playoff run because of the return of Joe Gibbs—and yet there was very little criticism of Gibbs (the theory being that one year was too soon to make judgments on his return) or even of Dan Snyder, who was in year six of his reign of terror and mediocrity. Billick was aware of all that, and it may have been responsible for some of his frustration.
“The story is wrong,” he told reporters the next day. “No decisions have been made about the coaching staff for next year. We’ll deal with all of that, just as we do every year, whenever the season’s over. Right now, our focus is on Miami.”
In the strictest technical sense, Billick’s comments were accurate. No one on the coaching staff had been talked to at that moment about his future, including Cavanaugh. No one in the brain trust had actually said the words “Matt Cavanaugh is fired,” but that was because there was no need to. Everyone, Cavanaugh included, knew the change was coming, which was why everyone had hoped so ardently that Cavanaugh would get the Pittsburgh job.
Cavanaugh was neither surprised nor upset about the report of his demise. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t shake me up a little to be watching the news last night and see my face come up on the screen over the words ‘Cavanaugh out,’” he said, laughing as he sat in his office after Thursday’s practice. “I’ve known for a month this was coming. We’ve never been higher than twenty-eighth in offense all year. I know there are reasons for that, but in the end the reasons don’t matter; the results matter. Brian and Ozzie and Steve can’t keep me around for another off-season. They were subjected to ridicule for doing it last year when we’d won the division. Imagine what it would be like this year.
“I’m not concerned. What bothers me right now is that every day for the last month my ex-wife and my kids have called me to say, ‘You okay? How you doing?’ I love them for it, but it bothers me that they’re spending that much time worrying about me. They’ve got better things to do. I’ll find work.”
He smiled. “I hear they give you free food if you work at Arby’s. Sounds like a nice perk.”
The McAlister and Cavanaugh stories combined to make for a less-than-collegial atmosphere in the building on Thursday. When the media were admitted to the locker room after practice, some of the players booed—half in jest, but half in earnest. Some players refused to talk. Others said they would talk, but only if questions were limited to the Dolphins. No one really wanted to talk about the Dolphins; the game had become almost an afterthought. Adalius Thomas, normally one of the most outgoing members of the team, yelled at several people who tried to ask non-Dolphins questions. The Ravens have always prided themselves on being a media-friendly team. Even in crises they have always made players available—at least once—to discuss their situations. Ray Lewis had talked to the media after Atlanta; Jamal Lewis had talked after his arrest, after his plea bargain, and after his suspension. This was a different kind of crisis, though, the kind that affected the entire locker room. Adalius Thomas yelling at people was a pretty clear indication that there was a good deal of frustration in the room.
Normally Billick would have been the calm in the storm. But he was so angry about the Cavanaugh reports that he wasn’t any calmer than the players. “I knew this week wasn’t going to be any fun,” he said. “I guess I was right.”
After what was likely to be their last real practice of the season on New Year’s Eve, Billick made a point of telling the players to be careful that night. The last thing the team needed at this stage was someone getting arrested on a DUI—or, worse, being in an accident of some kind. “Remember, a lot of things can still happen, but only if we win this game,” he said. “Tonight is amateur night on the roads. You guys know that.” He smiled and a hint of the old humor returned. “We don’t take part in amateur night—we’re professionals, right?” For the first time all week, there were hints of smiles in the circle of players around Billick.
“Remember who you are, where you are, and who’s watching you. Let’s end the year on a good note and start the new one right.”
They all nodded. No one was disappointed to see the old year end.
Billick’s last words to his coaches on Monday had been simple: “Let’s go coach ’em all up.”
He had heeded his own words, trying to coach everyone up for the last week: players, front-office staff, and Rod Hairston. The biggest surprise of the week had come on Friday when McAlister had gone upstairs to see Newsome and then Billick. He told them both essentially the same thing: the old Chris McAlister was gone. He hoped they had noticed a change in him the past three weeks. He had done almost no drinking—a little wine on Sunday, maybe with dinner on Monday, but nothing after that and no clubbing, either. This was who he planned to be. “I’m going to be someone you can count on in the future,” he said. “Not some of the time, all of the time.”
Billick and Newsome were impressed, not only by what he said but by the fact that he had made a point to go to their offices and say them. “Of course, time will tell,” Billick said. “But I think we both like what we’re hearing right now.”
As soon as Hairston began speaking during Saturday night Fellowship—which included a surprise first-time guest, Chris McAlister—it was clear that he and Billick had spent a little more time than their usual e-mail exchange discussing that night’s sermon.
“Some of us are at a crossroads right now, aren’t we?” Hairston began after Ray Lewis had said the opening prayer, thanking God “not for a New Year but for a new day.”
“As we end one year, we wonder what the new one will bring. We worry about contracts, about where we’ll be playing next year—will we play here? Will we play at all? Or, where will we be coaching?
“It’s been a tough season for all of us, hasn’t it? Sometimes desperation can lead to backbiting. Sometimes it can lead us to become eaters of one another. We have to be aware of that and not let it happen. Can I get an amen on that?”
“Amen.”
Except for Lewis: “Wow!”
“There is no need to look back,” Hairston continued. “Learn from the past, but don’t go back there. We all want to be closer to God, but how do we get there?”
“You have to go through some things, don’t you?” Lewis said from the back.
“Amen to that,” Hairston said. “We have got to move on. You know, fellas, sometimes in trusting God, you have to take some risks. Sometimes you have to give God His due even when you aren’t sure about what He’s doing here on Earth. You have to trust that He’s doing what He’s doing for the right reasons even if they are not apparent to you right now!”
“Preach, Rev!” Lewis said, his right
arm in the air, reminding everyone of the cast that was still there. He would not play the next day. Sanders and Heap would also sit out, as would Edwin Mulitalo, who had been injured in Pittsburgh. His injury meant that Mike Flynn would get the center position back, with Casey Rabach moving to left guard. If this were a playoff game or even a game in which a win would guarantee a playoff spot, the only one in the group who would not have played was Mulitalo. The rest, as in Pittsburgh, would have figured out a way to play.
Billick had canceled the usual meetings of the offense, defense, and special teams. He thought that going over tape one more time at this point was redundant. He wanted everyone in the same room and on the same page.
“You know, I spent the whole day today watching the bowl games,” he said. “I loved it. I loved the joy of the college kids getting to play one more game even though none of them were playing for a national championship. [That game wouldn’t be played until Tuesday.] None of the commentators out there seem to understand why we all play this game. It’s for the joy of playing. It doesn’t matter if it’s the Super Bowl or the Slapdick Bowl, you play because you love to play.
“That’s what tomorrow is. We’ve all given twenty-five weeks of our lives to this. Whatever’s gonna happen at the end of the day is gonna happen. Let’s all of us just go and play one more football game and enjoy being out there. Forget the circumstances, forget the future. I told you last week, this will end for all of us at some point. Don’t miss a chance to play for the joy of playing. That’s what tomorrow is. I’m not going to tell you it’s anything more than that. But that should be plenty.”
They headed to bed knowing that, for many of them, the next day would very possibly be the last time they played for the Ravens. Corey Fuller knew it might be his last day as a football player. The same was true for Cornell Brown and Kordell Stewart and Harold Morrow, all of whom had played the game for as long as they could remember. Players such as Gary Baxter and Ed Hartwell and Casey Rabach would probably be faced with decisions about whether to take their shot at big money or stay with the Ravens for considerably less. All of them were at the peak of their career. This was their time to make the big money. All knew they would have to leave to do that.
Next Man Up Page 57
