We figured he would be furious with his out-to-sea coach for dropping fresh meat in Tampa Bay for the vast pack of media sharks after him.
We figured he would hide behind some statement written by the PR staff. We figured he would take a question or two from the biggest audience ever attracted by one player on Super Bowl media day and storm off his podium threatening to kill anyone who followed.
The joke was on us.
Ray Lewis calmly endured an entire hour of cross-examination Tuesday at Raymond James Stadium. He chuckled. He shrugged. He actually had fun defying and thanking us.
As several awed teammates trained video cameras on their warrior-leader, Lewis refused to answer specific questions or show a pang of remorse about the unsolved double murder he observed after last year’s Super Bowl. He was cleared of murder charges. He even portrayed himself as the victim of a “get Ray Lewis” investigation commissioned by Atlanta’s mayor.
But he indicated that God has rewarded him for his faith. The yearlong onslaught of negative publicity finally made him a “national thing.” The media’s obsession with Lewis turned him into an obsession with fans.
Many who wouldn’t have known Ray Lewis from Raymond James after his first three Pro Bowls now can’t take their eyes off him. He said his hand is tired from signing autographs for money. His purple No. 52 jersey is the country’s hottest seller.
Ain’t this America. In one breath Lewis said: “I’m not here to please the country.” In the next: “I pray for this country because of the violence that goes around.”
Here is 250 sculpted, bejeweled pounds of in-our-face hypocrisy and self-worship. Here is a gladiator who had an action shot of himself tattooed on his leg. Here is a mother-loving son who named his three sons (by one woman) Ray III, Rayshad and Rayshan and his daughter (by another woman) Diamond Desiree. Here is a party animal who was wearing a “What Would Jesus Do?” bracelet when buddies riding in his limo participated in the Atlanta street fight.
Here is your worst nightmare if you believe this violent game’s best player has role-model responsibility. Here is denial, contradiction and brazen truth.
“I think of myself as a gladiator going to war,” he said.
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That’s precisely what Lewis is and why we can’t help watching him. We have helped create him the way scientists in “Deep Blue Sea” created giant sharks with intelligence. Lewis managed to escape the migrant-worker ghetto in nearby Lakeland. As a football star he has always been allowed to get away with just about everything but murder.
Now he is devouring Super Bowl Week.
Some of us from different backgrounds wanted Lewis to explain what happened in Atlanta, or at least apologize for running with the wrong crowd, but he says we would distort or condemn any details he provided. Probably true. While we say Lewis just doesn’t get it, maybe we don’t.
How did he feel about coach Brian Billick drawing even more attention to him by ripping reporters for sensationalizing the story and retrying him? Lewis was honored by it. The us-against-the-world Ravens have initiated Billick because he supports them, asks their advice and basically stays out of their way.
“Brian just had my back,” Lewis said. “He done what he felt was in his heart–what needed to be done.”
Did Lewis at least have anything to say to the families of the murder victims? Here we wanted him to defuse their highly publicized bitterness by offering a little sympathy.
“Nah, uh-uh,” Lewis said. Next question. Too proud. Too big. Too wrongly accused, in his mind.
Yet you must admire, if only grudgingly, the way Lewis has handled a situation that would have broken weaker players. We wanted him to flinch Tuesday, even crack. No way. Too tough.
“This hasn’t been a distraction yet and it won’t be now,” said the NFL defensive player of the year.
I must admit I couldn’t help liking some parts of this complicated man. His coaches say he studies as hard as he plays. His teammates say he’s a great father who speaks often and donates generously to school groups. But above all Lewis is what he is–and was in Lakeland–and makes no broken bones about it.
“Sometimes you go back into it,” he said, meaning the “street” in him takes over. Sometimes this happens off the field, and always on it.