“He just does things that nobody else at that position does, or I don’t know if they’ve ever done it. He’s special. He’s really special,” Belichick said before the 2013 AFC Championship Game.
His name says it all: the thing Ed Reed did better than anyone who ever came before or after him was read the eyes of a quarterback and to have studied enough film to know where the ball was going a split second before it was coming out of his hands. One longtime teammate told ESPN.com it was “like an autistic kid knows the piano.” In other words, it can’t be explained.
For Reed what looked like instinct to the rest of us became instinct to him because of how much film he had studied and how long he had plied his craft roaming the secondary while waiting – and sometimes baiting — a quarterback to dare throw the ball somewhere in his vicinity.
His highlight reels are undeniable. His quick ticket into Canton unquestioned, but he was still missing a Super Bowl ring late into his career.
But there was another issued that was occasionally whispered in the corners of the Castle: while his work ethic or desire was never called into question, his moodiness did raise a few eyebrows.
By the time 2007 came and Billick was on his way out the door, Reed had placed his locker around the corner and at the furthest reach of the common area, away from everybody and everything in the Ravens locker room. While most dubbed him mercurial or distant, most were willing to accept it because Reed always showed up on game day ready to be a ball hawk and to try to make a spectacular play.
He certainly had highs and lows, but nothing forced a change in Reed the way the death of his brother did in January 2011 during the weekend of a playoff game in Kansas City. Brian Reed was younger than Ed, who was the second of five brothers. He was attempting to elude police after a family member reported that he borrowed a family car without permission. Brian had been allegedly struggling with some form of mental illness and the family was trying to get him home safely. Instead, he broke free from a police officer and jumped into the Mississippi River where he drowned. His body wasn’t found for 17 days. Harbaugh rallied the team around Reed in a first-round playoff win over the Chiefs and Derrick Mason presented him with an emotional game ball in the locker room at Arrowhead Stadium. The Ravens were eliminated in Pittsburgh a week later, and Reed was left to mourn in the offseason, alone without his teammates but surrounded by his family in Louisiana.
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“He was a loving kid,” Ed Reed said of Brian at a press conference near his home after the body was recovered. “He just was a good kid, man. He had a son that he cherished and loved and that was his reason for living. Like I said, there’s things we have to deal with inside of us that sometimes kind of take control of you, get control of you, that you don’t know how to handle. I just know with dealing with Louisiana in general, how these kids today are taking each other out or getting involved in different things to where it’s taken control of them and making them do things that, as parents, we can’t explain. That’s the times we’re living in. Hopefully, we can change it together because it’s not one person that can change that — not me, not Sheriff by himself. And hopefully we can change that. You know, that’s why we try to do things in the community. And hopefully we can try to make that one kid turn around and hopefully, that one kid can learn from this situation.”
And Reed always gives back to his community at Destrahan High School as well as his nearby hometown of St. Rose. He’s funded school trips, equipment, and still holds a clinic there every summer to show kids what he’s learned in his years since leaving St. Charles Parish.
Many around Reed believe that the death of his brother changed him. He became more outgoing, shedding his somber disposition and brightening his outlook as the grey speck in his hairline grew. He had acquired years of wisdom and suddenly wanted to share more of it with his teammates. His natural leadership abilities – somewhat dormant since Coral Gables – began to sprout and his desire to take young players under his veteran wing and help them in his final seasons in Baltimore was apparent.
There are tales throughout the Ravens clubhouse of Reed’s quiet leadership, and in the end he certainly had more direct impact on the younger players than Lewis did simply because he played every week. Lewis missed significant time with injuries – his toe in 2011 and his triceps in 2012. He was away from the team and at best on the sidelines waving a towel and encouraging guys during his final years. Reed didn’t have or need a dance or a song before games. He didn’t stand in the middle of a huddle and bark or say “Amen” or cry. Many times, over his 11 years with Ray Lewis, Reed was nowhere near those huddles. He listened to gospel music and old Teddy Pendergrass and Frankie Beverly and Maze tunes on his iPod after games. He became much more of a spokesperson after games during Harbaugh’s era, wearing nice suits and speaking thoughtfully and often showing a smile and some charm, even in defeat.
