Originally published in 2019, a fond, personal farewell to the “other” No. 5 of Baltimore sports. Time will not dim the glory of his Super Bowl MVP deeds with the Baltimore Ravens. Joe Flacco is cool again in Cleveland so perhaps this is worth another look?
Dear Joe:
As I told you when I tossed you a text five minutes after you were traded to the Denver Broncos last month, it was going to take me a little while to process it all and write an appropriate “exit” letter as you graduate on from the Baltimore Ravens and become a guy who is annually “in our way” whilst trying to win the next few Super Bowls.
Over the past few years, I have made it no secret that you are my all-time favorite Baltimore sports athlete. Oh, sure, others have Brooks or Cal or Ray – and I know and greatly respect those arguments and can make them myself – but you will forever be my No. 1 guy for a myriad of reasons both personal and professional that I will finally make public here upon your less-than-flattering departure.
As my WNST partner Brian Billick always likes to point out: “When you win a Super Bowl, they say they can never take it away from you. But that doesn’t stop them from trying…”
Perhaps it’s the underdog Dundalk guy and Horatio Alger fire burning within me that admires you so much but your story has been my lifetime favorite to watch unfold and cover as a Baltimore sports fan who has had the pleasure to get to know you better than most since that fateful day in April 2008 when you became the “next quarterback up” after so many broken promises not named Trent Dilfer or Earl Morrall.
And, as you know, I’ve seen them all since the early 1970s and professionally since 1984. Marty Domres. Bert Jones. Art Schlichter. Mike Pagel. And all of the purple branches of the wilted, lavender Vinny Testaverde tree that you learned about upon your arrival.
8
Through all of the years and all the sports, you are my favorite story – the underdog, Division Not One quarterback who came down from Philly via my Aunt Clara’s hometown of Newark, Delaware and her beloved Blue Hens and delivered Baltimore a Super Bowl parade.
Joe, unless you go out to Denver and find the fountain of Kurt Warner, you’re not going to Canton for a bust measurement so that’ll always be the first knock on you because you’re not a Hall of Famer. And, of course, these last six years of not qualifying for January or winning enough postseason games that no longer made the Ravens believe in you as a franchise quarterback – in name, salary or depth chart – at 34 years old.
Oh, sure, last week there were heartwarming videos from Owings Mills that made the room dusty as your trade became official. And between now and whenever they bring you and your family back after you’ve acquired more silver on your temples and chin, you’ll have an afternoon to address Baltimore again whenever they immortalize you in the Ravens’ Ring of Honor.
But I wanted to wait to see what a press conference would look like with you in another uniform before I inked this farewell tome. I must say, with zero shock, that it looked just like the ones in Owings Mills except for the orange and blue horse and John Elway (as you know, an original Baltimore “Satan” from the history book of Irsay and the Colts) standing next to you.
John Elway says you’re entering your prime.
The Ravens made a teary-eyed video after benching your ass and trading you for a 4th-round draft pick.
From your point of view, let’s skip the formalities and talk Street Philly – your profane language of choice, which makes me love you even more – for what really happened. They believed in you so little last April that they drafted your replacement, you got hurt midway through another potential playoff year and then you were never heard from again. They wasted no time in throwing your expensive ass outta here. Even though they loved you, they believed you were overpriced, and the “sell by” date on your carton expired sometime around 2017. They never called you “washed up” – but the Baltimore Ravens didn’t believe in you anymore and the world watched it unfold every time John Harbaugh praised Lamar Jackson at the podium after another
8win. And that hurt the most because these were the same people who you helped earn a Super Bowl ring, the people who knew your soul better than anyone, the same ones who saw how prepared you were in September to win after the team showed its hand in April.
In Denver, you finally called last season what it was for you: “miserable.”
And it’s pretty clear to anyone who has ever seen the whites of your eyes that you are not going to the Rocky Mountains for the money or the fresh air and gummy bears of Red Rocks.
As I see it, there are three parts to your Baltimore legacy: what you did on the field, how you conducted yourself off the field and now what happens to you, the Ravens franchise and the Denver Broncos moving forward.
And, hey, you just might be washed up and old and brittle? The Ravens certainly think so as do the three other teams in Miami, Washington and Jacksonville, who could’ve used your veteran services as an upgrade this fall and perhaps beyond but didn’t think you were worthy of your “starting quarterback” salary and the 113th pick in the draft.
And I saw some trademark Philly “Phuck You” in there on Friday at that Mile High presser. I have videos from your Brotherly Love compadres and fellow Flacco faithful in Ron Jaworski banging on my broadcast table and Sal Paolanonio knocking over my video kit in Atlanta six weeks ago at the Super Bowl on Radio Row while insisting that you’re not done playing – and winning – games in January.
For the record, I don’t think you’re washed up and while I understand the course of action for the Ravens, it won’t diminish who you are at this point in your career because you have a fresh brush and palate awaiting you in Denver, where you can really win. You are also wiser than you’ve ever been but a bunch of folks in Owings Mills just bet their football careers against your body, your determination and your future.
8I don’t want you to make fools of the Baltimore Ravens for jettisoning you but every day I’ll be rooting for that to happen because of what kind of person you are and what kind of story and gift you were for me to cover during this part of my life and career.
I am your parents’ age. You are my son’s age. I was in locker rooms covering NHL games before you were born! Covering the game during your era has continued to alter my attitude about athletes and responsibility and civic duty and kindness in a burning, falling-apart-city that is collectively paying many of you professional athletes millions of dollars of life-altering money that mostly doesn’t return to our community in much more than spirit and goodwill.
To whom much is given much is expected. And that part never felt “too heavy” for you. Not even after a decade of professional leadership, being a Super Bowl MVP and a huddle full of kids and responsibilities and fame.
I did the math, Joe.
You made one hundred and forty seven MILLION and eight hundred thousand dollars here. That’s $147,800,000 playing football for the Baltimore Ravens. That’s a staggering amount of money for any one human being.
And you know what impressed me the most?
It never changed you.
8Money and fame changes almost everything about the folks I’ve witnessed over the years. It changed Ray Lewis dramatically and that’s not a knock on him. Success and fame and fortune changes everything for simple people. Cyndi Lauper sang about it. It’s a magnifier in many ways of ego and humility and risk and values and responsibility. It’s heavier than anyone knows and more complex psychologically than anyone would realize – especially in the NFL in the modern era.
The on-the-field memories will be the long tail for the fans. The wins. The losses. New Orleans. The Mile High Miracle will be your calling card. Maybe the time they ran into you in the supermarket or met you at an event around town and got a selfie or an autograph.
That first time they realize just how TALL you are…
The memories last a lifetime!
The anguish of the Lee Evans drop. The vicious Kiko Alonso hit that we all somehow felt. All that fun in the snow against the Vikings. Beating the Patriots – twice! And having them all but beaten two other times up there in January! The Steelers games twice a year with you annually going back to Heinz Field in Pittsburgh where they wouldn’t even let you on the field in college as a Pitt Panthers clipboard holder that made the starting quarterback in you “miserable” even back then.
As Ravens fans we were always in football games, even while down a touchdown or two, because your arm – as well as your demeanor – gave us the opportunity to win.
Joe Cool. That kinda said it all…
8And some fools saw your calm demeanor as a weakness, not a gift. I always knew better. So does John Elway.
You changed banks here in Baltimore. You changed colleges and paid to get into the lowly University of Delaware from the swamps of East Philadelphia, New Jersey and turned yourself into a first-round NFL pick who fulfilled that promise as a Super Bowl MVP and champion. And now you’re going to change professional places of employment in the September of your career to write your final chapters with Von Miller, who is chasing his own Canton ghosts and Vic Fangio, who has waited a lifetime for a chance to be an NFL head coach.
You’ve got a lot of money. You’ve also got a LOT less respect than you probably deserve. And I’m guessing that really pisses you off, burns at you in a quiet way you don’t talk about with anyone outside of your family.
I’ve always compared you to my first friend in sports, Mike Mussina, and you and I have had some long chats about his intellect, spirit and sports fire. He went off to the New York Yankees underappreciated and wealthy and will have a day in Cooperstown this summer. Sure, he thrived after his prime but still not enough to win a championship or please everyone about his “eliteness.”
At your Broncos presser, you referenced Tom Brady playing until he was 60. You just saw him win a Super Bowl at 41. You are 34. And you feel good. And I saw you throwing the football better than you’ve ever thrown it for three months last summer into the fall before the Lamar Jackson show took over.
I’m still a believer.
When you drove down to my condo as a 23-year old, first-round draft pick kid with your dad in a beat up white Volvo with black smoke choking the tailpipe back in May 2008 and we walked across the Inner Harbor to Amicci’s and talked for hours about the history of Baltimore sports, I vividly remember telling you that if you ever won a Super Bowl around here you wouldn’t need guys like me to tell your story.
8And then you went out and made the playoffs five years in a row and threw the pass that would’ve gotten the Ravens into the Super Bowl in New England in 2012 – and then came back and fixed it the next year as a Super Bowl-winning MVP in New Orleans.
You wrote your story. I just told it…
But nothing ever changed you. Your words and your deeds and your truth were always aligned. Your authenticity showed through even more after you were rich and famous and a Super Bowl MVP champion. The raw honesty of your press conferences is only surpassed by those of Steve Bisciotti, who has chosen to hibernate in the aftermath of your departure.
And within hours of your trade becoming official to the Denver Broncos last week, our new “franchise” quarterback Lamar Jackson was posting stupid videos of himself driving 105 mph on a freeway without a seat belt on social media. I’m guessing that was never something that kept the folks awake in Owings Mills – worrying about you doing a bunch of stupid shit while they were sleeping.
Your worst offense in a franchise that once harbored Ray Rice and Ray Lewis, Jamal Lewis in a jumpsuit and a guy torturing animals was growing a silly Fu Manchu mustache and ordering fast food at a non-Ravens sponsor location after winning the Super Bowl. Last week, your former running back was found in a ditch – stoned and holding while passed out a mile from the facility.
Your supreme offense was that time on WNST when you told the world that you believed you were the BEST quarterback in the NFL and then went out and won the Super Bowl and the Most Valuable Player Award to prove it. And we later found out that you turned down tens of millions of guaranteed money because you wanted Bisciotti to acknowledge that you should be paid as the best quarterback in the world.
You bet on yourself when everyone would’ve taken the easy money. It’s who you are – Bisciotti called you “a different cat” – and probably why I love being invested in you and your story, even as you go off to Denver and you’re not “my” quarterback anymore.
8I never owned an “ELITE” Joe Flacco shirt but I’m guessing I can find one on sale now. Maybe they’ll make them in blue and orange in Denver? Who knows?
But, hey, I’m guessing you are currently, once again, similarly pissed off for greatness. I kinda saw some swagger in you the other day that can only be made possible after you’ve been kicked in the balls publicly and emasculated. And I’m guessing the $150 million (plus) you have in the bank means nothing when your wife has been mock-hazing you every Sunday after another week of watching Lamar Jackson win another football game with what used to be your team.
This is the city of Kyle Boller. And Art Schlichter. And many quarterbacks not named Johnny Unitas.
Hey, Joe – you were the real phucking McCoy! The real, modern day Johnny U who went about your business and your life the right way. You brought us a parade after playing flawlessly in the biggest games of the year. You made us proud!
My personal memories of our many hours of chats over the years are my lasting gifts as a lifer journalist who covered your Baltimore journey.
When you asked me on the stadium ramp after the parade if it was bigger than the first Super Bowl. When you called me from a spring vacation with a bunch of teammates when my wife was in bed fighting for her life. When you came out and did charity events and told stories and always provided me with honest, meaningful answers about football stuff and why things happened the way they did in games. The times you were the last one in the locker room tying your shoes and answering some random question from me and Luke about something bigger picture with the offense.
The baseball chats. Our mutual love of sports and competition and history. Watching you fawn over your kids and family. I had a unique view of your world, especially when I wrote Purple Reign 2 and learned the difference between Audobon and Haddonfield, New Jersey.
8I hope you go win a Super Bowl and play four good years in Denver and then come back home to back up Carson Wentz for a few years in Philly. You’d class the joint up a bit from across the river in Jersey.
You’ll be back in Baltimore for reunions and Super Bowl appreciations. You’ll get your name on the façade of the purple palace.
Time will not dim the glory of your deeds.
I will never again argue your “eliteness.” Your Super Bowl ring speaks for itself. And if it doesn’t, just go Jersey and transfer it to your middle finger.
You’ll always be a hero here, to me.
I will just say you’re the best I’ve seen around here and the best we’re gonna see for a long time. Baltimore was lucky to have you. The Ravens were lucky to find you and build a championship team around you. And the Broncos are lucky to have you.
Hopefully, like you said, they’re dragging you outta the building in Denver a long time from now.
8Gratitude for all of the memories, laughs, completed passes and good times.
You’re a good man, Joe Flacco!
I remember back when you were young, the week before you went to Denver for the first time. You didn’t know about the 80,000 rabid orange maniacs about to shit down your neck every time you threw a bad pass – or even a good one that hit the turf. I had to break the news to you about the best cheer in sports!
I, too, love that you’ll be on the other sideline after years of hearing that three-syllable taunt in purple during the big wins and dreadful losses to Peyton Manning at Mile High Stadium.
But when you hear it, just know that it’s my Baltimore ghost letting you know that your career is still very much:
IN-COM-PLETE
Go f**k ’em up in Denver, bro…
8Cheers,
Nestor
P.S. Get a sitter and take Dana to Snooze AM and order the pineapple upside down pancakes. And tell your kids to not take gummy bears from strangers!
