win. 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.
I 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.
Money 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…
And 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.
And 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.
I 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
