Originally a third-round draft choice of the Oakland Raiders in 1993, Trapp played his college ball at Clemson and was described by many as a typical Al Davis guy during his early days in the NFL.
“He was a street thug, pure and simple,” said one coach.
“He was bad news,” said another.
Trapp was a member of the 1992 U.S. Olympic track and field team, winning the National Track Championship in the 200 meters with a time of 20.66.
He started 26 games for the Raiders from 1993 to 1998, mainly at safety, before joining the Ravens as an unrestricted free agent prior to the 1999 season.
He was used mainly as a gunner on the team’s punt and kickoff coverages, but played an unbelievable second half as Duane Starks’ replacement in a game at Cincinnati in December 1999, shutting down Pro Bowl wide receiver Carl Pickens in a big win.
Somewhere between 1993 and 1999, James Trapp found God.
He became a born-again Christian, and brought a fire to the team that makes him worthy of a mention by nearly everyone on the roster.
Trapp’s first name was changed from James to “Joe” by Rod Woodson, because of the split personality he displayed on game day.
“Monday through Saturday he was James Trapp, deeply religious and God-fearing,” said one player. “On game day, he became a fucking maniac!”
Marvin Lewis on Trapp:
“He’s ruthless, but he was so good for our team. (Secondary coach) Steve Shafer stuck his neck out for James because he knew him from Oakland. He made Chris (McAlister) a better player from the minute he got here. He had been a starter in Oakland and he knew how to play. He had that killer instinct on game day that made the others better. He established the standard around here. He challenged guys every day to get better.”
Prior to the Super Bowl, Billick had to reign in Trapp, fearing that he would go stir crazy before game time.
“Saturday night I had to pull him aside because he was ready to go then,” Billick said. “He wanted to play. I told him, ‘We’re not ready for Joe, yet. We need you to hold Joe in. We need Joe Trapp to come out at the right time.’ ”
Even on Sunday, with the ridiculously long wait in the locker room prior to taking the field – through Sting pre-game concerts and the like – Billick had to keep Trapp in the stable.
“It wasn’t officially game time until I called out ‘Joe’ Trapp,” Billick said. “Everyone caught on. Finally, when it was time, I asked the question, ‘Is Joe Trapp here?’ That was the message to everybody that we were ready to leave the locker room and play.”
Trapp spent all of Super Bowl week telling people his name wasn’t James or even “Joe.” When people would ask, he would tell them his name was “Victory.”
By 11 p.m. on Sunday night, it was World Champion.
The Ravens loose nature prior to the big game was evident to almost anyone near the squad.
On the Friday before the game, the offensive linemen – the biggest pranksters on the team – put Vasoline on the power switch of the team’s video projector, greasing up coach Jim Colletto as he turned on the breakdown film of the Giants’ defensive line.
The unit had also developed a strange ritual of taking turns dipping in a chilling, 40-degree cold tub in Owings Mills on the Friday before games once the winning streak began 13 weeks earlier. But once in Tampa, they realized that they didn’t have their tub and they were on the road. They insisted that team equipment manager Ed Carroll find a suitable replacement. On the Friday before the Super Bowl, each had frigid dip in a ridiculously tiny one-man tub – made for a normal 200-pound individual – brought in to keep the silly custom alive.
After all, they started it to end “The Drought” and it had worked every week since. There was even a specific order to the “The Dip.”
First it was Harry Swayne, because he was the oldest. Then Mike Flynn. Then Jonathan Ogden. Then Spencer Folau and, finally, Edwin Mulitalo. Jeff Mitchell, not a very superstitious sort, always abstained.
“We were like a bunch of babies,” Flynn said. “We had to have that cold tub dunk on Friday or we were convinced we were going to lose. That tub they had in Tampa was so tiny that every time one of us would get in it, all of the water would come flying out of it.”
Out on the field, at the last practice before the Super Bowl, the clowning around continued.
The offensive line played the defensive line in passing drills, running “go” routes just to see who was faster and more athletic.
Later that day, Billick brought in former Redskins quarterback Joe Theismann to throw the scout team exercises. The media had a field day with that one, pounding Billick for not taking the Super Bowl practices seriously.
“He was the only guy in the media who picked us to go to the Super Bowl before the season,” Billick sniffed. “I just wanted to reward him. Besides, he still throws a tight spiral!”
I never made it to any of the Ravens’ practices during Super Bowl week. I was busy at the Tampa Convention Center doing my radio show, running the WNST operation and getting second-hand tales of the circus atmosphere from a distance.
I was also busy reveling in my own silly indulgences. There were events to attend, purple suits to wear, beads to throw at Tampa’s annual “Gasparilla” festival that took over the streets of downtown on Saturday, more Ravens fans to find and a party to be thrown.
By Sunday, it was time for the pre-game fun to give way to the game day fun.
Before all of the talking would stop and the playing would start, there was one little task to be accomplished: the tailgate party of a lifetime.
The brainchild of my business partner, Steve Hennessey, WNST-AM began promoting a Sunday morning “Mother of All Tailgates” at a bar on the water in Tampa across the Ravens’ headquarters hotel called Whiskey Joe’s.
Before I could even return from Oakland after the AFC Championship on that Monday morning, Hennessey was on a plane headed for Tampa to find the ideal location for indoor-outdoor fun, with enough space and cold beer to accommodate the rowdy Baltimore contingent on game day.
On Saturday night, with the remnants of the “Gasparilla” festival still lingering downtown, the streets were gridlocked. Even if I wanted to hop in a cab over to Ybor City, the city’s nightlife capital, it would have been impossible. So, the night before the big game, I went to bed at 11 p.m.
Good thing, too, as the 7 a.m. wake-up call on Sunday sent me out to Whiskey Joe’s when the sun was rising.
