It's impossible to predict whether or not Ray Rice will ever develop into an NFL starter, much less a star. We can say that it's tough to hold up to the pounding when you're only 5-foot-9, and for every Barry Sanders (5-foot-8), Priest Holmes (5-foot-9) and Maurice Jones-Drew (5-foot-7), there are literally dozens, if not hundreds, of good college running backs who can't translate that success to the professional level.

I do, however, think Ray Rice is worth rooting for, in part because of his compelling backstory, which you can read below. Rice -- who in many ways helped the Rutgers football program transition from the laughingstock of college football to one of the best programs in the Big East -- lost his father, Calvin Reed, in a random drive-by shooting when he was just a 1-year-old. Reed was walking home from work, and got caught in the crossfire of a hit intended for someone else.

His older cousin, Myshaun Rice-Nichols, became a father figure to Rice, and as a kid, Ray would sit for hours and listen to "Shaun" write rap songs. It was Shaun, who called himself S.U.P.E (Spiritually Uplifting People Everywhere), who encouraged Rice to pursue his athletic gifts. Shaun's music was never about guns, drugs, women or violence; he instead wrote about (according to the New Jersey Star-Ledger) "youth communities, God, spirituality and self respect."

Sadly, Shaun Rice-Nichols was killed in a car accident on St. Patrick's day of 1998 when another driver lost control of his car and drove across the center line, colliding with Rice-Nichols head on. Before each game in college, Rice would write "R.I.P. 914 S.U.P.E" on a Breathe Right strip he'd stretch across his nose.

The link is a little slow loading, but you can read this story by the Star-Ledger's Kevin Manahan about Rice's relationship with his cousin.

The one constant in his life, however, was his mother Janet, a special needs teacher in New Rochelle, N.Y. Rice would regularly show up in her classroom to talk to the kids about doing their homework, staying out of trouble and being respectful of others, and he liked it enough that he made regular stops at several other schools in his hometown. USA Today's Kelly Whiteside penned this piece about Rice two years ago that's explains Rice's desire to prove himself, and the special bond he and his mother share.

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Let me come out and say this upfront: I was not a very good college football player. A little too slow, and a little too short, I didn't have the physical tools to get on the field very often during my brief career at Montana. But I do know a little about the level of competition that Joe Flacco -- the Ravens' first-round pick -- faced at Delaware, because like Montana, it's considered one of the elite programs in 1-AA, which the NCAA now ridiculously asks that I call the Football Championships Subdivision.

I think it's worth attempting to clear up some misconceptions for any of you that have your doubts, and I know there are doubts, because I've read a few of them on Ravens message boards and in comments recently here at The Life of Kings.

Do we really want a guy who played against Towson? Why would we draft a guy who was essentially the star of college football's JV Division?

For starters, it's not always that simple. Flacco, you should remember, was originally recruited and signed by Pitt out of high school, and could have, for all we know, been a star in the Big East had he decided to stick around instead of transferring to play for the Blue Hens. That's fairly common at the 1-AA level, which is littered with players who originally signed with big schools, but for whatever reason (playing time, grades, criminal behavior, homesickness) decided to take their chances playing in football games you're rarely going to see on television.

What it doesn't mean, however, is that the teams are flat out inferior. Appalachian State showed Michigan that the top 1-AA teams do, in fact, have the speed to compete with some of the biggest programs in the country. What schools like Delaware can't do is go toe-to-toe with big Division I schools on a week-to-week basis because they simple don't have the depth. Most 1-AA starters could see significant time at the I-A level. Look at Maryland's Madieu Williams, who transfered from Towson, starred at Maryland, and is playing well for the Cincinnati Bengals. It's their backups (guys like me!) who wouldn't sniff a Division I roster, and thus one major injury can have a devastating effect against teams that have talented freshmen all-Americans ready to step in if a similar situation happens to them.

What most I-AA stars have in common is, for some reason (maybe height, maybe exposure, maybe speed), they were overlooked by major programs who, two years later, would love to have them on their team instead of some of the talented, highly-rated busts who lack the desire to be truly great.

I'd argue that Delaware would have given Maryland a hell of a game last season, and probably would have won. What the Blue Hens wouldn't have been able to do, however, is play an entire ACC schedule. Flacco would have taken far too much punishment.

Sometimes, though, stars like Flacco can benefit significantly from going to a school like Delaware because they learn to elevate their teammates. They can't rely on the crazy athleticism of an all-American wide receiver to bail them out when they make poor throws under pressure.

Flacco was a late-bloomer. Just check out this recent New York Times profile on Flacco. He had no idea he might be a first-round pick in the NFL draft 12 months ago. He thought his future might be in baseball. Sometimes late-bloomers end up turning into the perfect fit because they seem to get stronger each time they take a step up in the level of competition. They've learned to dominate, no matter who they're playing against, and that's not something you can teach.

The Ravens will certainly hope that's the case with Flacco. 

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Throughout history, man has always pondered the possibilities of: What If?

What if Friar Lawrence had gotten word to Romeo that Juliet was only sleeping, and not dead? What if President John F. Kennedy’s motorcade had taken a different parade route that day in Dallas? What if George McFly had not been hit by his future father-in-law’s car, a premise that was explored by Michael J. Fox in the Back to the Future trilogy? What if Jeffrey Maier had been in school that day instead in right field in Yankee Stadium?

Rarely is this exercise more popular than in the weeks and months leading up to the NFL draft. Today, we attempt to reimagine history as we look back through the Ravens’ drafts, and see how things could have played out differently. In the course of our journey — especially the first scenario, which really did almost happen — we realize that “What IF?” can be a scary proposition.

April 20, 1996 — Desperate to fill Memorial Stadium after moving the team from Cleveland, and confident coach Ted Marchibroda can deal with any character issues that arise, Ravens owner Art Modell quietly decrees that the team must select Nebraska running back Lawrence Phillips with the fourth pick in the draft. UCLA offensive lineman Jonathan Ogden is selected seventh, by the New England Patriots. The Denver Broncos, torn between linebackers John Mobley and Ray Lewis, grab Lewis.

In a post-draft press conference, Phillips puts his arm around Mobley, the Ravens' other first-round pick, and declares that the duo will win four Super Bowls together.

Later, WJZ reporter Mark Viviano spots Phillips alone in the hallway and asks for an interview. When Viviano asks a question about his checkered past, Phillips drags Viviano down a flight of stairs by his hair.

April 19, 1997 — After going 4-12 the year before, the Ravens' plan going into the draft is to shore up their defense. In a trade that has much to do with financial concerns, they give up their fourth pick to Seattle in exchange for the 11th pick, plus additional picks in the second and fourth round.

Seattle selects Florida State defensive end Peter Boulware, while the Ravens grab defensive back Michael Booker, a teammate of Phillips at Nebraska, hoping a familiar face will settle Phillips down. Phillips greets Booker at his first press conference with a hug, then hands him a ski mask. Sun columnist Ken Rosenthal writes a column wondering whether Peter Angelos’ sons might be drafting for the Ravens from behind the scenes.

April 18, 1998 — Eager to give new head coach (and offensive genius) Brian Billick some offensive firepower, the Ravens convince Arizona to trade the second pick to them instead of San Diego. Baltimore then snags Washington State quarterback Ryan Leaf.

“The fact that he could throw a football 80 yards in the air, through the goalposts, from behind his back while drinking a beer convinced me we’d found our quarterback for the next 15 years, at least,” Billick says.

Billick tells the media he had hoped to lend Leaf his labtop computer so that Leaf could get an early start on learning Baltimore’s 85,000 plays, but that plan had to be scrapped after Phillips stole it and pawned it.

“We are not going to retry the case of Lawrence Phillips here today,” Billick scolds the press. “You are not qualified!”

Desperate to fill their hole at middle linebacker, the Ravens select Ohio State’s Andy Katzenmoyer.

April 17, 1999 — Although the Ravens go into the draft targeting Arizona cornerback Chris McAlister, the Cardinals (using the draft picks they garnered in the Leaf trade) select him instead.

Baltimore decides to take the best player available, Ohio State wide receiver David Boston, who shows up at training camp looking ripped, running the 40 in 4.2 seconds despite being 274 pounds. Boston says he's been training in the offseason with Seattle Mariners first baseman David Segui.

"I'm going to encourage him to re-sign with the Orioles when his contract is up," Boston says. "I think he could really be a great mentor to some of the younger prospects that the Orioles have."  

April 15, 2000 — With Phillips serving a 10-year bid in Jessup for assault, battery and theft of cable television broadcasts from Comcast, the Ravens fill their need at running back by selecting Ron Dayne of Wisconsin, passing on Tennessee running back Jamal Lewis because of injury concerns.

As a joke, Sun columnist Peter Schmuck approaches Ryan Leaf — who is coming off a disastrous rookie season — in the days leading up to the draft. Schmuck asks Leaf if the Ravens should consider picking Michigan quarterback Tom Brady in the late rounds to be his understudy.

“Knock it off!” Leaf screams. “Don’t talk to me!”

Five games into the season 1999, Billick yanks Leaf and inserts Stoney Case.

“I’ve found my quarterback!” Billick declares. "I can imagine him taking snaps for the next 15 years, at least."

April 21, 2001 — After trading down, swapping picks with the Super Bowl champion New York Giants, Baltimore selects Oregon State wide receiver Chad Johnson. Billick yanks Case in the third quarter of the season opener and inserts backup Trent Dilfer, who leads the Ravens to a respectable 9-7 record. After the season, Dilfer is released because he doesn't fit into the Ravens "scheme." 

The Broncos, led by linebacker Ray Lewis, win their third Super Bowl in five years.

April 20, 2002 — The Ravens make a bold decision to trade Mobley, Johnson, and the 24th pick in the first round to the Lions for the rights to Oregon quarterback Joey Harrington.

The Lions use the 24th pick to select Miami safety Ed Reed.

“I’ve found my quarterback!” Billick says. “The fact that he could throw a football 60 yards through the goal posts, from one knee, while playing the piano convinced me he was going to be our quarterback for the next 15 years, at least.”

April 26, 2003 — When the Ravens' phone lines don’t work on draft day — making it impossible for the team to trade up and grab wide receiver Charles Rogers — Billick accuses Sun columnist Mike Preston of cutting them.

Using a borrowed cell phone, Billick calls former Chiefs quarterback Elvis Grbac and asks if he wants to come out of retirement.

"I've found my quarterback!" Billick says. "The fact that he could throw a wobbly spiral into the dirt while sweat dripped out of his tear ducts convinced me he could be our quarterback for the next 15 minutes, at least."

April 24, 2004 — After assuming control of the team from Art Modell, new owner Steve Bisciotti decides to fire Billick and give the job to Iowa coach Kirk Ferentz. Ferentz encourages the Ravens to select offensive lineman Robert Gallery, also of Iowa.

“I really think he could be the next Jonathan Ogden,” Ferentz says. “You don’t want to miss out on a building block like that.”

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As I said in a post earlier this morning, I thought someone must be spiking Peter King's hazelnut latte with LSD if he thought the Ravens were taking Chad Henne in the first round, but maybe I'm the one on drugs. King, who talked to Henne Monday night, has a full column on SI.com discussing his belief that Henne is the Ravens guy, and that he'll develop into the quarterback of the future for a franchise that hasn't really had one.

King used these points (in bold) to make his case:

The Ravens sent offensive coordinator Cam Cameron and quarterbacks coach Hue Jackson to Michigan's Pro Day to see Henne's workout. Cameron and Jackson drove to Albright College in Reading, Pa., near Henne's hometown of Wyomissing, Pa., two weeks ago to work Henne out for 90 minutes -- with Henne's local fans, about 100 of them, coming out of the woodwork to watch the drills. The Ravens gave Henne an offensive playbook, asked him to learn as much as he could in a few days, then had him visit their facility in Owings Mills, Md.. They spent a morning testing him and putting him on the board to see how he'd fit in the offense.

Cameron is a former Wolverine assistant coach. Coach John Harbaugh grew up in Ann Arbor, and his brother was a star Michigan quarterback. Andy Moeller, Baltimore's assistant offensive line coach, coached at Michigan last year and has been singing Henne's praises through the building this spring. So no team is as plugged in regarding Henne as Baltimore. And the news is all good. They think Henne can be a winning NFL quarterback.

 
King is a great reporter, with better contacts than just about anyone in the league, so if he's hearing that the Ravens are onto Henne, I'd wager there is at least some truth to it. Maybe the whole thing is a smokescreen too, with someone leaking information to King that they want out there, but he's pretty smart when it comes to sniffing out that kind of thing, so I'd be inclined to think it's real.

One of Henne's assets is supposedly his big game experience, although I find it hard to be blown away by a guy who lost all four games to Ohio State during his career. He is, however, a big kid with a strong arm who has been accurate throughout his career. King seems to think he can step in right away, which strikes me as crazy talk. We'll never really know what affect it had on Boller's development when Billick threw him into the fire right away, but I'd contend it wasn't good. It will be interesting to see how it plays out. But I don't know that many saw this coming.

Here is blog post summarizing Henne's lackluster big-game performances at Michigan.

The blog's contention is, most of it wasn't Henne's fault.  

Posted by Kevin Van Valkenburg at 5:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (16) | TrackBacks (0)
                    

 
KVV note: I'm writing a regular Saturday column now that runs in the print edition of Sun, and it is linked elsewhere on the site. But because I'm partial to my Life of Kings readership (Hi mom!), and because I enjoy the give and take aspect of a blog (it feels less like me shouting down at you from the mountain top, and more like a conversation among friends where you can tell me when I'm wrong) I thought I'd also post it here. Have a good Saturday, folks. Thanks for all your interesting comments this week.

 
Steve McNair was tougher than a piece of cheap beef jerky.

Erik Bedard is as soft as wet Kleenex.

Who knows whether either of those statements is even remotely true, but they've become almost gospel to fans in our small part of the sports universe.

We admire the way McNair played through pain, gritting his teeth and dragging his bruised and battered body onto the field each Sunday. And we snickered with glee when we saw Bedard going on the disabled list (yet again) with an injury because it confirms our belief the Orioles made the right move in trading him.

One athlete was tough; the other was not.

Problem is, it's rarely that simple.

There are few statements more upsetting to an athlete than when someone - be it an owner, a coach, a fan or a journalist - questions his toughness, because you are essentially questioning his heart, his desire, the pride he has in himself to put in an honest day's work.

And there are few things more unfair.

Do professional athletes dog it? Certainly. Remember Pittsburgh outfielder Derek Bell, who in 2002 infamously told reporters he was about to commence "Operation Shutdown" if the Pirates made him compete for a job rather than risk injury? There are plenty of athletes like Bell; they just don't share his candor (or, one could argue, foolishness).

The problem is, it's a fairly bold judgment to make about someone when there is no way you can crawl inside his head and find out just how tough he really is or how much pain he's willing to endure.

People often say that, because professional athletes make millions of dollars, they should be willing to fight through just about anything.

After all, if factory workers can drag themselves to work every day for 30 years, the least an NFL linebacker can do is fight through a deep thigh bruise. Ronnie Lott, after all, once cut off the tip of his pinkie just in time for the NFL playoffs.

But there are consequences to such bravado.

We admire Brett Favre for his courage during his career, and lionize him for his consecutive-games streak, overlooking the fact it probably wouldn't have been possible without his addiction to Vicodin early in his career. Favre was able to overcome that addiction, but not every professional athlete is so lucky.

Frankly, the example of Lott asking a doctor to snip off the tip of his pinky rather than let it heal is brought up far too often as an example of what a courageous athlete will do for his team. Say this out loud and ask yourself just how insane it sounds: A grown man decided to lop off part of his finger so he could play in a football game. And as a reward for this act of toughness, the 49ers eventually let him finish his Hall of Fame career with the Raiders, Jets and Cheifs.

Don't think that the practice of questioning an athlete's toughness doesn't have a trickle-down effect, either. When I was 15 years old, I was a decent enough football player that I was invited to attend a summer football camp at Boise State University with the varsity squad. I was thrilled, and willing to do practically anything to prove myself to the coach and the older players.

My first day of camp, I slammed into a defensive lineman, trying to throw a block to spring our star tailback, and felt an excruciating pain knife down my neck and shoulder. The trainers diagnosed it as a pinched nerve - a "stinger" in football parlance - and told me I could return to the field whenever I was ready.

Several days passed, and the pain didn't go away. Other players (and a few coaches) looked at me with barely concealed scorn. I was soft, they whispered. Clearly, I was not tough enough for varsity football. One senior actually punched me in the shoulder to prove I was faking, then laughed when I crumpled in pain.

It bothered me so much that, on the final day of camp, I swallowed four Extra Strength Tylenol, suited up and played. I threw blocks and gritted my teeth, and did my best to earn their respect. If told I could make the pain go away by snipping off the tip of my pinkie, I might have considered it.

A few days later, I got home and went to a real doctor. He took an X-ray of my right shoulder and neck.

As it turned out, my right collarbone had been broken for a week.

It wasn't exactly Jack Youngblood playing in the NFC Championship game with a broken leg, but at least I had proven I was tough enough for varsity football.

Toughness counts, in sports and in life. There's no denying that. But the next time you want to call a professional athlete soft because he doesn't want to play through pain, say to yourself: Maybe he's really hurting. Besides, would I ask my son or daughter to do the same thing?

PHOTO: AP 

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Although it leaves the Ravens in a bit of a bind for the upcoming 2008 season, Steve McNair's retirement today is ultimately going to be a good thing for a franchise that simply could not stay in neutral for another season in its search for a franchise quarterback.

McNair was a warrior, the kind of player who could play through almost any kind of pain. It seemed like the last few seasons his name was permanently etched into the injury report. He was tough, and toughness, ultimately, counts for a lot when you're trying to set an example for an entire franchise. But let's be honest: The man's body was betraying him.

It didn't matter how many crunches McNair did this off-season, or how good of shape he arrived in, he wasn't going to make it through the season playing every game. That was a fantasy, and Ravens fans were swallowing it because the alternative was kind of scary. Even when he was healthy, he was getting by on grit and guile. His throws lacked the zip they once had, and he was almost a statue in the pocket. Every time he had to move, even if it was just to avoid the rush, you held your breath and prayed that his calf or his hamstring wouldn't give out. You need your whole body to fire a football into tight spaces in the NFL, and with a brittle torso and wobbly legs, McNair's arm could no longer do the work on its own. 

Professional football is a brutal game, requiring injections and massages and pill-popping for breakfast that we never hear about just to be able to function on Sundays. You can't blame McNair for realizing he just wasn't up to it anymore. He knows his body better than anyone. This is a man, after all, who once played half a season with a bruised sternum. One by one, his body parts broke down in recent years: his back, his groin, his shoulder, his toe, his head.

And so, instead of dealing with a pulled hamstring in Week 4 that would ultimately mean the team would have to throw Kyle Boller or Troy Smith into the mix without getting them maximum amount of first-team reps, now the Ravens can, hopefully, plan accordingly.

They can hand over the keys, for now, to Boller or Smith, and take a long, hard look at what's out there in the draft and in the free agent market. It's time for a long-term soloution at that position, not another Ace Bandage. McNair did the Ravens a favor, and probably did himself one too. Someday, years from now, when's he's still able to bend over and lift up his grandkids, he'll be thankful that he didn't try to gut it out through one more season.

The Ravens may be scrambling today, but they'll be thankful someday too. They can thank McNair for a 13-3 season, and for his professionalism and leadership. In truth, he'll always be remembered as a Tennessee Titan, and there is nothing wrong wit that. He gave the Ravens what he had left until the tank ran dry, and then knew when it was best for him to walk away. Maybe he could have hung up his cleats at the end of last season, but he deserved a chance to let himself heal and see if he had one more dance left in him. In the end, he did not.

Is the short term plan in chaos? I doubt it. Deep down, even though they said all the right things publically, the Ravens probably knew this day might come sooner rather than later.

And now the long-term plan should be better for it.  

Sun photo: Ken Lam

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Last week in The Life of Kings, I posed the question of whether the Ravens should take a chance on Boston College quarterback Matt Ryan, should he fall to them at No. 8. A spirited, and I think healthy, debate ensued in the comments that followed, with posters equally divided on whether or not it was the right move. Those who thought that Ryan might be a reach that high seemed inclined to roll the dice on one of the other quarterbacks that might be avaliable later, like Louisville's Brian Brohm, Michigan's Chad Henne, Delware's Joe Flacco or even Hawaii's Colt Brennan.

After mulling it over, I feel like I've got a better idea, and it won't cost the Ravens more than a third or fourth round pick: Oregon's Dennis Dixon.  

Dixon, if you can recall, was probably the best quarterback in the country for much of last season, and would almost certainly be a first-day pick in this year's draft if he hadn't torn up his knee against Arizona State late in the year with the Ducks leading by 19 points. When I look at Dixon, and when I read this interesting profile by Sports Illustrated's Lee Jenkins about Dixon's rehab process, I'm reminded of Ravens running back Wllis McGahee, who suffered a gruesome knee injury in the 2003 Fiesta Bowl against Ohio State, but still managed to rehab and become an elite NFL player.

I realize some people's immediate reaction might be: Why draft Dixon when we already have a similar quarterback in Troy Smith? But don't fall into that trap. They're not that similar, and if you think so, it might have more to do with their skin color than their actual size and skills.

Smith -- who I'm actually intrigued by, and would like to see get a shot -- is generously listed at 6-feet. Height is always going to be an issue for him. He tumbled down draft boards because he had trouble making reads when he had pressure in his face in the National Championship game. He's shown some flashes of poise and playmaking ability in the pros, but there are still questions about his arm strength and whether or not he can overcome his lack of height.

Dixon is 6-foot-4, and has (or at least had) blazing speed (check out his 80-yard run against Houston), plus he was completing a jaw-dropping 67.7 percent of his passes at Oregon before he was injured. He has a cannon of an arm. And unlike a lot of college football players, he left school with a degree, graduating in sociology with a 3.27 GPA. In addition to the fact that he out-played Ryan, Brohm, and Henne when he was healthy, what I like best about Dixon is that he's fearless. Check out his web site, www.dennisdixon10.com. Because Dixon wasn't healthy enough to attend the combine, it features videos of Dixon running, throwing, reading coverage, all post-surgery. He's basicaly said to scouts: I'm an open book. You don't believe in me? Please, please check out my web site. Just give me a chance.

Dixon wouldn't cost nearly as much as Ryan, who, as the first quarterback drafted, will certainly have the right to ask for a sizeable signing bonus. If he doesn't work out, then you're out a third or a fourth round pick. Ravens offensive coordinator Cam Cameron worked wonders at Indiana with another fleet-footed quarterback, Antwaan Randle El. Dixon might be a bigger, more accurate version of Randle El, and if it doesn't work out in a few years, the Ravens could probably turn him into a wide receiver (because he has the size). If his knee is healthy -- and to be fair, that's a big if -- he could be a cross between Vince Young and Donovan McNabb.

Matt Ryan is going to be a gamble either way. More first round quarterbacks are busts than all-Pros, and they cost a lot more. Ever been car shopping? With Matt Ryan, you have to pay the sticker price, and with no mark downs. With Dixon, you're getting a discount. All the other buyers have been scared away because the car had a scratch on it, even though the scratch has already been repaired and buffed to a shine.

If you're the Ravens, you going to pick a quarterback at some point. Instead of Ryan, why not roll the dice, later, on someone with just as much talent?  

Photo: AP 

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You know what? I’m not ashamed to say it. No disrespect to John Harbaugh, but I’m going to miss Brian Billick.

Not Billick the playcaller or Billick the strategist. Like most, I had my fill of those. It’s probably the case that I’ll never watch a Ravens wide receiver catch a 6-yard pass on 3rd-and-7 again without thinking of Billick, on the sideline, looking on in dismay. And I’m not sure I’ll ever believe that the decision to get rid of Trent Dilfer after the Super Bowl was about anything other than ego.

But I will miss the man who was on display Wednesday at Towson University, speaking to a communications class about standing at the crossroads of life. Billick, according to the story written by my colleague Don Markus, was funny and biting, full of bombast at times, yet contemplative and ruminative at others. He was even humbled when he told the story of his recent trip to Iraq, where he met with U.S. soldiers, some of them who weren’t even old enough to buy a beer.

I always felt like the public misunderstood the media’s relationship with Billick, with his defenders claiming reporters or columnists hated him, and assuming we couldn’t stand his arrogance and bluster. While I never covered Billick on a daily basis, and I can’t speak for every member of the media, I always loved the Shakespearean character that was Brian Billick. That didn’t mean I thought he was a great coach, it just meant I thought he was never dull, which is really all we ask for when we cover someone.

When I read that Billick is contemplating taking a media job, it made me smile. This, after all, was a man who once smugly told reporters after Elvis Grbac led Baltimore to a surprise last-minute victory: "That’s why coaches coach, players play and writers write."

This philosophy of absolutes does not extend, apparently, to becoming a network talking head — he’s reportedly going to help the NFL Network with its draft coverage — but that’s ok. Because while watching Billick contradict himself over the years might have been maddening at times for the fans, I always thought it was fascinating. Did Billick really believe half the stuff he was saying? Was he full of complexities and nuance? Or was he just skilled enough at the art of bullying that it didn’t matter what was true and what was bluster?

I always felt like Billick’s defining moment, the one that caused so many media people to turn on him forever (especially the national media), was actually an act of brilliance disguised as arrogance. It may not have even been intentional on Billick’s part, but I think it was. It came at the Super Bowl in Tampa, when Billick gave his now infamous lecture about how the media wasn’t "qualified" to retry Ray Lewis’ double-murder trial on the eve of the championship.

Billick knew he couldn’t control what the media was going to write about or talk about, especially at the Super Bowl. But he needed, if only for a moment, to take the heat off Lewis and remind his team that the country, at least outside of Baltimore, was rooting against them. My friends and I still laugh whenever one of us shouts out snippets of Billick’s "You’re not qualified!" speech. It was his Mercutio moment, casting a plague on all our houses.

It worked, though. For one day, all the focus was on what an insufferable blowhard Billick was, and not that Ray Lewis had been involved in a double homicide at the previous Super Bowl. It says a lot about both Billick and Lewis that Billick stood there that day and took all those arrows for Lewis, and Lewis still ripped the coach’s playcalling years later on his radio show when the Ravens ship was sinking.

It was a double-edged sword though, because over the years, Billick ended up leaning on the "you foolish media" crutch a few too many times to explain away the Ravens' on-field bumbling. At the end, you could tell his heart wasn’t even in it the way he’d mumble through brief post-game press conferences, then take a quick dig at the supposed expertise of any reporter who tried to assess what they’d witnessed.

Right or wrong, it was always great theater. Very few, if any, took it personally. He was always interesting, even when he was blowing kisses at opposing players. It was always better than having a complete bore for a head coach. Media from other cities often told us they wished they had someone like Billick to cover.

Now that he’s contemplating joining our ranks, even if it’s only temporary, we promise to welcome him with open arms. Yes, coaches are supposed to coach, players are supposed to play, and writers are supposed to write, but we won’t try to tell Billick he’s "not qualified."

We only ask that he be interesting, just like he always was.

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