Next Man Up

by John Feinstein

  Nowadays, most players arrive in camp physically ready to play and to deal with two-a-days. They have learned a lot of the plays during the minicamps. Players are closely monitored on hot days and given frequent water breaks. Most training camps start at the end of July, rather than in early July, and last no more than four weeks. The exhibition season—or in the euphemistic world of the NFL, “preseason”—is four games long, as opposed to twenty-five years ago, when all teams played six exhibition games and the lucky twosome selected for the Hall of Fame Game played seven meaningless games.

  There may be no training camp in football that is easier on the players than the one Brian Billick runs. Around the NFL, Camp Billick is jokingly referred to as “the Love Boat” or “Club Med.” Which is exactly what Billick wants it to be. He subscribes to the theory that players react best to a coach who treats them like men and asks them to behave like men in return. He is also a believer that a team that doesn’t beat itself up in July and August is likely to have more left in the tank in December and January, when the games mean the most and many teams are running on fumes.

  No one appreciates the Billick approach more than the Ravens’ veterans who vividly remember the three training camps run by Ted Marchibroda. Marchibroda was an old-school coach, one who believed in full pads twice a day, every day, and all-out hitting to separate the men from the boys. “It was brutal,” Ray Lewis, probably the best-conditioned of the Ravens, remembered. “We wore ourselves out. Check our record in close games those three years. We’d get to the fourth quarter and be worn out because we’d left so much on the practice field. Check our record under Billick in the fourth quarter and in December and January. That tells you all you need to know.”

  Under Marchibroda, the Ravens went 1-3, 2-2, and 1-3 in their final four games of each season. Under Billick, they were a combined 13-7, and 5-2 in postseason, meaning they were 18-9 overall in late-season and postseason games. Perhaps coincidence. Neither Billick nor the players think so. “Whatever you may think of Brian Billick, and I know a lot of people have a lot of different opinions about him, the man knows what he’s doing,” said Corey Fuller, the eleventh-year defensive back who has played on Billick-coached teams in both Minnesota and Baltimore. “Players want to play for Billick. They know he won’t kill them, they know he’ll be fair, and they know he’s as well organized as anyone. You can’t really ask for anything more.”

  Training camp 2004 began on Thursday, July 29, a predictably hot and breezy day in Westminster, Maryland. The Ravens had trained in Westminster since their first season, on the campus of what had once been Western Maryland College, now renamed McDaniel College. The small, tree-lined campus was almost perfect for an NFL team. There were two football fields: one down the hill from the field house, in the 10,000-seat stadium where McDaniel played its Division 3 games during the fall, and a second one located right outside the locker rooms, where makeshift stands were set up on the shady side of the field so that fans could watch. On most days, the team would practice in the morning on the stadium field, which had the same kind of artificial turf on it that the Ravens played on in M&T Bank Stadium. In the afternoon, mostly to save the players’ legs, they practiced on the upper field, which had a natural grass surface.

  The team had just re-upped with McDaniel for six years. There had been some pressure to move from Michael Busch, the speaker of the Maryland House of Delegates, who was pushing Frostburg State (which was in his district), and from John Moag, the man who had helped broker the sale of the team. He wanted the Ravens to consider his alma mater, Washington College, which was on the Eastern Shore. Bob Eller, the team’s operations director, was a Towson graduate, so that school got a look, too. In the end, McDaniel had everything the team needed logistically and aesthetically, so they returned there.

  Training camp got off to a mixed beginning as far as Billick was concerned. The good news was that he and Bisciotti had agreed on a new contract extension that guaranteed Billick would coach the Ravens through the 2007 season and raised his pay to about $4.5 million a year, making him one of the highest-paid coaches in the NFL. What made the new deal important to both men was that it was evidence that their rocky start was nothing more than that. Both men recognized that their similarities might cause them to clash at times. But they also both recognized that they liked and respected each other and wanted to work together.

  “I told Brian and Ozzie the same thing,” Bisciotti said. “You guys need to shape me as an owner. I’m new at this, you’re not. They know I’ll listen to them. I think they also understand that I’d like them to listen to me.” What Bisciotti liked about the contract was that it sent a clear sign to Billick that he meant what he had said about wanting him around for the long haul. “Now when I yell at you about something, you have no reason to think I’m thinking of getting rid of you,” he told Billick. Billick understood. The contract was about more than money to him—it was about feeling secure with the new boss.

  The new contract was good. Getting stopped for speeding by a cop on Route 140 just outside Westminster en route to camp was not. During training camp, the local police line Route 140—the road that most people take from Baltimore to Westminster—to pick up those speeding to and from the Ravens’ camp. The players are warned on the first day of camp to beware. Billick had been stopped for speeding a few times during his years in Baltimore but usually got off when the cop realized who he was. Not this time. “The guy wasn’t wrong,” he said. “I was going too fast.”

  The ticket was annoying. Far worse was the news Billick had gotten a couple of days earlier that the team had suffered its first key loss before a snap was taken in camp. It wasn’t an injury, it was an illness. The Ravens had signed Dale Carter just prior to minicamp to be their nickel (third cornerback). Carter was thirty-four and had been a Pro Bowler four times. He also had been suspended twice by the league for violating its substance-abuse policy—which meant he had to have tested positive for drugs at least three times, since a player isn’t suspended until the second positive test. At his best, Carter had been a shutdown cornerback, someone other teams rarely tested. At his worst, he had a drug problem. The Ravens didn’t expect Carter to be what he had been at his peak, but they didn’t need him to be since he would be expected to play only between fifteen and twenty-five snaps a game and come in only in passing situations. They had signed him to an incentive-laden contract that allowed them to release him with very little financial risk at the first sign of trouble or if he didn’t have the skills necessary to succeed anymore in the NFL.

  Minicamp had been encouraging. It was clear that Carter could still play. He was saying all the right things about being given another chance and how grateful he was to have it. But Carter’s pre-training camp physical had turned up a blood clot in his lungs. The doctors recommended that he not play football, it was just too risky. The day before camp began, the Ravens announced that Carter wouldn’t be with the team. Even though they didn’t have to pay Carter anything, the Ravens gave him an injury settlement, paying a small portion of what he would have earned had he stayed on the team all season. “He came to us in good faith and tried hard,” Newsome said. “It wasn’t as if he did anything wrong. He just caught a bad break.”

  Carter’s bad break meant the Ravens didn’t have anyone in camp who filled the bill as a third cornerback behind starters Chris McAlister and Gary Baxter. Corey Fuller had been an effective cornerback for most of his career, but at thirty-three, everyone—including Fuller—agreed he was better off playing safety. Chad Williams had become a solid dime back (number three safety) but might be overmatched at times moving up to the third spot at corner. The same would be true for Raymond Walls, another young defensive back who was far better suited to playing safety.

  Even without Carter, the Ravens arrived in camp with high hopes. They would be headquartered for four weeks at the Best Western Westminster, which sits right off Route 140, about half a mile down a back road from the McDaniel campus and the
practice fields. For the Ravens this was an ideal setup. The team rented the entire hotel, all 160 rooms, throughout camp. They used the rooms as offices for the coaches and front office people, as workrooms and film rooms, and as rooms for the players. The sign out front read simply, NO VACANCIES UNTIL AUGUST 24TH. Security patrolled to keep any unauthorized vehicles out of the parking lot, and anyone without ID either as a player, Ravens staff, or media could not enter the hotel. The hotel had a small convention center, complete with meeting rooms, a banquet room that served as the team’s cafeteria, and a hallway filled with video games that the players frequented. The drive from the hotel to the field-house parking lot took anywhere from one to three minutes, depending on whether you made the light at the bottom of the hill.

  The veteran players wouldn’t spend all that much time there. After the first four nights of camp, the veterans were not required to spend nights at the hotel. Most of them lived no more than forty-five minutes from Westminster, so once the evening meetings were over, they jumped in their cars and drove home. Only the rookies and players who had not spent a full season on the active roster had to stay in the hotel overnight once those first few days were out of the way. There was no bed check for those who did stay. Lights-out was eleven o’clock, and Billick expected it to be adhered to without having to check rooms. The Ravens did not eat the hotel’s food. Town and Country, the same caterer that provided the team’s food at the Owings Mills facility, supplied the food for camp.

  Billick’s first-night speech to his players wasn’t very different from the one he had given on the first morning of minicamp. This was a team that had a chance to go to the Super Bowl. It had the talent and the experience to play with anyone in the league. The only starter not back was wide receiver Marcus Robinson, and the team believed that he could easily be replaced by the combination of veteran Kevin Johnson and the drafted rookies, Devard Darling and Clarence Moore. Knowing that the players were aware of his new contract, Billick used it to make a point:

  “The only person in this room who has exactly what he wants right now is me,” he said. “I’ve got the job I want and the contract I want. As much as I respect Ozzie, there’s no amount of money in the world you could pay me to have his job and deal with all of your agents all the time. You rookies, you want to make this team, draw an NFL salary. Special teams guys and backups, you want a chance to start. Starters, you want to get to the Pro Bowl level, get that big contract that sets you up forever. Pro Bowlers, you want to be All-Pro, take that next step toward the Hall of Fame. Hall of Famers, you want one more big contract. Position coaches, you want to be coordinators. Coordinators, you want to be a head coach. So, all of you have something to play for, something to reach for, something to work for. It starts tomorrow.”

  The players liked Billick’s direct approach. He would not have stood in front of the 2002 team and talked about the Super Bowl. He was very straight with them about expectations, trying not to set the bar too high or too low. He honestly believed this team had a chance to reach the top. Everyone else in the room believed it, too.

  Even before the first horn had blown to start the first workout of training camp, it was apparent that the players and coaches weren’t the only ones who thought the Ravens would be playing deep into the postseason. Long before the scheduled 8:45 A.M. start of the first practice, cars were snaking down Route 140 and the back roads leading into Westminster, many of them adorned with purple Ravens flags or Ravens bumper stickers. Spectators poured into the parking lots of McDaniel and surrounded the lower practice field, some sitting in the bleachers right below the giant RAVENSTOWN sign. Others ringed the field, sitting on the grassy hills below the orange-brick dorm buildings and on the hillside at the end of the field where the players entered. Just below the parking lots were the school’s tennis courts, which had been converted into the “Ravens Experience,” complete with games and contests and concessions and souvenirs. Corporate signs could be seen all around the complex. There was no charge to watch practice or to park. But training camp, like everything else associated with the NFL, was an opportunity to make a few extra dollars. The Ravens could have made more if they wanted to—some teams charged people to park their cars—but they opted to make spending any money voluntary.

  Every training-camp practice was open to the public. Some teams open parts of practice or close certain practices entirely. The Washington Redskins, under returning Hall of Fame coach Joe Gibbs, would actually hold several practices at undisclosed locations.

  There were almost five thousand people on hand for the Ravens’ opening practice. They cheered the players as they came onto the field. They cheered any time Jamal Lewis broke through the line carrying the ball or when Ray Lewis chased someone down or when Kyle Boller completed a long pass. The conditions on the first morning were perfect—warm but not humid, with enough breeze to keep everybody comfortable. Billick was pleased with what he saw until the last fifteen minutes. Perhaps getting a little bit ahead of themselves, the players got sloppy those last few minutes: a missed tackle, a poor throw, a fumble after a catch. Billick wasn’t happy with what he saw but he also knew the carelessness gave him an opportunity to make a point. When the team gathered at midfield after the two-hour-and-fifteen-minute workout, Billick let the players have it.

  “Fifteen minutes ago I was ready to kiss your ass,” he said. “Then you started dropping balls and making mental errors at the end. That’s no good. I can get any slapdick sitting on this hill to come out here and drop passes, fumble the ball, and miss cuts. You can’t afford to play well for an entire game or practice and then piss down your leg at the end. Vince Lombardi once said that he didn’t develop character, he just takes eighty guys and finds the fifty-three with the most character. Don’t think you can’t get cut, you can. I know a lot about getting cut, I went through it twice myself. Okay? So let’s come out here this afternoon and be sharp the whole practice.”

  One message delivered, he had another one of an entirely different nature. “I want you guys to take a few minutes signing autographs coming out of here,” he said. “You’ve got staff waiting down there with Sharpies you can use. Just keep moving along the rope, but give these people some time. They’re the ones who pay your salary, they’re the ones who pay my salary.” He paused. “Well, there probably aren’t enough of them here today to pay all of my salary.”

  They all got a laugh out of that line. Then they headed for the locker room. To get there, they had to walk up a hill that had been roped on each side, much the way a golf course is roped so that players can walk from green to tee. On both sides, fans pressed against the ropes, pleading for autographs. Following Billick’s instructions, most of the players moved slowly along the rope, signing and walking, signing and walking. Billick and his assistants also signed as they made their way up the hill. Once they reached the top of the hill, most sprinted across the upper practice field so they could grab a shower, get back to the hotel for lunch, and then take a nap before the afternoon meetings began.

  Training camp is all about ritual. A typical Ravens day began about seven o’clock with breakfast, followed by morning meetings, getting taped, and morning practice. Lunch, a rest period, afternoon meetings, and afternoon practice followed. Then came dinner and evening meetings. Two days a week, afternoon practice was special teams only, meaning some of the regulars got a breather. The morning meetings were usually devoted to going over the plays that would be used in practice that day. The afternoon meeting was a review of morning practice and a brief primer on the afternoon. The evening meetings were another review.

  While the players were resting, the coaches were usually meeting, going over tape, discussing player performance, deciding which players were surprising them, which were disappointing. There were eighty-five players in camp on the first day, down from the eighty-seven who had been on the roster at the end of minicamp. Carter’s illness had cut the roster to eighty-six, and Mike Solwold had been cut a couple of hours prior to the
first meeting.

  Solwold was an example of why life in the NFL is a lot harder than it appears. He was a long snapper who had come into the league out of Wisconsin as an undrafted free agent in 2001. In three seasons he had been waived or cut a total of six times by four teams. He had been activated by the Ravens late in the 2003 season as insurance because Joe Maese, their regular long snapper, had chronic back problems. Now Maese was healthy, the Ravens had a rookie long snapper named Don Muhlbach in camp, and Solwold’s leg injury, suffered in minicamp, had healed. If he had still been injured, the Ravens would have had to give Solwold an injury settlement in order to cut him. Since he had the misfortune to be completely healthy, they owed him nothing.

  Solwold was twenty-six, bright and engaging, a college graduate who had spent time during the off-season working as an intern at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History. He understood how the NFL worked and took the news in stride even though he admitted to being a little surprised to make the drive to Westminster and then get cut. “I thought maybe I slept on the wrong side of the bed,” he said. When Billick gave him the “we might bring you back” portion of his exit speech, Solwold shook his head emphatically. “No way, Coach,” he said. “I’m not coming back here unless you let me play quarterback.”

  It was one of the few times in his coaching career Billick could remember laughing while cutting a player.

  It was en route to dinner after the first day’s afternoon practice that Corey Fuller had an idea. He had spent the off-season preparing to be a safety. Now, with Dale Carter gone, the Ravens were telling him to think of himself as a cornerback again. Fuller knew that wouldn’t be the best thing for him or for the team. He had spent a good portion of the day thinking about who might be available to come in and be the Ravens’ third cornerback. Just before he walked in the doorway that led to the cafeteria, he had a brainstorm.