The 2000 Ravens remain one of the most iconic teams in NFL history, a perfect blend of all-world talent, unforgettable personalities, and a lunch-pail work ethic that resonated with Baltimore’s blue-collar fan base. With their legendary defense and ball-control offense, the team rolled to a 12-4 regular season record before buzz sawing through the Broncos, Titans, and Raiders in the playoffs and treating the Giants like an afterthought in Super Bowl XXXV.

The team’s on-the-field achievements deserve celebration, but their arrival in 1996 helped heal the emotional scars that formed when the Colts bolted for Indianapolis a dozen years earlier. It wasn’t the smoothest of starts for the returning team. They played in crumbling Memorial Stadium, lost more than they won, and searched for an identity of their own in the shadows of Johnny, Raymond, Gino, and Art. All that was forgotten when a new crop of superstars—with names like Ray, Jonathan, Peter, and Goose—captured the franchise’s first Lombardi trophy.

Twenty-five years after that defining season, a few of the team’s stars and the man who led them look back at what made the 2000 Ravens one of the greatest teams of all time.

Brian Billick, Head Coach: The Super Bowl run was wholly unexpected and that’s what made it extremely special, not only to the team and the fans, but also to the city of Baltimore, which had lost its beloved Colts. Looking back now makes you realize how great a season that was.

Jonathan Ogden, Left Tackle: We were a great mix of talent, and it was such a good group of guys. It’s always special to look back and remember that we reached the mountaintop. That’s so difficult to do, at any level, and being able to win a championship in the NFL is something I think about all the time.

Qadry Ismail, Wide Receiver: We were like the island of misfit toys. Just an eclectic group of guys. The team was so dominant, but I think more than anything, we just learned how to play together. The camaraderie we had that year felt different. Every day in the locker room, the personalities were on full display, but nobody cared about individual achievements. That’s what made the year so special.

Chris McAlister, Cornerback: That team is my brotherhood. Everyone contributed to the journey. Being with that group…there’s nothing I can compare it to. I’ll always remember and love those guys.

Matt Stover, Placekicker: It was a privilege to be a part of that team. Looking back, you realize how hard it is to win it all. To do it at the highest level was incredible.

Peter Boulware, Linebacker: That season was one of the best experiences of my life. The brotherhood meant so much to me and everybody came together for a singular purpose. It was a special group and a special year.

The team defense ranked first in the league in points allowed (165), rushing yards allowed (970), rushing yards per attempt (2.7), and turnovers forced (49), and set the all-time record for the fewest points allowed in a 16-game regular season (165 total points, 10.3 per game). During a week 4 shutout of the Bengals, the defense gave up just four rushing yards.

Billick: We were the Bullies of Baltimore and bought into that reputation. Part of that swagger develops because of how good we were defensively. We played with athletic arrogance.

Boulware: We intimidated teams by destroying their run game. That was our mentality every week. Then we’d bring the pressure on passing downs. We knew we’d get a sack, fumble, or turnover.

McAlister: It was all about being fearless against the run. Football is different now. Back then, we would try to hurt people legally. Every snap, we came downhill to inflict pain. That’s how we imposed our dominance.

Boulware: If you look at the talent we had on that defense, it was incredibly gifted on an individual level. It’s hard to get a collection of outstanding players to set aside their egos and sacrifice personal recognition for the betterment of the team. But that became our identity, not just a message from the top, and it turned into something special.

McAlister: The way guys pushed each other was relentless. Rod Woodson and Ray Lewis demanded a standard of excellence every day and created a will to dominate your teammates. It sounds strange, but that was the mindset. Ray would challenge me to not let the offense catch a single ball during drills. If you’re competing that hard against your brothers, imagine how hard you played when someone from another team lined up across from you.

The team endured a historic touchdown drought between weeks 5 and 9, failing to cross the goal line in five games and an NFL record 55 consecutive offensive possessions. Despite the futility, the team went 2-3 during the tough stretch thanks to its dominant defense and Stover, whose kicks tallied 49 consecutive points. The challenging stretch could have derailed the season, but it instead galvanized the team and gave it its championship identity.

Billick: That stretch became a defining point in the season and showed that we weren’t going to fracture as a team, which isn’t always the case in the NFL when you go through something like that. I realized we needed a strategic recalibration, and knew the defense was special enough that if we ran the ball effectively and didn’t turn it over, we could win the Super Bowl.

Ismail: A lot of it came down to inconsistent quarterback play. But credit to the coaching staff for leaning into our strengths. We had [running backs] Jamal Lewis and Priest Holmes, who were real dudes, pounding the rock. Jonathan Ogden and Orlando Brown Jr. were two big-bodied tackles anchoring the line, and Jeff Mitchell was holding things down at center. It all started to come together from that point on. Control the field position with the run game, throw the ball to Shannon [Sharpe] in the middle, and take occasional shots on the outside. That became our identity.

Ogden: We just continued to fight. We were thankful we had a great defense, and we understood that we weren’t pulling our weight offensively. We weren’t happy about that, so we kept working to get better. When Trent [Dilfer] replaced Tony [Banks] at quarterback, Billick adopted a more conservative offensive philosophy. We started running the ball more and leaning on Priest and Jamal. The mindset became: Let’s find a way to get 14 points and not turn the ball over.

Boulware: As a defense, we decided to do more than keep teams off the board. [Defensive Coordinator Marvin Lewis] came into a defensive meeting and said, “Preventing points isn’t good enough anymore. Take the ball away. If we take the ball away, we can score on turnovers.”

Ismail: I honestly can’t remember a moment where any of the defensive guys acted like they were above us. Ray Lewis was an eternal optimist. I remember coming off the field, showing my frustration at our inability to move [the ball]. Ray looks over and says, “Hey, hey, hey, baby, don’t, don’t do that. I’m telling you, watch this.” I’m still trying to calm down and took a swig of Gatorade. I look up at the scoreboard and back down at my cup, and Ray is already back on the sideline [after forcing a turnover]. “I told you we’d get it back for you. Now go play,” he says before patting me on the ass and walking away.

McAlister: I think that’s when we became closer as a team, especially as a defensive unit. Our mentality shifted. It became, “As long as teams don’t score, they don’t win.” Those games showed we had what it takes to get the job done. If we were stuck together, we would be fine. We told the offense, don’t worry about it. Just keep fighting.

Ismail: Without the consistency of “Money” Matt during that stretch, there is no Super Bowl. We knew that whenever the field goal team trotted out on the field Matt would get us three points.

Stover: We could’ve fallen apart as a team when we weren’t scoring touchdowns, but we didn’t. To know they felt like we wouldn’t have won games during that stretch without my kicking is a special thing to look back on.

Billick had taken over as head coach in January 1999 and immediately made his mark with as much bravado as the players and added much-needed structure to practices. He also empowered the team’s outsized personalities, with none bigger than Tony “Goose” Siragusa.

Ogden: We got some good players. We drafted well early on, and [General Manager] Ozzie Newsome created a strong foundation for the organization in terms of how we identified talent and the types of players we were looking for. Then Steve Bisciotti bought into the team and brought stability to the organization. Billick was the final piece that helped get us over the top.

Ismail: Billick put together a great coaching staff. He did a masterful job of letting people do their jobs and coach us the right way.

Billick: I wanted to change the team’s expectations of what they could accomplish. In my very first meeting, I told the players that they’d need to decide if they wanted to play in the Pro Bowl or go to the Super Bowl. I let them know that I’d treat them like men if they acted like men. I asked [the veterans] to take responsibility for the culture that we were developing. The younger players bought in because the veterans led the way.

McAlister: Everybody knows Ray was the face of the team, but Goose was probably the most dominant personality and influence. He was completely unfiltered—toward coaches, players, everybody. That’s why everybody loved him. And on top of that, he would do whatever the team needed on the field. The people who knew him best saw his softer side, too. If Goose liked you, he really liked you. You were like family.

Stover: Goose busted everyone’s balls. No one was off limits. That’s important for team chemistry.

Billick: We had a lot of characters who had a lot of character. They had a great time off the field, but also knew when it was time to get to work. Most teams can’t flip the switch like that.

Baltimore bullied its way through the AFC playoffs, dismantling the Denver Broncos 21-3 at home in the Wild Card round before victories against the Tennessee Titans in the Divisional Round and the Oakland Raiders in the AFC Championship game. The Ravens outscored their opponents 95-23 and allowed only one offensive touchdown. It was one of the most dominant championship runs in NFL history.

McAlister: Against Denver, we wanted to dominate in front of our fans and protect our house. People always ask me, “What’s the loudest stadium you ever played in?” I always say Baltimore. At times I couldn’t even hear the guy next to me. We had to use hand signals to communicate because our fans were so rowdy when the other team had the ball.

Boulware: We entered the playoffs with confidence and talked some pretty good trash. We’d already proven what we could do week after week. So, when we said we were going to stop [Titans running back] Eddie George, shut down the Broncos, or contain the Raiders, it was based on everything we had accomplished that season.

McAlister: The Oakland game was billed as a great matchup—top offense versus top defense—but they didn’t fully understand what was coming. We knew we’d destroy them.

Boulware: We found out that [Raiders wide receiver] Andre Rison had planned a team Super Bowl party before they played us. That didn’t go over well in the locker room.

Billick: If you weren’t mentally and emotionally prepared for the physicality we had on both sides of the ball, you weren’t ready for what we brought.

During the 34-7 Super Bowl win, Giants quarterback Kerry Collins threw for only 112 yards, zero touchdowns, and four interceptions, and was sacked four times. His 7.1 quarterback rating is the lowest in Super Bowl history. New York passed the 50-yard line just once, mustered only 152 yards of offense and scored its only touchdown on a kickoff return. Stover booted a 47-yard field goal and McAlister picked off Collins near the goal line to preserve Baltimore’s lead at the half. The championship was essentially won when Jermaine Lewis immediately answered the Giants’ kickoff return for touchdown with an 84-yard kickoff return for a score.

Billick: The Giants were coming off a 41-0 win over the Vikings in the NFL Championship game. They were extremely confident, as they should have been. But I knew the game was ours. The Giants weren’t prepared for how physical we were going to be because they had never experienced it.

Boulware: The Giants didn’t have a chance. That’s how we felt going in. It was one of the most complete wins of our season.

Ismail: We weren’t overthinking the matchup. We were just staying in the moment and handling our business.

Stover: It’s harder to breathe in the Super Bowl. I had to keep telling myself, “Just watch the ball. Slow down. Breathe.”

McAlister: I knew the Giants liked to take shots at the end zone when they got near midfield. Understanding their tendencies let me see the play develop and get in position to make a play on the ball. The interception gave us even more confidence and momentum coming out for the second half.

Stover: I’ll never forget—we’re in the tunnel, getting ready to go out, and Woodson yelled, “Offense gets us 10 points, we win.” We went into halftime with a 10–0 lead, and the defense said, “It’s over. They’re not scoring twice on us.”

Billick: The players believed the game was ours at the half but knew that when they had a team by the throat, they had to finish them. They kept pushing and didn’t let up.

Ogden: When Jermaine returned that kick for a touchdown, I knew we were going to win.

Billick: There was no way the Giants were going to come back in the fourth quarter, so I could look around and soak in the scene. Those were special moments.

Boulware: I was humbled and thanked God for the opportunity, because I don’t care how good you are or how prepared you are, lots of things that are outside of your control need to go your way to win a Super Bowl.

Ismail: I remember thinking, “Wait, what happens now?” Once the confetti started falling, family members joined us on the field, and everyone was soaking in the scene. In the locker room, guys were jumping around, losing it, having the time of their lives.

McAlister: The excitement didn’t fully hit until the confetti dropped from the sky. The grueling two-a-days in training camp, the hard practices, the season-long grind—it all felt worth it in that moment.

Ismail: The afterparty at the team hotel was unbelievable. The entire organization was celebrating. Only the players, coaches, and owners were allowed to touch the Lombardi Trophy, but all our guests were taking pictures with it. I remember thinking, “This is pretty darn cool.”

McAlister: There were plenty of cigars and lots of bourbon. We had a good time.

Stover: My wife and I had been through everything together—the move to Baltimore, the difficult early years. Everything that had built up over time culminated in that moment. I felt complete gratitude for the journey and the opportunity to be part of the organization.

Billick: Everyone on the team was aware of what the victory meant to Art Modell after all he had been through in reestablishing the team in Baltimore. We were very emotional when he came into the locker room, realizing it was a lifetime accomplishment for him.

A dreary day and cold rain didn’t dampen the spirits of the 200,000 fans who lined the streets and crowded around City Hall two days after the Super Bowl victory to celebrate the team that brought football glory back to Baltimore.

Ogden: Baltimore is a football town at heart. It was great to see that passion for football come back. In those first few years, fans were almost trying to remember what it was like to have a team again.

Boulware: My first year, we were 4–12 and still played at Memorial Stadium. Those early years were all about trying to find an identity and building something from the ground up. Even now, 25 years later, being a small part of laying those foundational pieces is something I’m proud of. That’s what made the Super Bowl victory so sweet. I’m grateful we could come through for the fans. They loved us, and we loved them.

Ismail: Baltimore is blue-collar city that loves good football. That’s what matters to them, and that’s what I really appreciate about the fan base. They didn’t know who we were when the team arrived, but they still showed up in force. Other places I’ve played are good football towns, but Baltimore is different.

Stover: The fans accepted us as their own and we were amazed by their passion. The city wrapped its arms around us. Being part of the team that brought them a championship is something I cherish.

McAlister: To be part of the team that brought a championship to Baltimore was an honor, especially after everything the fans had been through after losing the Colts. The Super Bowl run helped bring back some of the pride, grit, and hard work that defines Baltimore. The city is filled with hardworking people, and they appreciated the way we played that year. Our game wasn’t pretty or flashy. We were gritty and fought through adversity together. That’s what resonated most. It took all of us to get it done.

“Is it 20 years now?” Hall of Famer Jonathan Ogden, the Ravens’ first-ever draft pick—that likeable, gentle giant and early face of the franchise—can’t believe the first great season in team history was that long ago. He’s sitting in front of a laptop computer set up for a live video call in his Las Vegas home, sporting a black T-shirt, beard, and a short afro (which he just brushed, he points out), and he leans back, sipping something from a red Solo cup. Seven of his former teammates—Jamal Lewis, Edwin Mulitalo, Jamie Sharper, Tony Siragusa, Duane Starks, Matt Stover, and Rod Woodson—as well their forever head coach, Brian Billick, appear on the screen with him, looking like a Ravens’ alumni version of Hollywood Squares.

They’re taking a trip down memory lane, watching and reminiscing about a game they were all a part of, and won, 34-7, over the New York Giants: Super Bowl XXXV. On this pandemic mid-summer night, the NFL Network is showing an edited, two-hour replay of the game to help fill the channel’s void of new sports content, and the Ravens public relations department, in a treat for fans, decided to gather as many members of the Ravens year 2000 edition as they could for this watch party streamed on Facebook Live.

Siragusa is in his New Jersey living room, trying to get a good internet connection and playfully grumbling about why “a billion-dollar organization” like the Ravens is using video conferencing software called MegaPhone instead of Zoom. Starks is in his home office in Miami, with sports memorabilia framing his shot. Stover, who mostly lives in Baltimore, appears in the den of his house in Montana, where he likes to fish in the summer.

“How about that?” Billick says teasingly in response to Ogden. “How old do you feel?” Speaking from his home-office in central Ohio, Billick, now 66, looks largely the same as we remember him, except his hair is thinner and he’s wearing a blue button-down shirt instead of a purple Ravens polo.

Ogden doesn’t respond at first, but he’s actually 46. And, like a lot of his former teammates who we once watched play football as young adults, he’s a father of teenagers now. One of them, Jayden, just got home from high school football practice and made a brief appearance on screen, dressed in a Bishop Gorman High T-shirt, before ducking out of the frame.

Lewis, the team’s rookie running back way back when, and one of the three famous Lewises on the 2000 team, jumps in the conversation from his place in Atlanta. “Forty years old,” he says, his voice trailing off. “I’m 40.”

“Forty? That’s young,” Billick says.

“Oh my goodness,” Ogden says, to no one in particular. Then he rubs his face in astonishment, and flashes that trademark wide smile you may recognize from various local commercials over the years.

 

“Our fans knew one darn thing: we weren’t going to get bullied,” says Rex Ryan.

 

Yes, it might be difficult to believe, but it has now been two decades since January 28, 2001, the date the Ravens beat those Giants to claim the franchise’s first NFL championship in just its fifth season of existence. It was a few hours of football that left a meaningful legacy for so many reasons.

For the older generation, the Ravens’ convincing victory on a cool, clear night in Tampa marked a cathartic step away from the nightmare of the beloved Colts leaving town in 1984. Owner Bob Irsay took everything: the team’s colors, its players, its history, including a Lombardi Trophy. (For some, seeing that Colts logo in Indianapolis still stings.) Baltimore was without NFL football for more than a decade until eventual Ravens owner Art Modell moved the Cleveland Browns to Baltimore, despite the objections of other NFL owners who wanted to put a new team in a bigger market or one that didn’t take a slice of revenue from franchises in Washington, D.C., Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh. In an acknowledgement, perhaps, of the pain the Colts departure had inflicted on Baltimore, Modell left the Browns’ history behind in Cleveland. No one there seemed particularly grateful.

The irony that it was NFL commissioner Paul Tagliabue—the man who, only a few years earlier, had told Baltimore city officials they should “build a museum” instead of a football stadium—who handed Modell the Ravens’ first Super Bowl trophy, “was not lost on anybody,” says Billick, who was standing on the field next to Modell as the trophy ceremony was broad- cast to millions across the world.

The Ravens’ 2000 team is remembered for having one of the best defenses of all time, for its braggadocio while punishing opponents, and for the saga of Ray Lewis’ murder trial—and the media circus that went with it. Outsized personalities, like Lewis and the massive, 300-plus pound defensive tackle Siragusa, who famously flopped on Oakland Raiders quarterback Rich Gannon during the playoff run to the Super Bowl, helped birth the first season of the still-running HBO all-access reality series Hard Knocks the next year.

The 2000 Ravens’ offense was famous, too—for scoring just enough points once Trent Dilfer took over as quarterback mid-season. And, bigger picture, the team’s first Super Bowl championship set the stage for what Baltimore fans have come to expect from modern pro-football life: winning seasons, playoff runs—highlighted by another Super Bowl win to end the 2012 season—all done in a gritty, gutsy way that reflected the city’s personality.

“Baltimore’s a tough-ass city,” says former New York Jets and Buffalo Bills head coach Rex Ryan, who coached the Ravens defensive line in 2000, “and our fans knew one darn thing, we weren’t going to get bullied. We had our own characters, there’s no question we did, and we might not have been right for everybody, but by God we were good with each other.”

“Has anyone heard from Corey Harris?” Two decades later, Duane Starks, the former cornerback who ran back an interception for a touchdown against the Giants, has lost touch with Harris, the former Ravens’ safety with whom he shared a huddle. “He was one of the funniest guys on the team,” Starks says, adding so was reserve wide receiver Billy Davis, whom Starks recalls wearing a “tinman” suit on the team airplane one time.

Life after pro football can go different directions, and the whereabouts of some of Starks’ former teammates are better known than others. “We’re all over the place now,” says former linebacker Brad Jackson, who backed up Ray Lewis that season, “but most of us keep in touch.”

Lewis, of course, is still a popular figure on the motivational speaking circuit. We most recently saw him give a virtual, area-wide high school commencement speech on Fox 45 in the spring. (The Super Bowl XXXV MVP was unavailable for comment when we reached out about this story.) Dilfer, after working with Lewis for a few years at ESPN and running private quarterback camps for many years, is now in Tennessee coaching high school football at the private Lipscomb Academy.

Others have settled into a kind of middle-aged retirement. “I fish and golf every day,” says Siragusa, now 53. “That’s all I do.” Until a few years ago, he also co-hosted a home-renovation show, Man Caves, that ran for 14 seasons on the DIY Network.

Former linebacker Peter Boulware is co-founder of a Christian school in Tallahassee, Florida, where he lives with his wife and five children. Another former linebacker, Jamie Sharper, is an assistant coach at Georgetown University. As for Harris? He’s living in Tennessee, having recovered from being so deep in debt that he sold his Super Bowl ring just a few years after earning it.

Garrulous tight end Shannon Sharpe is still talking, one of several former 2000 Ravens to join the football media in some form. He shares the mornings on Fox Sports’ Undisputed debate show with famous curmudgeon Skip Bayless. Eventual Hall-of-Famer Rod Woodson worked for the NFL Network.

Billick works for the league-owned football channel today, and he is still coaching—the third-graders of the Upper Arlington Bears youth football team, that is. Billick’s grandson, Brecken, is a linebacker and quarterback. “I’m the defensive coordinator,” says Billick, who moved to Ohio this spring to be closer to the grandkids. “We have one defense. Sometimes they don’t know their own names, and just getting them lined up is a challenge, but it’s great fun.” (It also raises the question of whether third-graders or pros are easier to deal with. “That’s an interesting question. You know, one group is young and immature. Of course the third-graders are hard to work with too,” Billick jokes.)

On the day we spoke, Billick was bringing a replica Lombardi Trophy to practice for the kids to take pictures with. The gesture was the reward for the previous week’s win and, really, an example of the type of motivational tactics he was known for during nine seasons as head coach in Baltimore, be it showing a Sports Illustrated cover featuring the former division rival Tennessee Titans in the locker room, or the trust he put in players off the field.

It might sound trivial, but even amid the Lewis drama that stemmed from the linebacker’s night out during Super Bowl week in Atlanta the year earlier, Billick never enforced bed-checks at the team hotel the night before games, which a lot of NFL teams do given the temptations right outside their windows. It made a difference for a team of characters that took care of conflicts and disputes themselves. To wit: Siragusa occasionally had players’ cars towed from the Ravens’ practice facility to the Owings Mills Mall, or let the air out of their tires, to send a message about something questionable they did on or off the field.

“I always told the players, ‘You act like men, we’ll treat you like men. If you act like children, I’ll treat you like children,’” says Billick, who was inducted into the Ravens’ Ring of Honor last year. “I was criticized for that decision, but I think that resonated with the players. They were not going to be that guy to screw this up.”

Says Brad Jackson: “Brian was like a Jedi master.”

 

“I told the players, ‘You act like men, we’ll treat you like men,'” says Billick.

 

Unlike the days of the legendary Colts, when retired players would stay here for life and open up businesses and restaurants in town (like Johnny Unitas’ Golden Arm restaurant and Andy Nelson’s BBQ), most of the players from the Ravens’ first Super Bowl team no longer live in Baltimore. (A lot of people think Ogden does, because of some charity work he does around town and those ubiquitous commercials, but he actually lives in Vegas.) Still, there are a good number who stayed.

There’s defensive lineman Larry Webster, now 51, who was one of three former Browns to win the Super Bowl five years after the move here. When that happened, it was a homecoming. Webster starred at Elkton High in Cecil County, and played at the University of Maryland, and lives in Baltimore County today. After retiring in 2002, and after admittedly having wasted a lot of the money he made as a player (not an uncommon story among NFL alumni), Webster spent a few seasons as a coaching intern under Rex Ryan. He also worked jobs as a security guard and Amazon truck driver, and then coached two seasons at Poly. Eventually, he went back to school at Maryland to finish his criminal justice degree. Now he is part of the Howard County Sheriff’s department, working as a courtroom officer.

“You’re going to have your ups and downs, but the best thing is to live and to learn,” Webster says. “There are consequences or rewards for every decision you make.”

You can see former fullback and special teamer Femi Ayanbadejo, who lives in Harbor East, walking the Inner Harbor to get coffee in Federal Hill almost every morning. He launched his own health care app after graduating with an MBA from Johns Hopkins in 2016, and this season, he became a game-day analyst for 98 Rock’s flagship radio coverage of Ravens games. He is also “a part-time activist when I can be as well,” he says, speaking out on racial and gender equity and LGBTQ rights issues. (His older brother, Brendon, does the same.)

There’s O.J. Brigance, of course, still courageously fighting the debilitating effects of ALS, and who can be seen at events around the city and in his reserved spot in the press box at Ravens’ home games. And there’s Spencer Folau, a 6-foot-5, 315-pound former offensive lineman and eight-year NFL vet who is the strength and conditioning coach at McDonogh School, where his friend and former teammate Stover is on the school board.

You might see Stover, the former kicker (Justin Tucker before there was a Justin Tucker, basically) at Grace Fellowship Church in Timonium on Sundays, occasionally serving as a guest preacher, with the Ravens’ old punter Kyle Richardson and Jackson in the pews. Jackson, who’s involved in real estate, food, and other businesses, has worked with former teammates in the past, such as Adalius Thomas, who owns Grille 620 in Ellicott City.

“The 2000 team played its role in healing the city, played its role in putting Baltimore on the map, and it still continues to play its role in the community, which I think is pretty awesome,” Jackson says.

Then there’s the redemptive story of Jermaine Lewis, who lives in a remote cornfield-lined Baltimore County town you might think unfit for a Super Bowl hero: Boring, Maryland. It’s a community of maybe 40 houses, a few hundred people, and one intersection, and, yes, it’s as sleepy as it sounds. You can drive all the way through the town before you even notice you’ve left. “It’s known for the fire hall,” Lewis says, and today he lives right next to it on 11 acres he bought during his playing days.

Everyone who was watching Super Bowl XXXV seems to have a story about where they were when Lewis ran “that kick back for a touchdown”—right after the Giants’ Ron Dixon had just done the same and given New York some brief signs of life. Lewis’ run was the type of play kids imagine themselves making one day in a big game, and it was a game- clincher, “that sucked the competitive life out of the Giants,” Billick says. It was even more meaningful given the loss Lewis and his wife had endured about a month earlier when their son, Geronimo, was born stillborn. In the wake of his death, Lewis, then 26, barely slept, but kept playing. He says he dramatically yelled his son’s name when he was about to collide with defenders while returning kicks, as though a warrior in battle: “Geronimo!”

That loss is a pain no parent will ever get over, and Lewis endured more hurt over the balance of his career, and afterward. He says his 30s “were a blur.” He separated from his wife, Imara, and relied heavily on alcohol to numb the pain of post-concussion syndrome (he estimated he had around 18 in his nine-year career), claustrophobia, and undiagnosed PTSD linked to head trauma. (Similarly, one of the other Lewises, Jamal, believes he might be living with chronic traumatic encephalopathy, or CTE, today.)

At one point, Jermaine Lewis says he was drinking vodka and orange juice every morning. He lost his Super Bowl ring in Miami Beach during a wild night out. Another night, back in 2011, he was arrested for DUI for the second time in six years after hitting a sign outside the Boring fire hall that told people when bingo was each week. “I felt so bad, because that’s the only thing here, is the bingo,” Lewis says now. “I had to replace the sign.”

Seeing that he was embarrassed and in the news for the wrong reasons, Lewis’ wife and a few friends convinced him to try rehab for the third time, this time at a center in Michigan designed for military veterans dealing with head trauma. “I thought I had it bad until I got there,” Lewis says. “That helped me suck it up, and I actually became the leader in the house.”

Lewis stayed for 60 days, double the time he expected, and hasn’t sipped alcohol in the five years since. He doesn’t even drink his former preferred chaser, orange juice, anymore. “Looking back, I was doomed,” he says. “If you retire, you better have something to do, because otherwise every day could become a Saturday night.”

Today, the Boring life is just what the 46-year-old wants. He spent the early days of the pandemic in the spring discovering gardening and searching the local Lowe’s home center for bulbs to plant near the bricks he laid in his backyard. He likes watching the deer on his property.

He coaches football camps around the country for hopeful college recruits, and when he is not traveling to and from them, he trades stocks during the day, which scratches his competitive itch. He’s back with his wife, and until this COVID-19 delayed season, he coached his son at national high school football powerhouse St. Frances Academy downtown.

“I’ve learned you’re going to go through things in life, and it might take longer than you think,” Lewis says. “But my outlook is so much brighter now. I feel like I’ve started over.”

There is life after football, after all, when the boys playing a kid’s game must eventually become men. When your youth coach doesn’t bring a replica Super Bowl trophy to practice anymore for motivation, and when you look back on winning the real thing 20 years later and realize what a joy it was, and how much it really meant.