I find Ray Lewis’ persona, both on and off the field, to be oppressively distasteful. He seems boastful, showy, and hugely self-absorbed. Exhibit A is his presence on the field for the final snap of the Ravens victory against the Broncos (his final home game) to facilitate his signature “look at me” dance. The final snap was a Ravens offensive kneel-down; Lewis is a defensive player. Despite all of this, I’m almost disappointed that he’s retiring after this season, because the consensus is that he’ll be a “great” television announcer, which means I’ll just be subjected to more of him after his retirement than I was before it.
Also, there’s the fact that he lied to police in an attempt to impede a murder investigation, an investigation in which Lewis himself was implicated.
For many years, I used this information to justify my hatred of Lewis. Sure, some of that hatred comes from the fact that I’m a Steelers fan, and Lewis is one of our nemeses. Some of it comes from his self-aggrandizement. But a lot of it comes from my belief that he’s a criminal, who got away with a plea-bargain. These feelings came to the surface again several years ago during the national discussion about whether or not Michael Vick (convicted of running a dog fighting operation) should be allowed to play in the NFL again. It angered me that Lewis, present and potentially complicit in the death of a human being, was never so much as suspended, while there was sentiment that Vick shouldn’t ever be allowed to play again.
The truth about Ray Lewis is this: he made a bad mistake. Very, very bad. He’s not unlike me. But I need him to be unlike me.
My ability to feel good about myself requires people to exist in the world who are worse than I am. Ray Lewis fills that role. In Nick Hornby’s book How to be Good, his heroine (a doctor) is a better person than her husband. One day, though, her husband experiences a spiritual conversion, and becomes (for the purposes of the book) “good.” All of a sudden, the wife’s world and identity are thrown upside down. She has defined herself as being “better” than her husband…now that she isn’t that, who is she?
If I can’t say that I’m better than Ray Lewis, who am I? What value do I have?
Ray Lewis, by all accounts, has completely reformed his life since the incident in 2000. He is a devout Christian, a pillar of his community, and a mentor to many young men. His is a story of redemption, and such stories are what we, the redeemed, should be cheering. I may not be better than Ray Lewis, but that’s not a bad thing. We share an incapacitating compulsion to selfishness and sin, and we share in a regenerating love of a Savior infinitely better than both of us.
Oh, and one more thing: I hope Ray Lewis and his Ravens get crushed on Sunday.
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2 responses to “The Mockingbird Super Bowl Preview: A Ray Lewis Redemption”
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I agree with you on the big, important points, so I’ll address a couple of minor ones. As a native of Baltimore and a Ravens fan, I have no problem with Lewis being on the field for the final play of his final home game. As you noted, the play didn’t affect the game, so what’s wrong with giving the fans one last chance to cheer him? Sure, Lewis is a showboat with an oversized ego, but he’s done a lot of work to help a lot of people, and he’s beloved in Baltimore. We who love sports can get so serious about this stuff. It’s just a game. So let the man dance, and let the fans cheer.
Oh, and one more thing: Go Ravens!
Definitely an article that I can relate to. As a Steeler fan I find myself annoyed by the showboating of all the NFL players. Oddly, I “get” the mistake during the murder – it was a spur of the moment panic kind of deal. I have a harder time excusing these guys who impregnate multiple women. Now that is a “mistake” that affects others beyond yourself for life. For what it’s worth, I didn’t have a problem with Ray being on the field for the last play either. I just found the whole spectacle of the opening introductions kind of hard to stomach.