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Steelers' Polamalu embraces simplicity, not stardom
Defensive back rejects the high life that is typical of NFL supremacy
By Kyle Veltrop
THE SPORTING NEWS
The Pittsburgh Steelers' morning practice during training camp ends just as a heat advisory for western Pennsylvania begins. The players trudge toward the locker room for cold showers and then to the cafeteria for colder ice cream.

Well, not all of them.

Troy Polamalu stays on the field at Saint Vincent College and situates himself 15 yards from a passing machine, which proceeds to fire ball after ball at him. He tries to snare a few out of the thick air with just his right hand. Who knows when he will need to make a one-handed pick?

Polamalu next directs his energy at blocking sleds. He drags one to the base of a hill and lowers his shoulder into the pad, causing it to jump a couple of yards up the incline. And so on. After he has moved it enough for his satisfaction, Polamalu heads to an adjacent field and starts working over another sled. After each pad pop, Polamalu doubles over and catches his breath as the sun sears all those beneath it.

Finally, his postpractice workout complete, Polamalu drops to one knee, rests his forehead in his right palm and prays.

Many elite defensive players in the NFL -- a category in which Polamalu comfortably fits -- accessorize their games. Ray Lewis dances. Rodney Harrison glares. Sean Taylor spits. Joey Porter talks -- a lot.

Polamalu prays. He prays between plays, at the snap, in the huddle ... and after adding 30 minutes of drills to a day that already includes two practices.

"I pray all the time, whether I'm on the field, talking to someone, doing whatever," Polamalu says.

Polamalu prays in gratitude for the blessings he has received, and he knows his physical talent is one of them, which is why, heat advisory be damned, he is intent on making the most of that gift. Gavin MacMillan, who has helped train Polamalu since he started preparing for the 2003 draft after his career at USC, can't remember Polamalu ever slogging his way through even one workout. Instead, he invents new drills to push his body's boundaries.

Polamalu has every reason to be as big-headed as he is big-haired. How could a player want more? He is 25, a Super Bowl champion, a two-time Pro Bowl selection, freakishly athletic, beloved by teammates, a cult hero in a football-mad city and in position to cash in on a fat contract. Rather than revel in the perks of stardom, though, Polamalu extracts the joy in his life from simplicity, spirituality and selflessness. But what ties player and person together is the same thing: passion.

Troy Polamalu doesn't want to be known as a football player. Boy, is he ever doing a lousy job of achieving that.

This is a player.

"He's a full-speed, full-play guy," Ravens offensive coordinator Jim Fassel says. "Troy covers ground as fast as anyone I've seen. You better not lay a ball up too high or too far because he's going to get there."

Polamalu has the size, toughness and tackling ability to hang 2 yards from the line and help suffocate the run. He can explode through seams on a blitz. Or he can start near the line, then wheel around at the snap and make a play on a sideline go route.

Good luck finding many players who can do all that. And Steelers cornerback Deshea Townsend is more impressed with the student than the specimen. "Troy carries over what he sees on film to the game," Townsend says. "We'll be on the field and he'll say, 'Shea, you see this coming?'"

Although all players watch film and most absorb what they see, it takes something extra to be able to wring out that knowledge on the field. "You have to have the guts to take a gamble on what you have spent all week studying," Polamalu says.

Polamalu spent most of his rookie season watching, learning, studying -- and impressing teammates and opponents. Steelers defensive coordinator Dick LeBeau knew he had a special player just from seeing how Polamalu wrote things down in meetings and came back with questions that delved deep into Football 401.

Launching himself toward the ball comes naturally to Polamalu. Bengals offensive coordinator Bob Bratkowski says opponents can use that aggressiveness to burn him on occasion -- but those occasions are becoming rare.

Steelers free safety Ryan Clark, who played with Taylor in the Redskins' secondary the past two seasons, says, "Troy and Sean make plays other guys in the NFL can't make, but Sean sometimes just does what Sean wants to do. Troy knows the system so well he'll read plays instead of just reacting."

One of the most beautiful sights the NFL has to offer is Polamalu zooming around the field, hair flowing out of his black helmet and onto his white jersey, as he hurdles fallen blockers and drags down a ball-carrier in the open field.

"He may not be as vocal as Joey (Porter)," Bratkowski says, "but Troy still is animated. Just the way he moves on the field, you can tell he enjoys what he's doing."

LeBeau's "Blitzburgh" 3-4 defense allows Polamalu to attack and gives him the freedom to disguise his intentions on any given play. Is he coming after the quarterback or harassing one of the receivers? Is he a strong safety, or is he morphing into a linebacker for this snap?

The coach, though, says it is the player who helps make the system, not the other way around. The field is Polamalu's canvas, and it's more important that he use bold colors than stay inside the lines.

"Like a lot of artists," LeBeau says, "you don't want to mess with them too much along the way. You just enjoy the finished product."

The biggest story lines from last postseason were Ben Roethlisberger's winning a championship in his second year and Jerome Bettis' winning one in his last. But it was the defense, led by Polamalu, that did the heaviest lifting, limiting four high-powered playoff opponents to an average of 15.5 points. As great as Polamalu's play was, two sideline snapshots from the playoff victory over the Colts provide greater evidence of who he is.

Polamalu had made an acrobatic interception of a Peyton Manning pass in the fourth quarter to seemingly seal a win for the Steelers, but the play was reviewed. As Polamalu sat on the bench awaiting the official verdict, TV cameras fixated on him.

Back in Oregon, where Polamalu spent much of his youth, a group of fans drank in the anxiety of the moment until one person snapped, "Oh, don't keep showing him!"

To which Rick Taylor replied, "No, keep the camera right on him." Taylor coaches football at Douglas High School in Winston and taught Polamalu in class, as well as in the Bible club. He knew if the call went against the Steelers -- and it did, incorrectly -- that the nation wouldn't be treated to a four-letter lip-reading rampage. Instead, Polamalu picked up his helmet and went back on the field with nary an adverse reaction, leaving the seething to Porter and his other teammates. "We have a motto around here: 'We are the fiercest gentlemen in football,'" Taylor says. "Troy embodies that."

Also in that game, between Steelers defensive series, Polamalu saw himself on the Jumbotron. Instead of wagging a No. 1 finger to a national TV audience, he held up a different digit ... his ring finger, so he could flash his wedding band for his wife, Theodora.

"She was really sick, and I wanted to let her know I was with her," Polamalu says. "She's always on my mind. Isn't that what Willie Nelson sings?"

Getting Polamalu to talk about football is somewhat difficult. Getting him to talk about his accomplishments is near impossible. Getting him to talk about Theodora -- now that's different.

His eyes twinkle as his soft voice delivers lyrical descriptions of how he cherishes experiencing life's simplest things with Theodora. Listen to him talk about one of her home-cooked meals and you want to grab the recipe box and gather the family in the kitchen.

"When she's cooking, I love to watch her," he says. "They call it culinary arts because it is an art form. If you look at a painting, you are left with a certain impression the artist wants to give you. Food is no different. The impression my wife will give me is different than the experience I will have at some first-class restaurant. The food may taste good, but it's not as good for my soul as my wife's cooking."

Says MacMillan: "Troy is 25, but when you talk to him you think he's 75."

There's no telling where Polamalu would have ended up had it not been for a life's detour to Oregon. While growing up in Santa Ana, being raised by a single mother who often was working, Polamalu wandered around town and hung out with homeless guys in the park -- before the fourth grade.

But then came a summer trip to see his aunt and uncle and cousins in Tenmile, Ore. A wide-eyed Polamalu gaped at pine trees, sheep, horses, cattle, beautiful blue skies. He asked his mother and his relatives if he could stay. The answer was yes. "It was a divine intervention," Polamalu says. "Oregon was a beautiful place for God to raise me."

Whatever he took from the towns of Tenmile and Winston, he has given back. Stories of his achievements in football, baseball and basketball still are swapped around the southwestern part of the state. Taylor, who took a sabbatical from coaching during Polamalu's playing days at Douglas, put together a highlight tape of Polamalu and shows it to his current players.

Polamalu has left larger imprints elsewhere. Douglas has an acclaimed special education program, and as a student Polamalu gave countless hours to the cause. He was there to teach, to be a friend, to bring out a smile. And, hey, he was mighty handy to have around when some student volunteers were mixed in for a few Special Olympics relay races.

"The kids I worked with are like my best friends," Polamalu says. "They see life the way I wish I could -- in the simplest form."

During a visit to Oregon this offseason, Polamalu popped into a grocery store and ran into Jeff Keehler, one of the students he worked with in high school. Keehler loved to pretend to be a policeman, so Polamalu initiated an old cops-and-robbers gag they used to act out years ago.

The special education director, Ted Martch, is from, of all places, Pittsburgh. During the Super Bowl run last year, Martch watched the games with some of the students Polamalu used to mentor. Martch decorated the special education room by hanging some of his Steelers memorabilia, including the prized No. 43 jersey Polamalu wore in his first NFL game. Soon, others started adding their mementos of Polamalu to the room. The Seattle Seahawks may have been playing in the Super Bowl, but a small part of the Pacific Northwest became a sister suburb of Pittsburgh.

Now that he is who he is, don't go looking for Polamalu to big-time these small towns.

"Boy, that's just not Troy's way," Taylor says. "He doesn't expect trumpets blowing just because he's around. He's a superstar in a super sport, but he's the same guy."

When Polamalu returns to the school, he slips through a back entrance and heads to the special education room for a quiet visit.

Martch's hero growing up was Roberto Clemente of the Pittsburgh Pirates, and he sees the same type of humanitarian traits in Polamalu. "Basically," Martch says, "whatever is atypical is typical for Troy."

Troy Polamalu doesn't want to be known as a football player. Boy, is he ever doing a great job of achieving that.