"When I left Grambling [in 1969]," says Harris, who's now the pro personnel director for the Baltimore Ravens, "Coach Robinson told me, 'Don't expect things to be fair in the NFL. You're going to have to be better than anyone else just to survive.' There was a lot of pressure, and that's what I tried to tell Doug when he came into the league."
"I was a one-week holdout after I was drafted," says Williams, who was the Buccaneers' first-round pick in 1978. "I guess that didn't sit right with some people. They must have figured I should have felt lucky to have been drafted at all. Then after five years and two division titles, I was only the 43rd-highest-paid quarterback in the league.
"I held out again, and eventually went to the USFL. My wife had just died of a brain tumor. There was a three-month-old baby girl to take care of. You couldn't believe some of the letters I'd gotten in Tampa. Everyone heard about the package I got with the watermelon inside and the note, 'Throw this, nigger. They might be able to catch it.' It got so that every time I got a letter with no return address, I wouldn't open it."
A rough career, but one Super Sunday put a grace note on it—for all time.
"Avery special moment for a very special person," Harris says. "A special moment for all of us."