Play Loud

Joey Porter
Linebacker
PITTSBURGH STEELERS

HE STOOD at the podium seething inside, yet appearing as sapped of ferocity as a zoo lion. This should have been a great day for Joey Porter, an opportunity for one of the NFL's most voluble players to unleash his stream of consciousness on an international media horde gathered before him at Ford Field. Instead, on media day before Super Bowl XL, the Pittsburgh Steelers' All-Pro outside linebacker was making brief, flattering statements about the Seattle Seahawks, disappointing the crowd that had come to prod him in his cage. Why did I promise my coach I'd do this? Porter thought to himself. And why is he muzzling me in the first place?

Earlier in January, before an AFC divisional playoff game in Indianapolis, Porter had called the Colts soft, and afterward he'd accused the refs of cheating to help Peyton Manning win an NFL title. Before the Super Bowl, Steelers coach Bill Cowher had instructed his players to avoid inflammatory quotes. So now Porter stood--fighting his every impulse--near one end zone of the Detroit stadium, resenting questions from reporters about sensationalistic subjects, such as the time he'd been shot in the butt outside a Denver bar, when they should have been asking about his recent destruction of three of the AFC's top-rated offenses. He dutifully praised the Seahawks, lauding their MVP running back and their All-Pro left tackle. That was killing him.

After the interview session Porter felt like showering. He was still in a funk the next morning when, under a large tent adjacent to the Steelers' hotel in suburban Pontiac, he took a seat at his preassigned table and prepared for another 60 minutes of torture. Then it happened: Blessedly, beautifully, a reporter apprised Porter of a media-day quote from Seattle tight end Jerramy Stevens. In response to a question about retiring Pittsburgh halfback Jerome Bettis's return to his hometown to play in the Super Bowl, Stevens had said, "It's a heartwarming story and all that, but it will be a sad day when he leaves without that trophy."

To Porter the words felt like warm sunshine on an early spring morning. He closed his eyes. "You ever seen the movie Underworld: Evolution, where the blood drips down there, and it wakes up Marcus?" he asked excitedly, comparing himself to a dormant vampire. "Well, Marcus now got woke up. I was asleep all week. I just tasted blood right there ... and you crave it when you haven't tasted it in a while. Now I'm thirsty."

Few reporters understood what Porter was talking about; they just knew their week had become less boring. For the next two days Porter was the best story at the world's most-hyped sporting event. In a pair of interviews televised live by the NFL Network, Porter skewered Stevens with increasing intensity, calling him soft and "almost a first-round bust" and vowing to remind him of what he said "every time I put him on his back." Porter promised to try to "tap out" as many Seattle players as possible--slang for when a guy taps his helmet to signal he wants to leave the game. Reporters loved it. Porter was ecstatic.

He was still jaw-jacking late on Super Sunday when Stevens, who'd scored the Seahawks' lone touchdown, dropped his fourth pass of the day with three seconds remaining in the Steelers' 21--10 victory. "You could've been the difference in the game," Porter barked at Stevens. "Now you'll be mad the whole off-season." Part of Porter wanted to hug the guy for his efforts; instead, he kissed the Lombardi Trophy and kept right on yapping through the long, glorious night.

FIVE MONTHS later, in the pool house behind his lovely home in Southern California's least glamorous city-- Bakersfield, where foam truckers' hats never went out of style--Porter was again talking, in his gravelly rasp, about a player unworthy of being a champion. This time the target was point guard Jason Terry of the Dallas Mavericks, who were down three games to two before Game 6 of the NBA Finals. As more than half a dozen members of Porter's Bakersfield crew sucked down Budweisers before the game, the room was alive with the sound of spirited trash talk.

" Jason Terry ain't got no A jumper!" Porter growled. "Dirk [Nowitzki] does; Ray Allen does. Terry, he's got a C."

"Terry's a B," fired back Corny Asada, a.k.a. Kanieln Inouye--he was given his nickname by Porter at a Vegas craps table--prompting a protracted debate over NBA shooters. Soon Porter was screaming, "Terry ain't no B! Gilbert Arenas is a B. D-Wade is a B. Paul Pierce is a B!"