Steelers' Polamalu whispers off field, roars on it
DETROIT -- You go in search of the madman who instills fear in his opponents every time he takes the field, his wild ways a true example of how football is meant to be played.
It's Media Day at the Super Bowl and you half expect him to be standing on a podium, ranting and raving like a preacher in front of his flock.
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| Troy Polamalu is serenity personified -- until he puts on the shoulder pads and helmet. (Getty Images) |
In an era of look-at-me football, it's his time.
As you go from end zone to end zone at Ford Field, you're bound to hear him before you see him, right? Then you find him, almost by accident. And it's by the name above him, not the way he's acting.
Above the soft-spoken man, the sign reads:
Can this really be him? Is this the same madman who flies around the field with no regard for his body, throwing it into any runner or receiver who comes his way?
Heck, even with a microphone, he can barely be heard.
Forget about soft-spoken. He'd be hard to hear in a library.
"I'm sure there are softer-speaking guys and harder-hitting guys out there," Polamalu said.
So goes the dichotomy of Pittsburgh Steelers All-Pro safety Troy Polamalu.
His game is as loud as they come on the field, but he's as easy-going and mild-mannered as you can find off it. So where do the passion and maniacal ways when he's playing come from? Is there a switch?
"That's just Troy," said Steelers safety Mike Logan, one of his friends. "He so easy-going off the field that some people are surprised by the way he plays on it. He is a different player out there."
He's so good out there that he's now considered one of the league's best safeties and one of the best defensive players, period.
With his long mane flopping out of his helmet, Polamalu has become a cult hero of sorts. Fans love the wild streak -- the hair adding to the image -- that he portrays on the field. His cool-sounding last name, Pa-la-MA-lu, helps in that department, too.
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| Troy Polamalu takes his own path to strength and fitness. (AP) |
Asked about it, Polamalu said he has heard it. Asked to sing it, he politely declined.
"Politely" is the way he does everything.
"He's the most unassuming person you can imagine," Logan said.
Hard to believe he's a star. In three seasons, he has gone from a wild-eyed kid with no real idea how to play safety in the NFL to one of the best in the game. He does it with tireless film study and a desire to be great.
Logan said he's amazed by some of the things Polamalu does to try to get better. He remembers after one practice the receivers and quarterbacks stayed around to throw some routes. Polamalu stayed behind to watch, then picked the brains of quarterback Ben Roethlisberger and receiver Hines Ward on the little things they did in that drill.
"He wants to know it all," Logan said. "He can't get enough."
His willingness to throw his body at anything that moves helps, too. It has helped earned him the nickname "Tasmanian Devil" from his teammates. He plays a violent game but says he doesn't consider football a violent sport as much as it is a spiritual one.
Tell that to the guys he blows up every Sunday.
Polamalu is certainly different that most NFL players. He said he didn't watch football growing up, nor does he watch it now when he's not playing. He also doesn't adhere to the same strength training or diet that his teammates do.
He follows the guidelines set by Marv Marinovich, the father of former NFL quarterback Todd Marinovich. That includes yoga and little weight training. In fact, Logan says he hasn't seen Polamalu lift a weight over 25 pounds.
"He does a lot of different stuff," Logan said. "He eats different food and he drinks water with oxygen in it. Not a lot of guys do that."
"I do everything different than what's traditional," Polamalu said.
Todd Marinvoch was called Robo-quarterback when he followed his dad's principles. He later veered off track and has been arrested several times for drug possession.
There is no chance of that happening for Robo-safety.
He's too good a kid -- off the field, anyway.
On it, he turns into somebody else. Logan tells a story of how San Diego tight end Antonio Gates talked all game long when the teams met this season, eventually getting Polamalu to break. The normally quite safety became a smack talker for a night.
"You push his button to a certain point, and he will come back at you," Logan said. "He'll let you know he isn't going to be taken advantage of."
Asked about it, Polamalu was sheepish, almost trying to avoid the subject.
"I don't talk too much on the field, and I'm the same way off it," Polamalu said. "That was a real emotional game against San Diego. It wasn't just him. It was everybody that game. It was me getting into it, too. I was being stupid."
The answer came in quiet, reserved tones, which makes the thought of him yelling at Gates all the more interesting.
It also makes him something of an enigma, a soft-spoken player who plays the game with enough energy and nastiness to impress his teammates, many of them tough guys in their own right.
Moral of the story: Great players come in all kinds -- even soft-spoken guys who somehow find a way to turn it on at kickoff.
