Russell Wilson: The Chosen One
Throned and dethroned Super Bowl quarterback Russell Wilson is working the artificial turf at the University of Southern California. Nearly 300 kids are screaming his name at a session of the Russell Wilson Passing Academy when he says something that cuts to the core of his being. Wilson is wearing a T-shirt and shorts with a Gatorade towel draped from his waist when he grabs a cup of purple liquid and downs it in a single gulp. He locks me in his gaze and smiles.
“Isn’t Gatorade the best? Just the best.”
Did I mention that Gatorade is one of the event’s sponsors? The thing is, Russell Wilson really, really believes Gatorade is tasty. He believes in things with a zealot’s certainty — God, corporations, his talent, Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror,” etc. The interception he threw a yard short of his second Super Bowl championship? Before he got to the sideline, God told him that it was part of His plan. The public announcement that he was practicing abstinence with slinky pop singer Ciara? Russell Wilson was put here to guide her to a better place.
After three years in the NFL, Wilson has 36 regular-season wins, the most by a three-year quarterback in history. And despite the unpleasantness in last February’s Super Bowl, he already owns a championship ring. He was a standout at a prestigious Richmond, Virginia, prep school, All-ACC at North Carolina State and, after a disagreement with his coach about missing spring practice to play baseball, transferred to Wisconsin and promptly led the Badgers to the Rose Bowl. He knows all things come through Scripture, discipline and time management. Unlike many camps run by pros, Wilson isn’t a figurehead putting down the bong and popping in for a few minutes. He lines the kids up with Prussian efficiency for a grip-and-grin photo and an autograph. (Wilson signed at least 1,500 autographs during the week I followed him.)
“I’ve never seen anyone able to adapt to different situations and groups so quickly,” says Mark Rodgers, his agent, who is guiding Wilson through a difficult contract renegotiation with the Seattle Seahawks. “He’s like a great politician.”
A benevolent dictator, to be more precise. The California sun is scorching the children when Wilson, 26, brings together his brain trust, an all-white group of friends, including Rodgers’ son Matthew, who have been equated to Entourage (Wilson has a cameo in the movie). But Entourage was a quasi-democracy. Wilson runs the show here.
“You could tell him the sky is blue and he would be like, ‘No, man, the sky is green,’ ” says his older brother, Harry. (There’s also a younger sister, Anna.) “He’s probably the most confident person I’ve ever known — and a tough guy to figure out.”
Wilson huddles with his boys and tells them they’re falling behind schedule. “We have to be on to the next drill at 11:20,” he says. The guys nod solemnly.
He turns to me and smiles. “Time management is leadership. I got that from my dad.”
The camp churns on with the occasional hiccup. Wilson’s music tastes run to mostly Seventies and Eighties soul, and the PA system blasts Sly Stone’s “Everyday People” when a brash nine- or 10-year-old tugs at his towel and makes reference to last season’s Super Bowl. With the season on the line, the Seahawks chose a quick slant pass from the one-yard line instead of giving the ball to all-world running back Marshawn Lynch. The result was gridiron apocalypse, with Patriots defensive back Malcolm Butler stepping in front of Wilson’s throw. The boy asks, “Why didn’t you just give it to Marshawn?” He makes a Hulk-like move and shouts Lynch’s nickname: “Beast Mode!“
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