A moment of triumph washes over the smiling face of Ray Lewis, as the NFL's most promising middle linebacker grabs the remote control and starts the videotape documenting his arrival on the steps of stardom.

A menacing rap soundtrack provides the perfect backdrop to the highlight reel from 1997, a season that sent Lewis to his first Pro Bowl at the age of 22.

There's Lewis fighting off two Tennessee Oilers blockers before dropping running back Eddie George for a short gain. There's Lewis picking off a pass to preserve a victory over the Washington Redskins. There's Lewis doing things middle linebackers have no business doing in this league.

Like the play where he spots speedy San Diego Chargers wide receiver Eric Metcalf a good 10 yards before dragging him down after a relentless, touchdown-saving dash. Next up is the Pittsburgh Steelers' Jerome "The Bus" Bettis, whose rumbling 243 pounds promptly go down in a heap after Lewis meets him, one-on-one, along the line of scrimmage.

The screen on his 60-inch television goes blank. Lewis talks of goals reached and of achievements yet to be savored. All around him, the walls of the recreation room in his contemporary Pikesville home provide the complementary snapshots of a sky-is-the-limit career. Some two dozen pictures of Lewis hang, going back to his collegiate days as a Miami Hurricane and including various action shots culled from his two seasons with the Ravens.

Lewis gestures toward his framed AFC Pro Bowl jersey over the fireplace. He vows to return to Hawaii this season for the NFL's all-star game -- this time as a starter, not an alternate.

"That is a hands-down guarantee, unless I get hurt. I know what I'm going to do. It's as simple as that," Lewis says. "I don't just want another Pro Bowl. I want to be Defensive Player of the Year this year. Or how about Player of the Year? My concern is about being the best middle linebacker. When Ray Lewis is done playing, I want people to say that guy was the best."

Lewis doesn't predict as much as he proclaims. And who can question his bullish talk, considering where he has come from and the hurdles he already has cleared at the age of 23?

Take a look at his life. The oldest of five children, Lewis spent the bulk of his youth assuming the father-figure role in a single-parent household in Lakeland, Fla.

While his mother, Sunseria Keith, was busy working two, sometimes three jobs -- toil that eventually lifted the family out of the Washington Park projects and into its own single-family home on its own piece of land -- Lewis guarded the house and the younger brother and three sisters in it. He made sure they were dressed for school in the morning. He organized dinner in the afternoon. He checked their homework and got them to bed at night.

When he walked into the University of Miami, Lewis weighed barely 200 pounds and was labeled too small to play inside linebacker, a claim that would follow him down the road.

Yet it was Lewis who replaced an injured Robert Bass as a freshman by collecting 17 tackles in his first game. Lewis, 17 at the time, owned the position the next three seasons. He walked away from Miami a consensus All-American, having led the Hurricanes in tackles for 22 straight games.

At 20, a week before the Ravens would draft him in the first round as the 26th overall pick, Lewis lost his closest friend and teammate. Marlin Barnes was bludgeoned to death along with )) his girlfriend after an assailant, furious over a breakup with the woman, broke into his apartment. At Barnes' funeral, Lewis circled the church repeatedly, but could not bring himself to enter.

Then there was the 1997 training camp incident. A year after the outstanding rookie season in which he recorded a team-high 142 tackles and won Defensive Player of the Week honors in his first pro game, Lewis crumpled to the ground after a freakish collision. Two hours later, he was lying in a hospital with a bruised spinal cord.

Lewis overcame yet again. He never missed a game, finishing with a league-high 210 tackles.

"Ray is very tough and very, very smart. If you can get nine guys on the field like Ray Lewis, you're going to be pretty good," said University of Miami linebackers coach Randy Shannon, who stays in touch with Lewis. "We were like big brother-little brother [at Miami], but Ray was made a man early."

Mother knows best

Bennie Thompson, the Ravens' backup safety and Lewis' closest friend on the team, remembers the first, brash impression of Lewis. The Ravens had cut veteran Pepper Johnson, clearing the way for Lewis to start as a 230-pound rookie. Lewis arrived at his first training camp, brimming with attitude and charisma, announcing that the job belonged to him.

"Once I found out what a hard-nosed player he was, I bonded with Ray," Thompson said. "One day in practice, before I ever saw him play in a preseason game, Ray put [former Ravens center] Steve Everitt right on his butt. Everitt is a damn good football player, and what Ray did to him was unbelievable. That's when I knew Ray was the real deal.

"Ray is a good guy. He doesn't get into trouble off the field, no violence. When he hangs out, he doesn't make a lot of noise about being Ray Lewis. And he owes everything to his mom. She raised him right."

To know Ray is to know Sunseria. At 41, with a silky complexion that belies her years, Sunseria remains the central figure in his life.

Shortly after becoming a Raven, Lewis, determined to keep his family together and to reward the tireless work done by his

mother, bought a rancher in Randallstown and flew the rest of the family north. He basically ordered his mother to retire.

"Ray used to promise me that he was going to take care of me. We've always been like best friends," Sunseria said. "That boy is such a blessing. With all of the problems we had when he was young, he kept right on going like it was nothing. He was a little man about it."

Lewis said, "Momma is more like a sister, and she's here with me every day. She knows how to get my clock going. We'll sit here, watch game tapes and movies, laugh and play all night. Sometimes, like after a rough day during the season, she'll rub my head and put me to sleep, just like a 2-year-old."

Momma has taught the young linebacker well. Like the time Lewis was in the sixth grade and going through the class clown stage. Always a bright student, Lewis developed a habit of goofing off in class after he had finished an assignment. Sunseria, who was working nearby for a hospital laundry service, advised the teacher to call the next time Lewis acted up.

The call came, and Sunseria went right to the school, where she stood outside of Lewis' classroom window and watched him firing spitballs. Then, she walked through the door, and, to the astonishment of Lewis and the rest of the kids, paddled him.

"Never had any more trouble from Ray after that," she recalled.

Family ties

Football is Lewis' passion. Family is his obsession. The father of two sons, Ray III (3) and Rayshad (5 months), Lewis spends nearly his entire off-season with them, at the home of their mother, Tatyana McCall, in Orlando, Fla. He flies there religiously for birthdays. Rarely does a day go by without his calling.

"The phone bills can get out of hand," said McCall, who Ray met at the University of Miami.

Ray and Tatyana have discussed marriage. But after he was drafted, they agreed to carry on a long-distance relationship. They are reluctant to commit to anything beyond that.

"I wanted Ray to go and adjust [to the NFL]. At times, the distance is good for us. At the same time, I get lonely and miss him," she said. "We've grown together. We have a good foundation. I don't know what the future holds for us. But I only want to [marry] one time."

Lewis said he is not ready to trade in his bachelorhood for a full-time commitment.

"Right now, I just can't deal with [marriage]," he said. "If I decide to get with one woman, I'm going to be with just one. There's no gray area. I don't want to be in a marriage and cheat on my wife."

Lewis also said he is determined not to repeat his childhood experience. He never had much of a relationship with his father, Ray Sr., who would disappear from home for lengthy stretches and split up with Sunseria more than a decade ago. Lewis said he tried to reconcile with his dad during his rookie year. Upon request, Lewis had given him a $5,000 piece of his $1.3 million signing bonus.

"I tried to forgive him, but he's never been there for me, never did nothing for me," Lewis said. "If you can't see your child, pick up a phone sometimes. I gave up a lot of my childhood because of him. My childhood was spent at home in the yard. I was the father figure. I raised the kids."

If he's not at home, at work or in Florida, Lewis can be found at Sunseria's place with the rest of the group. Someone from the family usually accompanies him to the bowling alley or the movies.

"That's my nucleus," he said.

Who took his 18-year-old sister, Kadaja, to her senior prom? Who played matchmaker for his mother, pushing Sunseria to marry Clifford? Who tried to persuade Kadaja not to go to college in Florida and thus "break up" the family?

"He's like my daddy and my brother. He's everything to me," said Keon, 13. "He's my role model. He's always been there for me. I just like the person he is."

The Baptist religion runs strong in the household, where the family prays together often. About twice a month, the whole group (the others are Ray's 20-year-old twin sisters, Laquesha and Lakeisha) assembles for a discussion that ranges from Bible study to blowing off steam at each other. Lewis, who became a deacon when he was 9 and envisions himself becoming a preacher some day, gets valuable practice time there.

"When we have those talks, we look back on where we came from. We know the Lord has blessed us," Sunseria said.

Leader on the field

Lewis' family extends to the Ravens' locker room. At least one night a week during the season, you can find nearly half the team at his house shooting pool, playing cards, talking shop, devouring Sunseria's cooking.

Lewis has firmly established himself as a leader.

"If you talk with a purpose, people respect you and listen to you. Ray has no false chatter in him, and he has total control of his huddle," said tight end Eric Green. "He doesn't have a hidden agenda. He's a real person. He's a tremendous worker. You look at him, you see a great player forming."

On Sundays, Lewis takes his energy to a fiery level. The chest-thumping, trash-talking theatrics that accompany his great plays have become a Ravens trademark.

"It's not a job to [Lewis]. He was born to play linebacker," said outside linebacker Peter Boulware. "I wouldn't call him a trash talker. He enjoys the game, and he just believes he's going to do things. When he gets beat on a play, he'll yell, 'That's not going to happen again!' Nine times out of 10, it doesn't happen again."

Defensive coordinator Marvin Lewis said, "Ray's whole game is about energy, about beating an offensive guy to a spot. He uses his God-given talent to the utmost of his ability. He still has a lot to learn. Sometimes, he's still his own worst enemy because he tries to do too much. But when you go back over a season's worth of tape, you see all the plays this guy makes."

Lewis is obsessed with improvement. He has trained maniacally for the past two off-seasons, and now carries a stout, 247-pound frame. He worked earlier this year with a personal trainer in Florida to increase his flexibility and control muscle fatigue. A casual drinker for years, he gave up alcohol after his Pro Bowl trip. He studies tape of himself and opponents until his eyes glaze over.

"The athletic ability is already there for most people in this league. Everybody runs and works out," Lewis said. "The question is: How far can you take your game?"

Lewis endured numerous bumps during his introduction to the big leagues. In Lewis' rookie season, Oilers tight end Frank Wycheck hurt his back by nearly trap-blocking him out of the Astrodome when Lewis charged through a hole without checking his flank. A few weeks later, New England running back Curtis Martin hit Lewis so ferociously on a sweep that he bent Lewis' face mask and temporarily blinded him in one eye.

Lewis' biggest scare occurred a year ago in training camp. During a goal-line drill, Lewis, stepping into the hole carelessly, never saw fullback Kenyon Cotton, who clipped him in the head with what appeared to be a glancing blow. A few seconds later, Lewis fell to his knees, then rolled onto the ground, his body limp. All he could feel was a tingling sensation, evidence of a severe neck burner.

"I remember lying there thinking, 'It can't be over. I'm just getting started,' " he said. Within minutes, the feeling was returning to his limbs, and a helicopter was taking him to a shock trauma unit. Within two weeks, Lewis had returned to the practice field.

"He's motivated, has great instincts, runs like hell and makes a ton of big plays," Tennessee general manager Floyd Reese said of Lewis. "Maybe three or four guys in each draft have his kind of impact, with that kind of personality. You draft that if you're lucky. You don't manufacture it.

"And if you lose a guy like that, you lose a bit of the team's soul."

The future

Lewis, who is signed through 1999 and is scheduled to make $675,000 and $777,500 over the next two seasons, said he would love to sign a long-term contract extension before the end of 1998.

"I'm not asking for anything more than what I'm producing for. Just pay me what I'm worth," Lewis said.

"We thought he would a good player in his first two years, and he's already taken it to a Pro Bowl level," said Ozzie Newsome, the team's vice president of player personnel. "He overcame his so-called lack of height and size. Obviously, Ray has proved some people wrong. He'll be a Raven for the next two years, and everybody in this franchise wants him to retire here."

Lewis, sipping a glass of ice water and looking relaxed, smiled as he counted his blessings. His football career has taken off. His sons are healthy. His family is as tight as ever. Life is good.

But one picture on his basement wall constantly reminds Lewis of a void in his life. It is the smiling face of Marlin Barnes. The murder trial of Barnes' accused killer, Labrant Dennis, is scheduled to begin this month in Miami. Lewis does not relish the thought of being subpoenaed to testify.

"I know he's in a better place," said Lewis, who owns a stack of T-shirts bearing Barnes' face and wears one each day he steps on the field. "I see him every day. I talk to him every day. When he passed away, he became my motivation. I do this for him."

Pub Date: 7/19/98