To Catch a Prophet: Charles Woodson of the Green Bay Packers

In 1997, everyone was ready to give Peyton Manning the Heisman Trophy--it was his birthright--but throughout the year Charles Woodson shimmied up and down drainpipes, slid in and out of windows, crawled through air ducts, and danced his way around mazes of Ohio St. red laser beams. When the press, past winners, and Peyton gathered for the coronation of #16, the crown had already been stolen and mailed to some undisclosed location whose coordinates only Charles Woodson was aware.

Since then, it seems like Woodson disappeared with the fruits of his grand heist into the white sands of Barbados or the Cayman Islands to sip Coronas and to stare at beautiful women. God gave Woodson the gift of light fingers, and it appeared that Woodson was done with gifts, choosing instead to rest on past laurels, letting the legend of the past swallow his present and future, like a Biblical whale aiding and abetting a man in his search to live incognito. The belly of the whale was draped in silver and black shadows and smelled like Al Davis' pomade. In his last four seasons in Oakland, Woodson only played more than half a season twice, suiting up for 15 games in 2003 and 13 games in 2004. His biggest play from that era, the tuck rule play, didn't even count. This criminal mastermind was clearly on vacation, taking a break, or locked away in Arkham Asylum--Woodson was out of sight and out of mind.

Then, in 2006, Charles Woodson resurfaced, and signed a seven-year 52 million dollar contract. Some critics thought that this spiderweb and moonlight artist of the Heisman Heist had returned only to stoop low enough to peculate, like a simple charlatan or rainmaker, much needed funds from an unsuspecting, small town franchise. Many doubted if he would even suit up for half a season, but when the season ended, Woodson had logged 16 games and Green Bay's tally of wins doubled from their abysmal run of 4-12 the year before; and as the 2006 season progressed, Woodson looked less and less like a Wet Bandit from Home Alone and more and more like a Sean Connery from Entrapment, regaining his dexterity play by play and game by game (okay, maybe that was actually Catherine Zeta-Jones demonstrating her dexterity). Woodson finished 2006 with a career high in interceptions.

In 2007, the team went on its last magical ride with Brett Favre, finishing 13-3, and Woodson aided the effort with 7 interceptions, as if he were Shaobo Qin's character Yen from Ocean's 11, and last year, Charles Woodson and Al Harris played the roles of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid flawlessly as the Packers' secondary was one of the lone bright spots in a 6-10 effort. For most of the year, that unit led the League in interceptions before injuries limited the playing time of starters Al Harris and Atari Bigby. Still, Charles Woodson was rewarded with his first Pro Bowl since 2001, showing that fate is unavoidable. Jonah must go to Ninevah, and a thief must lay hands on history's heirlooms and the treasures of antiquity, offering the world's aristocracy a chance to commiserate with the vulnerability of the world's lower classes. Thieves, like Woodson, send the message to the sovereign lords, the quarterbacks of the world, that divine right is not bestowed solely on those with crowns. After all, what is the purpose of a king without subjects?

Perhaps Charles Woodson's career 43 interceptions and counting are also the work of God's will. Perhaps Woodson, like Jonah, Elijah, Elisha, or any prophet for that matter, is not laying hands on the football out of a need for profit, but as a way of reminding kings and queens that the Universe can tear them down as easily as it birthed them up.

Charles Woodson is not a thief or a charlatan, but he is a maker of fire and rain. Elijah once challenged a king, named Ahab; Baal, Ahab's god; and the priests of Baal to a contest of seeing which god, Elijah's or Ahab's, could light an altar on fire. Baal's priest went as far as mutilating their own flesh in an attempt to ignite the wood with their own blood, but in the end, Baal was silent as a stone and no fire was lit. On the other hand, Elijah asked for his altar to be drenched in water, then he prayed to his God, and the soaked timbers burst into flame. This miracle clearly demonstrated that not only was Baal a false god, but that any king receiving his right to rule from Baal was also a false king.

Perhaps football fans are guilty of the same sins. The Heisman Trophy was not Peyton's birthright any more than it was Charles Woodson's, and our belief in a false hierarchy, that saw only quarterbacks as dignified and everyone else as faceless subjects, is the reason that for all these years we wasted time calling Woodson a criminal and a hoax. The time has come to cast him as his proper archetype.

After the altar built for Elijah's God burst into flames, Elijah prayed for rain. His prayers were answered by a downpour that ended a drought and a famine. If the Packers are to end their own playoff famine, then know it is because a master thief took off his cloak to reveal the way of the Lord. It's time we observe what Woodson, our Jonah, is trying to show us--repent, put on the sackcloth, sit in ashes, and be done with worshipping quarterbacks because their prayers do not always find their mark. And their place on top of football's totem pole is a robbery that has victimized Packer fans much too often as of late.

Charles Woodson, like Robin Hood, has stolen our hearts back from the chambers of false kings and their broken promises (Favre anyone?). Thank you, and good luck laying hands on the rest of the 2009 season.