Little Fanfare For an Uncommon Man

"I have to get a job," Harrison kept saying to Fararow anxiously. "I have to get a job. I have to get a job."

The class of '96 turned out to be a remarkable one for wide receivers, with 10 first-rate wideouts selected in the first or second rounds. But Harrison was only the 19th player chosen. Keyshawn Johnson went No. 1, to the New York Jets. Terry Glenn went No. 7 overall, to the New England Patriots. Eddie Kennison was selected 18th, by the St. Louis Rams.

At last, the Colts called Harrison's name. He was the fourth receiver picked. "He kind of has a chip on his shoulder about that," McNabb says. "But he will never say it."

Whether out of insecurity, or because he's never been properly appreciated, Harrison still labors at his position like a third-rate free agent desperate to make the team. His teammates shake their heads at his capacity for work and his obsessive attention to detail.

He insists on being the first player in every drill line. He wears gloves during games, but never during practice. The gloves are sticky and help him catch the ball -- but he wants every disadvantage in practice.

He insists on reporting to the Colts' Monday workouts. The practices are aimed primarily at those players who didn't get in the game, to give them some work. Nevertheless, Harrison is there, catching balls from the second- and third-team quarterbacks. If he doesn't run a route right, or drops a certain pass, he'll work on it obsessively, catching it 45 or 50 times in practice, making the ballboys throw to him until he is satisfied.

"They don't pay me to play, they pay me to practice," he says. "Playing, that's what you do for free. That's what you do for fun."

During regular midweek workouts, he insists on running his routes against Indy's first-team defenders. He practices every route at game tempo, and when he makes a catch, he sprints it into the end zone as if the Super Bowl depends on it. His teammates report that he makes as many gasp-evoking catches in practice as he does on Sundays.

"Of all the great catches that ya'll see in games, he does 10 times that many in practice," says Manning. "It's really gotten to the point where the one-handed catch in games, a lot of our guys go, 'Yeah, you know, he did that twice on Wednesday at practice.' "

A defender, therefore, has to cope with two separate problems in covering Harrison. The first is to contain him. And the second is to keep up with his indefatigable energy. There are simply no breathers against him.

"I know that I'm not going to take a play off," Harrison says. "So for them, they got to be ready to play 60 snaps, every single time. And not only be ready to play 60 snaps, but I'm going to run every route just as hard, and I'm going to try to make them look all the same."

There is one group of people, besides defensive backs, who properly appreciate Harrison: his teammates and associates. Dungy flatly calls him "priceless." Polian has rewarded him with a contract worth $67 million over seven years, to ensure he finishes his career in blue and white.

Whether Harrison ever gets his due from others apparently doesn't matter to him. It doesn't seem to occur to him to ask for it, any more than it occurs to him to lead a parade in the end zone, or hold a circus on the sideline. Tom Moore believes that Harrison doesn't just wish he could play in an empty stadium, "in a way the stadium is empty to him."

Harrison's refusal to strut, or to share his inner life, is a statement in its own right. In a world of undignified shouting, Harrison is a whisperer. And in a league of exhibitionists, he resolutely maintains his humility and privacy. It's tempting to wonder what he might be hiding. The answer is, nothing. "It's almost like he's a mysterious person, until you get to know him, and then you realize, what you see is what you get," Watson says. A little prodding reveals that Harrison's mysterious off the field activities really only consist of going home to Philadelphia, where he hangs out with the same old friends he grew up with.

"I mean, I live a normal life," he says. "I just try to live a normal life, whatever that is."

As for those closely held aspirations of his, his old tutor Fararow lets the shoe drop. When Harrison retires, he will finish his masters. And then he'd like to do something truly marvelous, and worthy of headlines.

He'd like to become a schoolteacher.