If this adventure can't wipe the permagrin off Daunte Culpepper's face, nothing ever will.
With little freedom left before the start of Vikings camp, Culpepper awoke at 4:30 on a July morning to fly from his home in Orlando to Chicago. After landing at O'Hare, he spent 30 minutes waiting curbside for his ride before giving up and cabbing it to a downtown hotel. In the lobby, he was swarmed by a group ofhonest-Abe Lincoln impersonators seeking autographs. Once he finally checked in, Culpepper had just enough time to drop off his Louis Vuitton luggage before being summoned downstairs. In the hotel driveway, a gold Excursion was waiting to ferry him to a charity basketball game sponsored by teammate Napoleon Harris. A few minutes later, after all the mad scrambling, Culpepper was parked on I-94 near U.S. Cellular Field, where construction had brewed a wicked traffic jam.
Culpepper, his black Gucci shades down on the tip of his nose, stared at the sea of red brake lights and orange traffic barrels. Tip-off was a few minutes away. The heat from the pavement had begun seeping through the SUV's floor. And it was only a matter of time before someone uttered the words "Randy" and "Moss." Sensing an impending tantrum, the driver skulked low into his seat. "Relax, man, there's no rush," Culpepper said with a deep chuckle, punching the guy's shoulder. "It's a little construction, that's all. Everybody just chill."
Easy for him to say. After what the Vikings have done this summer, no one in the NFL better understands the pain and payoff of major reconstruction projects. In the National Fixer-Up League, Culpepper has become the game's unflappable Bob Vila. (Does FUBU sell flannel?) Heading into his sixth season as a starter, Culpepper is as confident and content as he's ever been. "I'm happy because this is the best chance I've ever had," he says as traffic opens. "We've got the kind of talent now that can do something real special in Minnesota. And, metaphorically speaking, my ribs are showing. I'm hungry, real hungry, for a Super Bowl."
Since losing to Philly in the second round of the playoffs last season, the Vikings have changed ownership--from the brutally frugal Red McCombs to the so-far-free-spending Jersey real estate developer Zygi Wilf--traded away their receiva-diva Moss and promoted line coach Steve Loney to offensive coordinator. Minnie then went PlayStation on its porous, 28th-ranked defense, clicking and dragging in five new starters to give the Vikes nine defenders with first-round or Pro Bowl credentials on their résumés. "The biggest thing we have now is one agenda, and that's to be world champions," Culpepper explains. "There's no individuality. No personal issues. No hidden agendas. No selfishness. Everyone wants to work hard and do what's best for the team."
Listen closely to Culpepper, or anyone else in Minnesota, and just about everything said is a direct reference to you-know-who. Head coach Mike Tice's code words are "team" and "balance"; Loney's phrase is "knowing your role"; defensive coordinator Ted Cottrell throws "addition by subtraction" into virtually every other sentence. New addition Harris, the ex-Raiders linebacker shipped to Minneapolis as part of the Moss deal (Minnesota also got the No. 7 overall pick, which it used on WR Troy Williamson, and a seventhrounder), is a little more, well, linebackerish. "No one here wants to live in the shadow of Randy Moss' departure," he says. "We want to be the Vikings, not the team Randy Moss left."
Harris went to Thornton Township High on Chicago's South Side, then went on to Northwestern. In July he held a weekend of events-including a comedy show, golf tourney and yacht party-to benefit inner-city youth. And at each function, when NFL players from across the league mingled, they always ended up at the same subject: the suddenly team-oriented Vikings. "With the salary cap, you thought teams could fix only one thing or add one player," says Saints wideout Donte' Stallworth. "The Vikes flipped the whole damn script." And if it works, none of the game's superstars will ever be safe again.
Tice cooked up Minnesota's transformation while baking in the Hawaiian sun at the Pro Bowl. He fell asleep on the beach, waking up three hours later to find his skin fried a deep burgundy. Fitting: after evaluating the 2004 Vikes, Tice was chapped about his hapless D, the one he called "the stepchild of our football team." Tice had also grown tired of getting burned by Moss, whom the coach had allowed to become the white-hot center of the Vikings' universe. Tice put up with Moss' occasionally lazy and selfcentered play because the coach thought his team's performance would suffer if he didn't. Then Moss missed parts of six games in the middle of the 2004 season with a strained hammy. Instead of collapsing, the Vikes went 3—3, averaged 25.3 points per game and held their ranking as one of the league's top five offenses.
The NFL's new bump rule has made it easier for more pass-catchers-not just gifted athletes like Moss-to get off the line of scrimmage unmolested. Tight end Jermaine Wiggins caught fire during the Mossless stretch, ending the season with 71 catches. Marcus Robinson, the 6'3'' wideout, developed into a jump-ball specialist inside the red zone. And then second-year wide receiver Nate Burleson hauled in 68 catches and 9 TDs. No one can touch Moss when the ball's in the air, but Burleson carved out a niche by excelling once the ball got into his hands, gaining 456 of his teambest 1,006 receiving yards after the catch.
With Moss back in the lineup, Minnesota finished out the regular season 2-4. That included his walkoff in the regular-season finale, when he left the field with two seconds remaining during the Vikes' 21-18 loss to the Redskins. As they say in the biz, he'd just lost the locker room. "With the other stuff we just said that's Randy being Randy," says a current Viking. "When he walked out on us, guys started to think he had something wrong deep down inside him and, as great as he is, until he worked it out, he wouldn't be any good to anybody."
During Minnesota's wild-card win against Green Bay, Moss fake-mooned the fans in Lambeau after scoring a touchdown, which cost him $10,000. The next week, when the Eagles D exposed him even further by limiting him to three catches, Moss' purple reign of terror was all but over. The Vikes began shopping him shortly after the Pro Bowl and, in early March, he was shipped to Oakland. But no one expected him to go quietly. And he didn't disappoint. After a May minicamp in Oakland, Moss said Raiders QB Kerry Collins was better at reading defenses than Culpepper. "When I heard that, I thought he fell and bumped his head," says Culpepper, whose 93.2 career passer rating ranks third in NFL history. "He was just talking crazy."
Last season Culpepper was crazy good, as close to perfect as a quarterback can get. He completed 69.2% of his passes for 4,717 yards and a passer rating of 110.9. With 5,123 yards rushing and passing, he broke Dan Marino's NFL record for combined yardage in a single season. His passer rating on third downs (133.4) was 24.5 points higher than the next best in the league. And had it not been for Peyton Manning's record-setting 49 touchdown passes, Culpepper would have snagged his first MVP award. Collins, on the other hand, clocked in as the NFL's 27th-ranked QB, with a 74.8 passer rating.
Moss' comments reeked of the black-quarterback stereotype Culpepper has been fighting since he was Florida's Mr. Football at Vanguard High in 1994. That was something Moss seemed to acknowledge with a sheepish text-message apology in mid-June, claiming that his quotes had been twisted. Culpepper didn't respond. "I don't have any hard feelings," Culpepper says. "Randy was a good friend of mine and still could be. But at the same time, I've moved on. I'm not really worried about him, thinking about him or losing any sleep over him. I wish him the best. It's as simple as that."
In the end, the Vikes chose to boldly build their team around their QB pillar. At 6'4'', 264 pounds and 28 years of age, Culpepper is at that rare point where his mental mastery of the game and comfort as a team leader have matched his physical gifts. And he knows, better than most of the game's young guns, that it's a window that won't stay open long.
Growing up in Florida, Culpepper worshipped Marino. Grill him about Moss and he doesn't flinch. But mention Marino's gaudy stats and the fact that he has no Super Bowl title to show for them and suddenly the seats of the SUV seem to be padded with cut glass. "You can gather only so many individual accolades," says Culpepper. "He is one of the best, but now it's always, Marino never won a championship.' I definitely do not want that to be said about me when I'm done playing."
Oddly enough, Moss may have done more than anyone else to ensure that Culpepper and Marino won't share the same fate. Last season, the Vikings linebackers, Dontarrious Thomas and twoyear vet E.J. Henderson, were overwhelmed by pro coverage schemes. They played tentatively, which translated into a lack of a physical presence and late-game mental breakdowns that exposed Minnesota to big plays. The Vikes ranked near the bottom of the league in fourth-quarter points allowed (27th), total yards allowed (30th) and passing yards allowed (30th). Without stability in the middle, there was nothing Pro Bowl defensive tackle Kevin Williams or top-tier defensive backs Antoine Winfield and Corey Chavous could do. "There were times last year when Daunte was thinking, I have to score every time I touch the ball, 'cause my defense is no damn good," says Cottrell. "We couldn't keep lagging behind and expect to contend for anything."
Trading Moss freed up nearly $2 million. The Vikes used that and nearly $25 million in cap space to sign ex-Buffalo nose tackle Pat Williams, smooth ex-Washington cover corner Fred Smoot and ex-Green Bay Pro Bowl safety Darren Sharper. They also acquired Jets veteran middle linebacker Sam Cowart in a trade. Harris, who played in the middle in Oakland, will move to the strong side, taking pressure off Thomas and Henderson. And to streamline and simplify communication, Tice promoted Chuck Knox Jr. from secondary coach to coverage coordinator, meaning all in-game questions about schemeswhether from DBs or linebackers or linemen-will go through him.
So far in preseason, the moves have produced a loose, balanced, swarming attack, one good enough that Sharper and Winfield have said they'd be disappointed if it didn't rank in the league's top five. Cottrell says the key will be remembering the lesson Moss taught them: in today's NFL, it's usually the best team that wins and not the best talent. So before their final summer break, the Vikings were implored by Cottrell to "hang out together, go shopping, go out to eat, watch TV or go bowling. Do whatever you can to pull back together as a team."
That's why Culpepper spent the better part of a day in a car, a plane, a cab and a limo getting to his new teammate's charity hoops game. And he made it with plenty of time to spare before the tip. In the first half, Terrell Owens stole the show with a wild barrage of windmill dunks. But Owens eventually grew tired and bored, and the team led by Culpepper and Harris-who looked like they had been playing together since childhood-pulled ahead by double digits.
At one point, Harris picked TO clean and threaded a half-court bounce pass to Culpepper, who took two strides and slammed the ball with ease. Culpepper then brought his left hand up to the rim and catapulted himself two feet above the net. Still sporting that calm, confident grin, he seemed to float up there effortlessly, for more seconds than seemed possible, as if he had just been cut loose from a great weight tethering him to the earth.