NFL
Chris "Graybeard" still going strong

By Les Carpenter
Seattle Times staff reporter

ROD MAR / THE SEATTLE TIMES Chris Gray (62) knows his nose has taken a pounding, but says he will wait until he is finished playing to fix it.

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The thing you can't help but notice is the nose.

It's not even like Chris Gray's nose is that big or that unusual, it just happens that the head of the Seahawks right guard slopes at an odd angle for the typical football helmet. And in the fury of games, when gigantic men are trying to shove past him, pounding their elephantine palms on top of his skull, the helmet gets knocked around. At which point, the front of the plastic that is attached to the facemask is forced into the bridge of his nose.

Eventually, the pounding takes its toll on Gray's nose, leaving a bloody patch at the point where it meets his forehead. This makes him look every bit a football player at game's end but is also terrible for the complexion.

He once came home from a road game that had been particularly hard on the nose, bloodying it enough that the trainers had to cover the wound with a bandage. Well, it just so happened that Gray's wife, Julie, had scheduled a family portrait to be taken the next day. And when he walked through the door that night, she looked at his taped, swollen face and said: "You have got to be kidding me."

Not a problem. The photographer snapped the picture, then airbrushed out the bandage.

Over time, the bloody patches have healed, hardening into a lump of scar tissue that sticks up like a small glacier. The scar tissue actually has a noise. It sounds like plastic when you tap it. Gray smiles as he takes a finger and flicks it against the top of his nose. The rapping sounds like he's hitting the lid of a coffee cup.

He likes to tell rookies that the damage to his nose was so bad he had to have it replaced with a plastic one. Some even believe him.

"I was going to get it fixed in the offseason," Gray says with a sigh. "But I didn't want to get it fixed and then cut it again, so I'll wait until after I'm done playing."

Without the gash, you would probably not recognize Chris Gray. Few people do. Even the name itself invites you to forget. On the most anonymous part of the Seattle Seahawks — the offensive line — he is the most anonymous player.
 
In this march of helmeted men with shoulder pads, Chris Gray is the one who is like the rest of us. There is nothing about him that says he does this for a living. He is not tall or particularly athletic, his waist has widened over the years and when he walks he strolls with a shrug that makes him seem more like your neighbor borrowing a weed whacker than a lineman playing his second decade in the NFL.

A few weeks ago, when the Seahawks arrived in Green Bay for an exhibition game, Gray, who looks at least 10 years older than his 34 years, walked up to the table where the players' hotel room keys were being distributed. The woman behind the table looked up and politely pointed down the hall. "Oh, I'm sorry sir," she said. "The coaches' room keys are at the next table."

Every year, it seems, the Seahawks think they can do better at right guard. They are always drafting the next great thing, a gigantic man who looks more like a player and will stomp into training camp to seize the job. But when the season comes, you look at the lineup and notice that Gray is starting once more.

"I'm always the underdog," he says with a shrug. "It doesn't bother me at all. You can't look at that stuff. It's always been that way. They're always drafting someone bigger, stronger and faster."

Then he shakes his head.

"I think I've been blessed," he says when asked how he has survived. "I try to study my opponent and study his game and what his moves are. I take a lot of notes."

He is a Christian. You could probably say he is "born again." He was born Catholic in Birmingham, Ala., but his spiritual awakening came in high school when he joined a group of friends going to a Christian function called Student Stampede.

Among the speakers at the Student Stampede was a power lifter who was something of a showman, a man who dazzled crowds by letting cars drive across his chest. Gray had seen him on TV and was a fan. Then the power lifter stood before the Student Stampede and began to talk about Jesus.

"He made Jesus a real person," Gray says. "I had never seen him as a real person before. I had only thought of him as a historical figure."

And it is a Christian life Gray has led. He met Julie in high school — he thinks it was at a McDonald's parking lot — and they have been together ever since. Back then, he had a pact with four of his friends that none of them would ever drink or smoke or use drugs. By the end of his freshman year of high school, he was the only one who hadn't broken the vow.

In fact, only once has he ever gone back on that word. It came on an official visit to a college when he broke down and had a drink. After a few sips, he found he didn't like the taste. And that was it for alcohol.

For fun he likes to hunt, wandering off into the woods as soon as the season is over. He also plays the guitar, something he and his cousin taught themselves to do when they were children. He plays mostly Christian songs, locking himself in a room, away from the kids, away from everybody. This is his escape, the way he finds he can relax.

He never thought he would be playing pro football this long. Initially, he figured he would play five years, one for every season in college — this would allow him to become vested and retire with a good pension. Then when five years came and he was still in the league, he stretched that limit to eight seasons. Now that he has gone past 10, he stops projecting. Every season has become a year-to-year proposition.

When he does retire, he wants to be a coach. He figures he would start at the high-school level because that's where he can make the biggest impact, when the kids are the most vulnerable and the most in need of guidance. To prepare, he has kept every game plan and every note he has taken over his 11 years in the NFL, packing them away in boxes that fill his basement.

But why think about retiring? He has been a starter the last six seasons with Seattle, and there seems no reason to believe he won't be again this year.

Maybe on an offensive line with bigger stars, Chris Gray is the one everyone forgets.

But he's also the one who keeps coming back.