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He's stretched out on a brown leather sofa in the elegantly furnished living room of his suburban Baltimore home. Fake flames flicker from the electric fireplace. Fly honeys shake it fast in crisp living color on a large-screen HDTV that's tuned -- as usual -- to BET. It's in this comfortable position, in this very setting, that Jamal Lewis finds himself drifting off and dreaming.

Eyes closed, he visualizes his Ravens in the Super Bowl. And he sees himself blowing up the spot: 200-plus yards rushing, a couple of TDs, a don't-stop-'til-you-drop effort, knowing that a dominant performance -- combined with a win -- will leave him etched in the public's mind forever. Big performance. Big game. Big message to all the haters, the doubters and the name-callers. The ones who loved him as a college freshman, when he was a record-setting rusher at Tennessee; sympathized with him as a sophomore, when he had reconstructive surgery on his right knee; and discarded him as a junior, when the team failed to repeat as national champion.

Talk about a tough burden. Jamal, in what he calls a rash moment, once sought therapy from a stranger's needle. Look closely at his right biceps. Amid the old scars, the fresh cuts and the healing scabs, you'll find a work of art. It was left behind by that needle and stands, to this day, as a form of inspiration. Floating above the tattoo of Jesus on a cross are these words: NO EVIL AGAINST ME SHALL PROSPER.

Funny how things work out. Over the last year, it's the 5'11", 231-pound Lewis who has prospered. His rushing total -- 1,364 yards, the very same number he had as a college freshman -- was second among NFL rookies. His six touchdowns led a team so offensively challenged, it endured a painful five-game stretch without a trip to the end zone. His combination of speed and strength helped carry the Ravens over the second half of the season, earning him this nickname from the one and only (and no relation) Ray Lewis: "The Beast."

It's that nickname that Jamal has carved into the walking stick that's right now leaning up against his fireplace. When he drifts off these days, he does so knowing he's one step closer to his dream. His Ravens are in the Super Bowl. And though it's Baltimore's defense that carries the load, Lewis -- at the tender age of 21 -- has at least a fighting chance of making his dramatic vision a reality.

"To all the people who booed, to all the people who called me names, to all the people who said I was a sorry player," he says, in a deliberate drawl that reflects his Atlanta roots, "all I have is one thing to say: Take a good look at me now."

Here's The Beast on the field: Fast. Elusive. Powerful. Relentless. Just ask his linemen. Edwin Mulitalo, the starting left guard, still shakes his head as he recalls the first Cleveland game, watching Lewis steamroll one tackler while dragging another upfield. Right tackle Harry Swayne's favorite? Lewis, in the wild-card playoff win over Denver, flattening a would-be tackler at the line of scrimmage on the way to a 27-yard-score. "Ran his boy over!" says an excited Swayne of the victim, Broncos linebacker Al Wilson, who just happened to be Jamal's college roommate at Tennessee.

Off the field, Lewis is straight-up hip-hop: Floppy hat on his head. Tim's on his feet. Baggy designer jeans hanging fashionably halfway off his butt. He bolts the Ravens' practice complex, jumps into his white Benz, cranks up the volume of his OutKast CD -- featuring homies from the A-T-L -- and peels out of the lot.

With each and every stop he makes during the 15-minute ride to his home, gawkers strain to peer through the tinted windows of the luxury sedan. Jamal, talking nonstop on his ever-ringing cell phone, is oblivious to it all. No other Ravens live in his Randallstown development, he says. Just the way he likes it -- neighborly, but isolated from his work buddies, most of whom live in the numerous subdivisions of Owings Mills, a five-minute drive from the practice facility. And, according to several Ravens coaches, therein lies the foundation of one predraft knock against Jamal -- that he was a loner; not a team guy but a "me" guy.

Tell that to Mike Sims, coach at Atlanta's Douglass High School, and he recalls a game against rival Southwest DeKalb in Jamal's sophomore year. Three yards from a score, Sims called the tailback's number, intending to give him his third touchdown of the game. But Jamal overruled him, leaving the huddle and lining up as a fullback in the I-formation. He made the key block that gave full-time fullback Sean Ringfield his only score of the day. "That's the way he's always been," says Sims, who speaks to Jamal weekly. "Most unselfish player I ever coached."

And quite possibly the strongest. For even at that young age, Jamal loved to demolish any defender who dared to cross his path. "This game is all about intimidation," he says. "When I'm on the field, I'll do anything to show the other team that you don't want to mess with me. I use my power to break guys early. By the third and fourth quarters, when you're not so fresh, that's when I gash you."

That running style proved effective in college. By the fourth game of his freshman season, Jamal was a starter, announcing his debut with 155 yards on 22 carries in a win over Ole Miss.

By his second start, at home against Georgia, he was rushing for 232 yards on 22 carries, taking special pleasure in sticking it to the home-state fans who mocked him.

That was on Saturday. By Wednesday, his newfound success was on the verge of unraveling. Acting on a tip, an Atlanta paper published a story about a shoplifting charge that had been handed down seven months earlier. A friend, a Macy's store clerk, had placed a $109 Polo shirt in Jamal's shopping bag. By Thursday, the incident was front-page news in Knoxville. In five days, Lewis had gone from celebrated football player to publicly humiliated miscreant.

He entered a first-time-offender guilty plea and was given a $1,000 fine and three years' probation. "The only thing wrong I've ever done," he says. "I go for 232 against Georgia and, coincidentally, this shows up in the paper. I thought it was shady. And yet it was nothing but a hurdle. I cleared the hurdle. I never missed a beat."

Maybe just a half-beat. Jamal rushed for only 67 yards in a win at Alabama the following Saturday. But two weeks later, on one of those rare off days for Peyton Manning, Lewis rushed for 205 yards and two touchdowns in a 22-7 win over South Carolina. The Vols finished the season 11-2, losing to Nebraska in the Orange Bowl. And Lewis, the first UT true freshman to rush for 1,000 yards, felt he was just getting started in Knoxville. "I was never satisfied," he says. "I always expected to get better."

At Tennessee, it's called 80 Pitch. That was the call relayed in from the sidelines in the fourth game of Lewis' sophomore year, and he recalls taking that pitch from quarterback Tee Martin and breaking up the right sideline with one mighty lonely defensive back in his sights. As the DB went for his right knee, Jamal jumped. One problem: His right foot remained planted, leaving the knee vulnerable to the full brunt of the blow.

"A doctor checked me out," Lewis says, "and I knew something was wrong. When he went to get another doctor, I went back in the game. Same play, I'm going up the sideline and I'm ready to take it to the house. But when I cut inside, the leg just buckled. I dropped the ball and walked off the field. I knew I was done."

So instead of duplicating his promising freshman season (he ran for 140 yards on the day he was hurt), Lewis went under the knife. In a two-hour surgery, doctors replaced his torn lateral collateral ligament with one from a cadaver. They also reattached a tendon that had torn completely from his fibula. And that's how Jamal endured the most difficult year of his life, watching helplessly as the team rolled on to an undefeated season and a national title.

"I stayed away most of the season," he says. "If I couldn't play, I didn't want to be around the team. I went to the national championship game and got my ring. But when it was over, I told my roommate [Wilson, who had completed his college career], 'I'm not playing and now you're not playing. We're on the same track.' "

Lewis expected to make another national championship run in 1999. But playing in an already crowded backfield, he was unable to duplicate his freshman numbers. In fact, Vols fans made it clear that they wanted to see less of Lewis and more of Travis Henry, the back who had led them to the promised land in '98. "They thought I was the cause of a bad season -- although I don't think going to the Fiesta Bowl is all that bad," says Lewis. "They thought I was slower, not as strong. At that point, I felt I had done all I could do at Tennessee."

So less than a week after the 2000 Fiesta Bowl, he declared for the draft. His rehabbed knee, poked and probed by NFL doctors, showed no signs of wear and tear. Matter of fact, the Lewis who declared for the draft was a better physical specimen than the one who had made such a grand entrance in Knoxville; the extra time in the weight room added a thick layer of muscle to his well-built frame. And, from one NFL workout to the next, he ran sub-4.4 40s.

The Ravens were so impressed, they passed over tried-and-true backs like Ron Dayne and Shaun Alexander to select Lewis with the fifth pick of last April's draft. But, as you might expect, the so-called experts felt compelled to offer a counterpoint. Their opinion might best be summarized by CNN's Trev Alberts, who said: "Ridiculous."

Lewis rolled into his first camp in a black Humvee, prompting Mulitalo to ask a question: "Why do you drive such an ugly vehicle?"

"It's just like me," Lewis replied. "Big, ugly and willing to go anywhere."

Good thing first impressions can be deceiving. "Conceited, maybe even cocky," thought receiver Pat Johnson. "But then you get to know him and find that's the furthest from the truth. He's just a regular guy. He's not all caught up in the things that come with status."

Off the field, Jamal performed his rookie chores without a fuss, buying Popeye's chicken for road-trip charters, delivering five dozen doughnuts ("four dozen glazed, one dozen assorted") to the team's Saturday meetings. On the field, he earned respect with his dedication and his punishing style. Once again, he won the starting tailback spot in the fourth game of the season, learning the news from Priest Holmes, the man he would replace. "He came to me one morning and said, 'It's all you now, good luck,'" Lewis recalls.

It didn't take long to prove himself worthy.

In Week 10, Jamal rushed for 109 yards at Cincinnati, helping to snap a three-game Ravens losing streak. Over the next six games, he ran over and around defenders, averaging 130 yards per outing. By year's end, he was carrying the offense -- and he knew how to play the game. When he went over 1,000 yards rushing, he made sure the linemen, fullbacks and tight ends got new watches -- $12,000 worth of precious metal in all. "That said a lot about how he handles success," says Swayne. "Add to that the fact that he's a marvelous player, and you've got a guy with a bright future."

Ravens coach Brian Billick agrees: "Power plus speed plus the elusiveness out of the backfield, and he can catch, too. I'm not going to say he's unique, but no one comes to mind in terms of having all those properties. Now can he maintain it? That's the key."

If the Ravens strike first in the Super Bowl and lead the Giants early, they would love to force-feed Jamal to the tune of 30-plus carries in their ball-control offense, hoping he can break a couple of big plays. "We don't have a receiver who will get 200 yards, we don't have a quarterback who will throw for 200," says tight end Shannon Sharpe. "We're gonna give the ball to Jamal and let him run."

Lewis is back on the sofa now, sifting through his past, analyzing his dreams. He has a national championship ring from his years at Tennessee, but he's not proud of the way he earned it. "Yes, I played a major part in getting there," he says. "Yes, I got chills going out on the field before the game. But I didn't play and that makes a difference." That ring he doesn't wear. That ring sits on display -- with two SEC title rings -- in the Atlanta home he bought for his mom.

As for a Super Bowl ring?

"I'll wear that one," he says. "I want me a big, big, big Super Bowl ring."

And so, when he drifts off to sleep at night, there's a little bling-bling in Jamal's subconscious. Beat the Giants and who knows? Maybe the doubters will cast another look. Maybe then, even they will enjoy what they see.

This article appears in the February 5 issue of ESPN The Magazine.