The man you expect to do all the talking has not changed. Richard Sherman still enters a room with swagger other players only dream of—forget that torn Achilles, forget the losingest season of his career, forget age.
Sherman makes it clear—in seconds—he's as fearless as ever.
Tell him that many assumed he came to the Bay Area to die, and he laughs. Those critics, he kindly points out, are the same fools who counted him out as a rookie. Sherman won't fade away like other past legends in funky colors. No, he kicks his right leg up onto a table inside 49ers HQ and lounges back.