NEW YORK — We’re standing at the back of a glittering ballroom at the Hilton in Midtown Manhattan, and Charles Woodson is talking about lions.

“I’m fascinated,” he says. “Their sense of family, the fact they’re the king of the jungle. They do what they wanna do.”

Woodson is here because he’s getting inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame. It’s one more honor for a legendary Michigan career, one defined by vivid images of hoisting the Heisman Trophy and biting down on the stem of a rose after sealing a trip to Pasadena. He’s proud of this honor and his career — but this whole event, with all the chit-chat and the awards dinner? It isn’t really his type of thing. 

This week is full of standing and smiling for photos, of looking into cameras and saying cute things about his career at Michigan. Woodson is charismatic and charming when he wants to be. He’s an NFL analyst for ESPN, so he’s still on TV and in public all the time. But he’s also a walking contradiction. Woodson is outspoken and occasionally braggadocios. He can also be introverted and reclusive, a hard man to get ahold of despite his very public persona.

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No better example than Tuesday in New York.  The day began with an hour-long media session featuring all the inductees in this year’s star-studded hall of fame class. Mack Brown held court with reporters from all over the country, and Frank Beamer shared old stories with a close circle of writers. Ed Reed strutted in wearing all black and exuding his usual swagger. Calvin Johnson smiled and laughed and patted people on the back. Kerry Collins even opened up about his battle with alcohol. As all this was going on, and as the ballroom filled and grew louder, a couple of media relations workers scanned down a list.

Looks like everyone is here except … Charles.

Woodson had gotten in late the previous night after working “Monday Night Football” in Philadelphia. No one was quite sure where he was, or if he was coming, or what was going on. They just knew the seat with the name tag labeled CHARLES WOODSON was empty. There was some disappointment, because Woodson is a big ticket. Like a male lion, he made a career out of patrolling the edges, defending his territory, ready to strike at anyone who tried to infiltrate the pride. On the right occasion, he might even pounce and do some hunting of his own. He’s the gold standard for an entire generation of defensive backs.

Ed Reed, only a few years younger, talked about watching Woodson at Michigan when Reed was still in high school.

“I was telling him last night, I couldn’t wait to bump into him,” said Reed, the former Baltimore Ravens safety. “I had to let him know how it felt to just watch him play ball and do the things he was doing.”

Woodson didn’t show up for the media session. But through a little prodding and a lot of luck, I arranged to get a few minutes with him before an evening photo op. We were supposed to meet at 5 p.m.

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Woodson strolled in at 5:36, and our interview lasted only a few minutes before he had to run up to the stage and grin for the cameras. It started awkwardly and hurried. I introduced myself and shook his hand, and Woodson just nodded. Yep. Yep.

But then we started talking. More accurately, he started talking. Often, people will tell you a lot about themselves if you’re willing to listen. Sometimes you can get as much out of five minutes as you can one hour.

“People think they have you pegged,” Woodson said. “What you’re supposed to be, what you’re supposed to do, how you’re supposed to act. I like to blaze my own trail.”

There’s a tattoo on Woodson’s left arm. It features the wild eyes of a big cat, and in jagged letters, it spells out Woodson’s life motto.

A lion ain’t supposed to be tamed. 

If anyone understands the stubbornness and drive that made Charles Woodson’s greatness, it is Vance Bedford.

Bedford was Michigan’s defensive backs coach in 1995, a new hire from Oklahoma State. He arrived in Ann Arbor at the same time as a young, cocky kid from Ohio who was supposed to be the future. Woodson grew up in Fremont. Before he was an elite athlete, he spent his earliest years in special shoes, designed to correct his feet that were growing at an inward angle. 

Woodson’s first idol was his older brother Larry. Larry was a big Michigan fan, so Woodson became one, too. Despite the push and pull that comes with an Ohio kid going to Michigan, Woodson’s recruitment is a simple story. He had a lot of offers, and he visited Notre Dame and Miami. But Woodson always wanted to go to Michigan, and Charles Woodson does what Charles Woodson wants to do.

“He was a lot like he is right now,” Bedford said. “He has a very strong personality. Believes in himself.”

One story that shapes the zeitgeist of Woodson’s Michigan career is from one of his first practices, when he lined up against star receiver Amani Toomer and battled him up and down the field. Coach Lloyd Carr knew right away he had a guy who was going to live up to the hype.

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Bedford, though, has a different story. A better story. 

During the year’s first practice, Michigan put all the freshmen together. They did some basic drills, learning the ropes.

“He was tripping over the bags,” Bedford said. “He didn’t know how to backpedal. You name it. I’m like, ‘This kid is supposed to be Mr. Ohio, this great football player, the savior of Michigan?’”

The next day, they went through the same drills.

“It was like he’d been doing it all his life,” Bedford said. “He’s a quick study.”

Bedford was hard on Woodson from the start. He had to mold a hardheaded kid. He had to turn a stud athlete into a savvy cornerback.

“I think what a lot of young men are looking for is discipline, and I gave him that,” Bedford said. “That’s how we went through things. You’re not gonna do it your way. If you do it your way, you’re gonna be on the sideline talking to me.”

Woodson was a typical college kid. He’d stay out too late and fall asleep in meetings. But he also spent a ton of time in the film room, reveling in the process. He developed a tight relationship with Bedford because he had the awareness to understand what was important and what would allow him to thrive. 

“Coach B is my guy,” Woodson said, “and will always be my guy.”

Still, there were growing pains and teaching moments. The one Bedford brings up is Woodson’s freshman year, when Michigan State was driving down the field late in the game. Woodson broke on a route, the ball coming toward him with a chance to seal a victory. The pass went right through his hands. He tipped the ball to MSU receiver Derrick Mason.  The Spartans went on to score and win.

At that time, Bedford says Woodson had short braids in his hair, not something that really flew at Michigan in those days. That was another point of contention and another way of Woodson expressing his stark individuality. 

“A whole other discussion,” Bedford said. 

But after that game, as the Wolverine team packed up and loaded the bus, Woodson stayed in the locker room. Bedford went to get him and found him in the shower, taking the plats out of his hair.

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Bedford told him it was time to go, and Woodson looked up, tears forming in his eyes.

“He said, ‘Coach, I promise you this will never, ever happen again,’” Bedford said. 

Everyone remembers the big interception against Ohio State, and the kick returns and the trophies. There’s another story that sometimes gets told, but not nearly as much. It’s about the time Charles Woodson almost quit.

It was Woodson’s sophomore season, and it was Ohio State week. Woodson had been banged up, and a team trainer told him he could sit out practice. Woodson walked out onto the field in street clothes and tennis shoes, but there was one problem: No one communicated this with Lloyd Carr. 

As Bedford tells the story, Carr called to Woodson and asked why he wasn’t dressed out. He told Woodson to go inside and put his uniform on. Woodson went in and put on his pants and jersey, but he came back to the field still in tennis shoes, still not intending to practice. 

Bedford was working with the defensive backs when he looked up and saw Woodson hanging out on the sidelines. Bedford got irritated and asked Woodson what in the hell was going on.

“He said, ‘Man, I quit. I’m going home,’” Bedford says.

Practice ended and Bedford went through a coaches’ meeting, and then he called Woodson. He told him he needed to come back to the football facilities. Woodson refused, so Bedford pulled out an ace. He called Woodson’s mother. 

Woodson finally showed back up, and Bedford explained what he needed to do.

“I said, ‘This is what’s gonna happen, Charles,’” Bedford said. “’I’m gonna go in there with you and Coach Carr, you’re gonna say ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir,’ and that’s it.’”

They were still in a meeting the next day when Carr called for Woodson. Bedford was busy game planning, so Woodson went to face the head coach alone. 

A few minutes later, Carr came into the coaches’ room with a simple announcement: Charles Woodson would not be playing against Ohio State.

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“Coach Carr leaves the meeting room,” Bedford said, “and all the defensive coaches are looking at me like, ‘You gotta go get Woodson!’”

Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, Woodson had started plotting a transfer to Miami. But again, Bedford called Woodson’s mother. She said they needed to let Woodson calm down. You know how he is, she said. 

Bedford finally got through to Woodson, and Woodson met with Carr again. 

“We get it worked out,” Bedford says, “and he went out there and he almost won that game against Ohio State by himself. They were No. 2 in the nation, and lemme tell you what, it was a sight to see him play that day.”

Vance Bedford joined Woodson in New York this week largely because of everything that happened 21 years ago, when Woodson shocked the world, won the Heisman Trophy and helped lead Michigan to a national championship.

Bedford and Woodson have attended an awards banquet before, when it was 1997 and they were in Orlando. Woodson accepted the Bednarik and Thorpe awards that night at MGM Studios, but he missed out on the one he wanted most. Peyton Manning won the Maxwell Award for the nation’s most outstanding overall player, usually a precursor to winning the Heisman Trophy.

Woodson turned to Bedford that night, disappointed. Coach, I’ve got no chance to win the Heisman.

Be patient, Bedford told him. You got a shot.

A few days later, in the race that is still the source of so much debate, Woodson won the Heisman. Bedford was back in Michigan hosting recruits, and the entire room went crazy when the award got announced. 

Tuesday, Woodson stood up and accepted a big frame commemorating his induction into the College Football Hall of Fame. All these years removed from the Heisman, the day brought back a lot of memories from college. There’s a natural inclination to reflect on how three years in Ann Arbor shaped the rest of Woodson’s life. He came to Michigan as a naive 18-year-old away from home for the first time. Like anyone else, he had to learn to get up and go to class and get along with coaches, professors, teammates and friends. 

“A lot of those things, as a young kid you fail at,” Woodson said. “Some things you’re good at. It’s a learning process. So taking responsibility for whatever it is that you do, that’s an important thing. I think every kid that goes into college and gets away from home, gets away from that nest, you have to go through that and go through the ups and downs.”

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The maturation process that comes in college is obvious, but it can distract from another truth: Growing up doesn’t stop with a degree, or with a job, or with a child. Adults can still make mistakes, too.

Woodson was arrested on a drunken driving charge in 2000 and suspicion of public intoxication in 2004. He’s admitted to spending too much time partying and not enough time focusing early in his NFL career. In 2005, he began to clash with Oakland Raiders’ management. His contract was up and the team decided to part ways. Woodson was frustrated and exhausted. He thought about retiring.

Then the Green Bay Packers called, and Woodson reluctantly signed. Turns out he found solace in the isolation of snowy Wisconsin. He played some of his best years there, he became a leader, he won a Super Bowl. He grew up all over again, completely in his own way.

He played his final season with the Raiders at age 39, with two bad shoulders, aching knees, a pulled groin — and at least in his mind — still much to prove. Woodson’s NFL career will soon have him headed to the Pro Football Hall of Fame, too. He will go down as perhaps the most dynamic defensive player in history.

Tuesday, former Detroit Lions receiver Calvin Johnson talked about what it was like to play against Woodson, and his answer is not a surprise.

“It sucked,” Johnson said. “But it was fun.” 

The NFL “A Football Life” episode on Woodson is more candid than many of the productions in the series. In the 45-minute documentary, Woodson comes off as energetic and funny, and also introspective. He gets to tell his story through his own lens, the way he likes it.

There are also plenty of anecdotes that say a lot about what it’s like to hang around Woodson. Like this: The first time Aaron Rodgers met Woodson upon his signing with Green Bay, Rodgers greeted him. 

“Hey, Chuck,” Rodgers said.

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Woodson turned his head slowly.

“Don’t. You. Ever. Call me Chuck,” Woodson replied, and Rodgers says he was scared to death.

In 2011, the Packers beat the Chicago Bears to advance to the Super Bowl. President Barack Obama had said he only planned to attend the Super Bowl if his hometown Bears were playing.

In the locker room after the victory, Woodson gathered his teammates. 

“If the President doesn’t want to come out to see us at the Super Bowl, we’ll go see him,” Woodson said.

Later, after the Packers won the Lombardi Trophy and earned a visit to the White House, Obama gave Woodson a special welcome.

“Charles, you’re a man of your word,” Obama said. “And I’ve already learned something that every NFL quarterback knows too well: Don’t mess with Charles Woodson.” 

Woodson has a lot of interests these days. He has a wife and kids. He gave a large donation to establish the Charles Woodson Clinical Research Initiative at Michigan’s C.S. Mott Children’s Hospital. He’s on TV and does a lot of appearances. He gave the commencement address at Michigan last spring.

He also has his own wine label, which he originally named TwentyFour after his NFL jersey number. 

“You take a great wine, it takes time, it takes patience, it takes nurturing,” Woodson said in his documentary episode. “That’s what it took for me to get to where I’m at in life.”

Tuesday night, Woodson shook hands and took pictures and looked like a guy who has it all figured out. He’s wealthy and successful, a legend to fans of the Michigan Wolverines, the Green Bay Packers and the Oakland Raiders. In typical Woodson fashion, he wore a slick tuxedo and ditched the tie in favor of his trademark ascot, another subtle way of being different. 

In the spirit of college football, Woodson also talked a lot about the process of growing up. I asked Woodson when he really started to get it, when he started to find his grasp on life, when he felt like a grown man.

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Woodson is perceptive enough to know that’s a silly question to ask anyone who is honest with themselves. Which brings us back to lions.

Lions, of course, are powerful and intelligent creatures. We love to glorify them. For much of human history, we have found ways to capture these beasts and observe them for our own entertainment. But lions are not meant for captivity. They, too, are contradictions. The Panthera leo can spend most of its day resting rather than roaring. Vicious yet sleepy, powerful yet endangered, revered yet still a little mysterious.

In nature, the work is never complete. There’s always another meal to chase. A lion, then, is always on the hunt. 

“I’m still trying to get it,” Woodson said. “You go through your ups and downs. You make a lot of bad decisions along the way. And all you can do is hopefully learn from them. I feel like I’ve learned from most of the bad decisions I’ve made, to minimize that. I think it’s all about minimizing the mistakes and just trying to get better.

“I feel like I’m still getting better.”

(Top photo: Ben Solomon / National Football Foundation)

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