At the moment this wild journey began, the boy lying behind his mother on the tan couch in apartment A1-1 in a small Mississippi town may have been the least likely future NFL cornerback in the entire state. His mother would have thought so.
Dedrick Johnson was an assistant coach at McComb High and had just come in to drop off Charvoun Ward after practice one day. Johnson saw Charvoun's younger but bigger brother and asked if he might want to play ball.
Tanya Ward looked behind her at her second son, Charvarius, and laughed.
"Coach, he ain't going to play no football," Johnson remembered her saying. "He might read a book or something, but he ain't playing no football."
But Johnson was persistent. Charvoun was a good player, just small. If his brother was bigger, maybe he would be even better. So Charvarius agreed. He'd come out for spring ball. That lasted two days, and then he quit. He calls himself anti-social. Didn't like being around that many people.
But Johnson was persistent. He'd seen something in those two days _ raw, sure, but long and fast. Charvarius agreed. He'd come out for summer practices. That lasted two days, and then he quit. He calls himself a mama's boy. He missed her, and wanted to help with his younger siblings.
"I'm, like, glued to my mama," he says now.
But Johnson was persistent. He'd seen even more in those summer practices _ an aggressiveness on the field that juxtaposed his introverted way off of it. Finally, Charvarius agreed. He'd come out for the team. And this time, he'd stay.
The coaches were elated. They grabbed equipment and made sure he had some goggles (more on this in a minute). A few games into the season, they had a new starting cornerback who hadn't played football since quitting pee-wee ball in part because of a cancer scare that left him on crutches or in a wheelchair for the better part of two years.
Look at Charvarius now. He's the red-dreaded starting cornerback for the Chiefs, an undrafted rookie free agent who was so nervous before his first start four weeks ago that he told his uncle he was having an anxiety attack. Now, he is a central part of a radically improved defense on the cusp of the franchise's first Super Bowl in 49 years.
The Chiefs would probably be playing the New England Patriots in the AFC Championship Game at Arrowhead Stadium on Sunday without Ward's emergence. But they would not be as confident, or sound defensively, a weakness replaced by a tough, fast and hyper-competitive cornerback who remains so attached to his mom that he FaceTimes her more often than his girlfriend.
"Been coaching 20 years," Johnson said. "Then I find this kid just laying on the couch."
