He begins each play a full seven yards behind the line of scrimmage. And each time he gets the ball and then blows past the line, his passion brings the whole team with him.

If you saw the Titans' playoff game in Indianapolis last Jan. 16, you know all about that kind of pull. In the third quarter of a 9-6 tug-of-war, Eddie George, with an incredible burst of speed for a man his size, hit the hole off right tackle and shot into the open. By the time Colts cornerback Tyrone Poole got to within striking distance, George's bowlegged stride had carried him 68 yards to the end zone. And there he stood, arms raised, waiting for his teammates to join him.

And they always do. Doesn't matter whether it's Orlando Pace, Lorenzo Neal, Jevon Kearse or Derrick Mason, George always gets them to follow.

Seated in the back of a limo, his 6'4", 240-pound superhero frame barely concealed by khaki shorts and a plaid shirt, George begins to deconstruct the reasons why. "I'm not the type to be confrontational or disrespectful," he says. "But I will speak my mind and say what's in my heart at any particular moment."

There's more to it than that, of course. Remember the AFC championship game against the Jaguars? Moments before kickoff, George's teammates formed a tight semicircle around their leader, leaning in close. They didn't need to, because George was screaming at them. A thick vein bulged at his right temple. His bald head looked like a giant Milk Dud ready to explode. "We were playing those guys for the third time," says Neal, the fullback. "Eddie was just trying to get our attention. He wanted to make sure everyone was there with him."

If you're his teammate, George can win you over with a fiery speech, an intimate conversation, a thoughtful question or a silent gesture. If you're feeling lost, he builds you up. If you're hurting, he tries to feel your pain. He's not afraid to look you in the eye, place a hand on your shoulder and say, "I'm sorry." In sincere moments like those, when you expect him to duck behind an awkward silence or a downward glance, Eddie George reveals himself and draws you in.

The gift for leadership comes from his mother, Donna George, a TWA flight attendant and part-time model. She and her son share the same chiseled face, the same raised cheekbones. But Donna's features are softened by an elegant, shoulder-length mat of raven hair. She stands on the long side of 5'9". Eddie shot past her with a growth spurt when he was 14, but it was clear to Donna that he had some more growing to do. He had to learn that a leader must follow rules. "You know that teenage thing," she says. "'I'm bigger than you now, and I don't have to listen anymore?'" One evening, when the guidance counselor at Philadelphia's Abington High called about a math course Eddie had failed, Donna took quick action. She picked up the phone and dialed Fork Union Military Academy in Virginia. Her brother Derek had graduated from the school two years earlier, and Donna thought it would be the ideal place for Eddie. "I sat him down and told him he was going there, and there was nothing more to discuss," she remembers.

Eddie tearfully accepted her decision, but he wasn't ready to give in to the discipline of the place. It took two months of double duty -- chores like waxing and buffing Fork Union's floors and cleaning toilets -- to wear him down the military way. One afternoon, while waxing his way down a 70-foot hallway, it finally dawned on him that a leader must have humility. Call it a minor epiphany, but it made all the difference in the world. From that point on, at football practice, Fork Union's most talented cadet would voluntarily run extra laps with his teammates. And he ran behind them -- pushing them.

After rushing for 2,572 yards and scoring 32 touchdowns (15 his senior year), Eddie moved on to Ohio State, where he got to run behind one of the most talented offenses in college football history. The '95 Buckeyes were an NFL GM's dream: Tight end Rickey Dudley, receiver Terry Glenn and tackle Orlando Pace were all future first-round picks. But it was George's leadership fire that inspired them.

On a snowy November day against Illinois, Glenn left the game with a sprained ankle, and the Buckeye offense began to sputter. George started stalking the sideline, working himself into a frenzy. "You knew he was ready when he did that," Pace says. That frenzy helped his teammates forge a new sense of purpose, and a goal much larger than a conference win -- a trophy for their tailback. "We need to keep running the ball, keep running the ball," Pace chanted in the huddle. And run they did. With a school record 314 yards, Eddie George etched his name on the 1995 Heisman. Pace, who later made history as the first offensive lineman to be drafted No.1 in the NFL, still counts that day as one of his better memories: "Just blocking for him while he was winning the Heisman -- that was great."

Maybe so. But George, who added 1995 NFL Rookie of the Year honors to his résumé, still views himself as a work in progress. His hunger to redefine the running back position brings him back to Columbus every summer. Four days a week, George joins other former Buckeyes like Joey Galloway and Robert Smith at the Woody Hayes Athletic Center. "I want to take my game to another level every year," he says. "To do that I have to keep my mind and body sharp."

Sometimes that means pushing himself until he draws blood. Off-season workouts don't have to leave a player dizzy and cramped, but George ran himself into the hospital last June with dehydration. At practice, he approaches every carry as if he has to take it to the house. When the coaching staff cuts down on his reps, he jumps on one of the stationary bikes set up along the field.

And he studies other leaders. A year ago, after liver cancer claimed the life of Walter Payton, George entered Jeff Fisher's office looking for some insight. Fisher and Payton were teammates in Chicago from 1981 through 1985. The coach has a photo of the two of them hanging on his wall. George was unhappy with his own play, and he wanted to know more about the man for whom football and fitness were healthy obsessions. "I was trying to get some ideas about what I could do to achieve his level of greatness," George says. When Fisher told him how tireless Payton was at practice, how he never missed a game, how he demanded the best from his teammates, George knew he was traveling the right path.

His teammates joined him on that path in Super Bowl XXXIV. On second and goal midway through the fourth quarter, with the Titans trailing 16-6, George broke three tackles in two yards before meeting Rams linebacker Jeff Zgonina at the goal line. George dipped his shoulder and bulled past Zgonina to score.

It could have been that play that inspired WR Kevin Dyson's similar effort. That picture of Dyson, reaching in vain for the end zone with six seconds left on the clock, is as much George's moment as it is Dyson's. After the 23-16 defeat, the despondent running back sat in the bowels of the Georgia Dome. Fisher approached him and the two had a brief conversation that still brings a smile to Fisher's face. "Eddie told me he wasn't going to the Pro Bowl," the coach says. "I said, 'What do you mean? It's a week in Hawaii.'" George's reply: "I want to start work for next year right now."

Fast forward 10 months: The 9-3 Titans are back in the Super Bowl hunt, fighting the 10-2 Raiders and 9-3 Dolphins for homefield advantage in the AFC. And as usual, Fisher's players are following No.27 into the season's most crucial stretch. After a miserable first half against Baltimore in Week 11 (11 yards on five carries), George emerges from the locker room a full two minutes before everyone else. Bad first half? Gone. Forgotten. As he sprints to the far end zone, it's obvious he's ready to start the second half.

The game is tied at 17 in the fourth quarter when Titans safety Perry Phenix intercepts a Trent Dilfer pass and returns it 87 yards for the go-ahead score. But when his teammates bull-rush Phenix in the end zone, George stays put. He knows the game is far from over. Sure enough, Al Del Greco misses the extra point. George starts pacing. "I knew the defense was tired when they took the field," he says. "I had some concerns."

They're soon borne out. Dilfer takes the Ravens 70 yards to the end zone in just over two minutes; the extra point makes it 24-23. The Titans get the ball back with 19 seconds to play. Steve McNair throws to George for 11. McNair then scrambles for 25 to put the Titans in field goal range. The Titans' JumboTron shows George on the sideline waving a towel and shouting for fans to stand up. They rise and begin to chant, "Ed-die! Ed-die!" But with three seconds to go, Del Greco's 43-yard kick sails wide right.

So what happens after the Titans drop their first game ever at Adelphia Coliseum? Simple: They give the ball to Eddie George. Even though a bad turf toe had him questionable before their next game against the Browns at home, George carries the rock 36 times for 134 yards. The 24-17 victory keeps them on top in the AFC Central.

On his way home from practice last week, George speaks on his cell phone, old-school hip-hop playing in the background. One of his favorite groups is Eric B. and Rakim, authors of the song "Follow the Leader." It has a simple, rumbling drum beat and an unequivocal message:

"Follow me into a solo/and get into the flow."

It's only the perfect anthem for Eddie George.