Brian Billick ignores the rules.

For instance, he wears his Super Bowl ring. The unspoken regulation says that you're supposed to tuck said ring away in a safety deposit box -- keep it as a token of a distant accomplishment. You're not supposed to wear it. If you do that, then you're saying that you're content with just one championship. And in the church of organized sports, to be "satisfied" is blasphemy.

"Check it out," Billick said, extending his left hand during a visit to The Magazine's office last week.

"Cool," I told him. Not in response to the gaudy, diamond-encrusted bauble -- which is as much a testament to societal excess as it is to the title his Baltimore Ravens won in Tampa last winter -- but because he chose to break the rule. I like that about him.

He's ignored the well-trodden path of the traditional football coach. He runs his own route. His resume includes one year as the Niners' assistant director of public relations.

"Football people don't know what to do with me because of my background," he says. "But because of that, I know this business from every angle, including dealing with the media."

The rules say coaches aren't supposed to "understand" the media. In fact, most coaches I know would choose a rectal exam over a press conference. But that doesn't apply to Billick. His grasp of public relations, the salary cap, and the corporate aspect of coaching is as strong as his grasp of the vertical passing game. And even though that has earned him derision as a "media whore," and made him a less-than-popular figure within the coaching community, he doesn't give a damn.

That's because he knows the one-dimensional football coach is soon to be extinct. "Gunther Cunningham didn't pay attention to the salary cap, or personnel decisions," he says of the former Chiefs coach. "The guy just wanted to coach football. And that's what got him fired."

Billick even disregards the rules on race relations. That makes him, in my less-than-humble opinion, the ideal corporate leader. Asked about relating to his black players, he doesn't recite that stupid mantra of the culturally blind: "I don't see color."

Instead, he acknowledges that he is different from some of his players. "Hey, I'm a middle class white guy," he says blithely. "If guys on my team didn't grow up white and middle class, how can I judge them and their lifestyles?"

That's why he's successful. The guy knows exactly who he is, and doesn't care who what you think of him.

If the Ravens win another Super Bowl this year, you can expect him to wear both his rings.

Alan Grant, a former NFL defensive back, writes football for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at alan.grant@espnmag.com.