The Power of Red: How one iconic color fuels the present with memories of the past

From childhood memories of Vick and Julio to a locker room ready for its own moment, Atlanta's return to red isn't just a uniform change, it's a passing of identity, pride and purpose.

Story by Tori McElhaney

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Picture this.

A young boy wakes up in a rush on a Monday morning, the Atlanta sun just peeking through his window. He's jittery with excitement as he races to his closet.

A flash of red catches his eye. Perfect.

He grabs it, throws it on, snatches his backpack and takes off for school. A gleaming No. 7 on the back of a red Atlanta Falcons jersey lights up the hallway as he catches up with classmates before heading into his elementary school homeroom.

Miles away in Arizona, another young boy fires up his gaming system. He reaches for Madden 16 and loads it up. His fingers twitch quickly across the controller.

He's looking for a flash of red. There. He takes control.

At nearly the same time, a boy on the West Coast in California and another on the East Coast in South Carolina turn on their TVs. They love football. They can't get enough of it. But because it was a school night, they couldn't stay up for the primetime game the night before. So now, they're catching the highlights.

A streak of red flashes across the screen, and they begin counting catches on their hands. One after another.

No. 11 in a red Falcons jersey. Astonishing.

Those four boys are now men, and the mantle of wearing those red jerseys has officially been passed to them.

That boy in Atlanta, showing off his red Michael Vick jersey to jealous classmates? A.J. Terrell.

"Rocking my Michael Vick jersey to school when I was in elementary was the biggest flex," Terrell said. "We all know how much Vick means to the city. Going with my dad to all the Falcons games. Watching Warrick Dunn play at a high level, Michael Jenkins, Alge Crumpler, I could keep naming all the players. That red and white meant a lot to the city."

That boy in Arizona, choosing to be the Atlanta Falcons in Madden before school, simply because red was his favorite color? Bijan Robinson.

"I think the red is what makes this team who it is," Robinson said.

And those young boys on opposite coasts, mesmerized while watching Julio Jones do what seemed improbable? Drake London and Jalon Walker.

"Julio Jones, just iconic seeing back-to-back highlights of him in the red jersey," Walker said. "It's classic."

London: "That's the identity, ever since I can remember of watching Atlanta Falcons football, watching Julio Jones, Mohammed Sanu, Matt (Ryan), all of those guys, it was red jerseys."

For these men, the color red threads through their memories. It stood out to them. Called to them. Now adults, they remember it. They embody it.

It's their turn to wear the red jersey as the Atlanta Falcons officially return to red as their primary home color.

The red jerseys have been part of the Falcons' uniform history for 35 of the franchise's 60 years. Of the team's 17 winning seasons, 13 have come with red in the rotation. This color — and the power it exudes — is deeply tied to the franchise.

This isn't just about a jersey change. It's about who the Falcons believe they are.

"Red is a loud color. Red pops from across the room, from across the field, from across the stadium," Larry Luk, the vice president of creative for the Falcons, said. "On-field red is just going to tie into what we expect Falcons football to look like."

And feel like.

"Red is such a powerful color," Shannon Joyner, the Falcons' chief marketing officer, said. "When you see it you feel passion, emotion, speed — all of these elements that represent our brand and our football team."

Josh Blank, vice president of executive strategy: "Red represents confidence, swagger and I think that is ultimately how we want to appear on and off the field as an organization."

Red takes hold. And when Falcons leadership began the process of changing the uniforms two years ago, it had already gripped the locker room.

"There was definitely an appetite in our locker room — for years — for bringing the red back in some way," Joey Galioto, the Falcons' head of equipment operations, said. "Guys growing up watching players like Michael Vick, Matt Ryan, Julio Jones, Roddy White, guys like that.

"Being on the Falcons, they see themselves wearing something like that. That was very important to bring to our leadership to say, 'Hey, there is definitely a big appetite down there in the locker room for red.'"

Coming full circle, those men in the locker room are now the reality. They are the new stars burning red for young boys and girls to gravitate toward.

"They have accomplished a lot in those red uniforms," Robinson said. "I feel like us bringing it back is a statement to the city, a statement to the team. Making that red be what people see when they watch us on TV.

"... It felt like I was supposed to be in that uniform."

Through the fog of a dream, a man wanders across a field. He knows where he is — the Georgia Dome.

With each slow breath, more images materialize. The man begins to feel the rush of a moment, familiar, but not quite placeable: A crowd on its feet, a team on the sidelines.

He realizes a helmet sits atop his head. It's crackling to life, a metallic sound slices through the confines of it. A play call comes in.

Without hesitation, the man begins moving toward a sea of bodies in front of him. He kneels in a huddle in the middle of a field. He pauses and looks around him.

Julio Jones leans in. Roddy White gives a thumbs up. Tony Gonzalez nods. Michael Turner thumps his chest. Linemen — large and strong — look on.

Red. The color is blazing around the man in the middle. It's etched and attached to the men surrounding him. It sets them apart in the haze of a dream. Or is it a memory?

The man at the center steels himself. He calls the play.

They break.

One breath. Two. A blink. A clap.

Matt Ryan's eyes pop open.

The crowd is gone. The noise fades. But the feeling doesn't.

It lingers, staying with him as his morning begins.

He gets in his car and drives to his office, walking through the door of a room given to the President of Football.

He puts his stuff down by his desk, and moves to stand in front of a window, looking out over a quiet practice field basked in the early morning light.

Below, Bijan Robinson sits alone amongst the green. He's lacing up a pair of red cleats.

The color hasn't faded.

It's just moved on.

To a new locker room. A new generation.

And just like before, it will take the field again.