Blue collar, blue Star

Sporting News, The, Feb 18, 2005 by Paul Attner

Let Emmitt Smith tell us how we should remember him. "I see myself as a blue-collar worker, a guy who comes to work every day and works hard," he once said. "A guy who works when he is sick, when he is hurt, who is always there for the team, and a guy you can count on. A guy who is as consistent as they come when it comes down to playing the game. And a guy who really loves the sport.

"I know people think it is about dollars, and that is part of it. But I have played for so long because I love the game. And I love the guys in the locker room. I've gotten a lot of honors, done a lot of things, but when I walk away, I want to know I gave this sport all that I could give it. I could never walk away saying I have shortchanged myself, that I cheated this sport, that I disappointed my teammates. I want to look them in the eye and know that they know I gave everything I had. That is how I want it to be."

Smith finally walked away last week, ending a career unlike any other in NFL history. He walked away a couple of years later than he should have, but he still left with his reputation and his body whole. He walked away as the league's all-time leading rusher, with three Super Bowl rings, never ashamed of any effort he ever gave his teammates or his bosses.

He certainly did not shortchange us. This guy was strong and gritty and relentless, earning most of those 18,355 yards the hard way, between the tackles, in the engine room of football where nothing is very pretty and everything is determined by guts, strength and determination.

This is where Smith thrived. He now is a symbol of athletic wealth. Yet he never was a glamorous player blessed with open-field elegance or dazzling hips. His was the labor of a grinder, carry after carry, game alter game, season after season, always punching in that timecard, obsessed with proving not only his talent but his dependability.

His was a game of will, an unexpected starting point for a running back. You might have expected him to depend more on finesse than macho, but that wasn't Smith. This was a man's game, and his success would be determined not by avoiding toughness but by cultivating it. Yet amid all the contact and clutter, he practiced deception to the max.

He would feast on the heart of the defense by frustrating his foes. He spent his career setting up tacklers, making them think he would be running through one hole when, all the while, he really planned a quick cut and a dart through an opening a few yards away. To appreciate his craft, you need to watch him in super slomo; so subtle and quick are his illusionary tricks within this tight space. A little flick of the hips, the flinch of his head, the twitch of a foot ... masterful deception in a violent world, finished off by blowing through an arm tackle or bouncing off an overmatched defender.

"It was an honor to play with him," says quarterback Troy Aikman. "No one gave any more of himself than Emmitt Smith. He would never let you down, and you knew it. And we knew if we were in trouble, he would bail us out."

He gave the Cowboys of the 1990s a heart. Aikman supplied the brains, receiver Michael Irvin the emotion, but the team drew its toughness from Smith. He played his 15 seasons lugging around an enormous chip, always feeling he had to prove he should have been picked higher than 17th overall in the 1990 draft. Didn't the NFL understand that you can't judge a player merely by his measurables? He might have been smaller than the norm for running backs, and he never did turn in a great 40 time. But who could measure his heart? And his remarkable feel for the game? He would show them, every one of them who thought he couldn't play. Maybe they would have known better if they had seen the lists he kept that outlined his goals--starter, then Pro Bowl and All-Pro, Super Bowl and, finally, NFL's leading all-time rusher. When he left last week, there was a check next to every item.

"He got a couple of hits on me I'll never forget," says Eagles free safety Brian Dawkins. "When you took him on, you better make sure you brought everything you had."

Two games stick out above the rest, both in 1993. In the season finale against the Giants, he separated a shoulder in the second quarter and refused to stop playing. He wound up with 168 rushing yards and 10 receptions; in overtime, he carried the ball on nine of the offense's 12 plays. A few weeks later, in Super Bowl 28, the Cowboys trailed Buffalo at halftime. After intermission, Smith gained 91 of his 132 yards to carry Dallas to the victory and win MVP honors.

"I didn't like being around every player I have coached, but I loved being in Emmitt's company," says Jimmy Johnson. Smith always had a presence about him--the way he walked, the thoughtfulness of his words, the easy confidence of his play. He cared a lot that he left with a reputation for community service and clean living.

He could be serious to an extreme, with an insatiable curiosity about the things that interest him most. He could be distant, private, sensitive, fiery, but he was a man also governed by impressive kindness and responsibleness. There was no aw-shucks about him; he wore the spotlight well. His sense of history was strong; his desire to leave footprints when he retired was even stronger.