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It’s just not right, what you’re doing to him. This Emmitt Smith bashing, this short-term memory problem some of you have, it’s ugly and cruel. But then again, it’s nothing new.
You ran Troy Aikman out. When his passes started to slip, when each throw didn’t have smoke spewing from the seams, the front-running Cowboys fans hollered for a replacement–any replacement. It didn’t matter that No. 8 had helped engineer so many winning seasons, or that he’d returned home three times as an NFL conqueror and laid the vicarious joys of Super Bowl victories at your feet. That was in the past, and there’s nothing more heinous, when talking of the achievements of active-roster Cowboys, than using the past tense. (Retired players, however, can do nothing wrong. If we just had Tony Tolbert…) So at the end, when he was a concussion case who’d lost his Pro Bowl form, when he should have received respect and loyalty for time served, he was abandoned to discover a local truism: Heroes around here are cheap and disposable.
Smith is finding that out. He hears it on the radio now–all those hollow Ticket-heads regurgitating the misguided thoughts of the station’s simple hosts. He reads it in The Dallas Morning News, where suspect scouting-service evaluations are passed off as gospel. He hears it in the stands, where applause still find his ears, but some harsh boos do, too. Each day the mob gains strength and volume.
“I’m not going to spend a lot of energy or time on that, or focus on what people think,” Smith says. He’s wearing a frown and a gray sweat suit. His arms are folded. “All my life, people thought I was too small and not fast enough. They said I wasn’t going to make it in college; they said I wasn’t going to make it in the professional ranks. Here I am 13 years later, and they’re still saying the same things.
“With that said and done…I just call them player-haters. They’re jealous. They’re not doing nothing that I’m doing. They’re not doing some of the same things that I’ve done. They sit back on their hands, they sit back on their couches, eating their McDonald’s, or eating their chips and dip, drinking their brew, getting driz-unk, and calling in on the weekday shows, and making their hilarious statements about whatever they want to say. They’re feeding into what some of the people are bringing out there. They’re gullible. Take the time–understand the game if you want to make a legitimate statement. You make a legitimate statement, I can respect that. I can respect criticism, I can respect that.”
There are things that bother me about this town, but my editor tells me that continually harping on those issues is tantamount to beating the horse that I slaughtered and sold for Grade-D meat about 30 columns back. Fine. But I should remind you that I’ve never liked the Cowboys, and generally watching them suffer causes me silent joy. That’s why it pains me to say this: Smith is right. If the fact that I’m the one defending your beloved Pokes doesn’t cause you to break out in large, pus-filled sores, then you have no shame.
Now, there’s no denying the obvious: The man isn’t who he once was. Smith was never quick to begin with–one NFC East scout said “he runs with heavy feet”–and he’s not going to run over a whole lot of people, either. But you have to place things in the proper context. Despite that “impressive” win against Carolina, and barring some strange, unforeseen change in fortune, the Cowboys aren’t heading to the Super Bowl this year. Doubtless this comes as a shock to many of you, particularly those of you clutching airline tickets to San Diego the way a hobo takes hold of a cheese sandwich. Hell, making the playoffs will probably take a supreme effort, so it’s not as though coach Dave Campo is forfeiting team success by marching Smith (ever so slooowly) toward personal greatness.
“I’ll tell you what really bothers me about it is the fact that sometimes people are trying to compare things that are not on par with each other,” Smith says evenly. “That happens quite a bit. Sometimes people are naïve or not really fully aware of what’s happening. It’s not like I’m in control of a lot of things that occur. Never once did you hear me say that I got 16,000 yards by myself. You never would hear me say that.
“As far as I’m concerned, I am playing a team sport, and whatever happens, I’m going to try to give my best. I’m going to work with whatever I have to work with, and try to make something happen when I get the opportunity to, and that’s about all I can do. Obviously in some cases, that may not be good enough for people, they may expect more, they may want more.”
You do want more, don’t you? At least some of you do. Maybe it’s understandable. You’ve been spoiled with winning. You’re gluttons; you want fat success, and the sooner the better.
Perhaps you’re among those who believe the ‘Boys would be better off moving on to…whom? Michael Wiley? Troy Hambrick? Hmmm, their 36 combined carries offer lots of proof that they will be future Pro Bowlers, but for some reason I’m not completely sold.
“I want to play, but we’ve kept things professional around here,” Hambrick says while simultaneously attempting to pick up some fresh-faced DMN reportress. “There aren’t a whole lot of carries to go around. I think you hear the fans talk like that because they want to see one guy step up. That’s their nature; they want the best guy on the field.”
Sunday, against Carolina, Smith had 59 yards on 13 carries. Hambrick, your pro tem love, had 15 yards on 3 carries. And that means absolutely nothing. Neither Smith nor Hambrick has proven to be much better than the other. Forget the Morning News story on how Hambrick is rated above Smith by the Giddings Report. One hundred grand a year for a subscription or no, that thing, with all its ascending and descending arrows and decimal points, carries as much legitimacy as my oft-watched copy of Moulin Splooge. At best, the Giddings Report is a supplemental guide.
“They make their assessments on basically two films a year,” General Jerry says. “You have to factor that in.”
Smith’s career rushing total now stands at 16,552 yards, just 175 from Walter Payton’s mark. He’s going to get it, and surpass it, and it’s going to mean two things. First, he’ll obviously be the NFL rushing champ. That has a lot to do with his durability, the style of offense and a whole lot of other complicated jazz, but that doesn’t tarnish the feat. Second, in case you’ve forgotten–which surprises me considering what a bunch of nostalgia whores you Poke fans tend to be, what with your incessant talk of America’s Team and its organizational excellence over the years–there’s going to be a big silver-and-metallic-blue star stamped on that record, and so part of it will be yours by default.
The point is, you should not only be proud of Smith but also supportive without hesitation, because he’s the only real thing you and the Cowboys have to cheer for this year. You should appreciate him while he’s around.
