Ground truth: it hurts writing this side of the countdown and entering the top five was a gut punch. So let’s see, whom do we have here? Ah yes, him. #22. There’s no doubt he’s still sporting that unflappable “I’m gonna beat you and you know it” grin. Emmitt James Smith III: common surname, uncommon football player and one whose memory still torments us.
Coming out of the University of Florida, the talented Smith was labeled as a few inches too short, a few pounds too light and a step too slow to be an elite NFL running back. The measurables worked against the unmeasurables – professionalism, dedication, competitive drive and heart – and depressed Smith’s stock entering the 1990 NFL Draft. Dallas, as brash of an organization as there was at the time, didn’t hesitate to trade up and nab the Florida product with the 17th overall pick. It was an incredibly wise move. A dynasty is build on a series of great decisions and while the Cowboys had many in the late 80’s/early 90’s - drafting Troy Aikman and Michael Irvin, trading Hershel Walker and hiring Jimmy Johnson – drafting Emmitt Smith might have been the very best of them all.
It is easy to retain one’s anonymity while sharing the stage with personalities such as Michael Irvin, Troy Aikman, Jimmy Johnson and Jerry Jones. Smith never had a chance at being just one of the guys, though; he was far too good. So despite his more acclaimed and outrageous fellow Cowboys, it was the naturally reserved Smith who stood out.
Aikman thrived behind center, Irvin made plays downfield, Johnson was heralded as one of the league’s best coaches and Jerry Jones was regarded as a genius owner because of one thing: Emmitt Smith’s ability to consistently run the ball. Smith was Dallas’ bell cow. He was their security system when things went awry and he was their knockout artist when opponents were on the ropes. He spoke few words and left few questions after his performances. He was why Irvin could run his mouth and he was source behind the confidence that never left Aikman’s face. He was, quite simply, the substance on a team with a whole lot of style.
So when he picked his number – 22 – do you think he knew, consciously or subconsciously, that he’d be good enough to make it the choice perfect? Regardless, he was. Catch 22? Defenses rarely did.
Hail…Sons of Washington!
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