Rod Smith's life has the plot of a self-help book, and every chapter of every self-respecting self-help book begins with a pithy anecdote. The formula calls for an easy-to-digest parable summarizing the subject's quirky rise to fortune, while sharing universal truths to employ in the never-ending journey to a better you.
Smith loves to tell the tale of the missing shoe. A few years back, during an off-season round of golf, Smith lost a sneaker off the back of a cart he shared with former Broncos teammate Ed McCaffrey. Since it was McCaffrey's course, Smith badgered his fellow receiver to either find the shoe or buy him a new pair. It became an ongoing gag, until finally Smith returned from an off-season workout to find a new pair of shoes in his locker. They were black, and they were from the esteemed shoemaker Voit, and they were size 15, two full sizes too big. McCaffrey, it seems, knew not only how to find his local Kmart, but also how to find the bargain bin.
There were laughs all around. A pair of shoes to a pro athlete is like water to a fisherman-always there, always free. But the next day, something happened that nobody expected. Smith showed up for his workout-that was expected; he's never missed one in 12 years-and changed into his workout clothes: shorts, T-shirt, socks and size-15, $6 black Voits.
Laughs all around again, but Smith kept wearing them until it really wasn't much of a joke anymore. "These feel good," he told his teammates. "These are the next big thing, you just watch."
Smith speaks in inspired, accelerating bursts, as if he's worried time will run out before he finishes his thought. His words run a familiar courseanecdotes followed by lessons learned followed by italicized conclusions. Rod Smith's Rules for Life. He sounds less like a preacher than an infomercial.
And what self-help lesson did he teach McCaffrey?
You can't hustle a hustler.
THERE'S A monster of a house rising from a dirt pile, on five acres along a busy thoroughfare in Denver's swank Cherry Hills neighborhood. The project is part of Rod Smith Development, which counts the 35-year-old wide receiver as its owner and general contractor. He's no mere name on a sign, either. Smith gathers every bid, hires every subcontractor, writes every check. He's not above hopping on a small crane to keep the work moving.
As he stands in front of his handiwork on a warm, October afternoon, Smith can't help but think how he got here. The improbable rise to glory is as self-help as it gets, the off-tackle play of the Tony Robbins playbook. Since entering the NFL as a practice-squad player in 1994, Smith has caught more passes for more yards than any undrafted player in history. His first signing bonus was $5,000, and he hit every off-season workout that year in part because it paid him an extra $60 for two hours of work. Before the 2002 season, he signed a contract with an $11 million bonus. Yet he drives a six-year-old Mercedes and a two-year-old Navigator, and teammates still tease him about the Honda Passport he drove through his first Super Bowl season in 1997.
Smith grew up without a father in the projects of Texarkana, Ark., the middle of Lydia Smith's five children, dependent on a monthly welfare check. He looks up at the turretlike entry of his soon-to-be, 10,000-square-foot, Florida-resortstyle palace, and says, "There were six of us, and we lived on $6,000 a year." He shakes his head, repeating the number. "I've made more than that standing here talking to you."
Now he's walking through the basement, pointing out the future homes of the golf simulator, the poker room and the movie theater that comes with its own concession stand. He mentions that he still cuts his own hair, a practice started when he was growing up. He asks: "How much money do you think I've saved over my life because I don't spend $20 every two weeks getting my hair cut?"
Which brings up another lesson: If you forget where you came from, you won't know where you are.
SMITH WALKS a little crooked, and his six-foot frame is slight, almost wispy. He is, undoubtedly, the most unlikely of the 24 men who have gained 10,000 NFL receiving yards. What do you know about him, after all? Despite his lengthy career and Hall of Fame credentials, probably not much. Playing on teams known for quarterbacks (John Elway, Jake Plummer), a coach (Mike Shanahan) and 1,000-yard backs (anyone who lines up), Smith's role sounds incongruous: he dominates the background.
In contrast to the preening divas of his position, he's an ascot-wearing patrician. "My opponents respect me not because I'm going to do some crazy-ass dance on them," he says. "They respect me because I'm going to make a play that breaks their backs."
He returned punts last year at age 34 and is the team's emergency QB. Says Shanahan, "I know if we run out of players and I need someone to run down and cover kickoffs, his hand would be the first one raised." Smith is a fanatical reader with three businessrelated bachelor's degrees from D2 Missouri Southern State and a near-obsessive desire to be viewed as more than a football player. "On
On the field or on the job site, Smith is a stickler for detail. the plane, guys are watching Batman Begins," Plummer says. "Rod is reading a finance book with a Hi-Liter in his hand."
His peripatetic curiosity seems boundless. Seeking a lower-cost alternative to expensive stone walls to muffle traffic noise around his house, he found a product and liked it so much that he bought into the company. Teammates shook their heads when he drove the 115 miles south to Pueblo to view a piece of property on an off-day two years ago. He bought that, too.
Smith's desire to overcome the stigma of the undrafted sometimes borders on the compulsive. Early in his practice-squad year, he asked thenhead coach Wade Phillips if he could go to road games. It's not customary for practice-squadders to travel, but Smith felt cheated. "This was my job, and I didn't want to be hanging out at clubs."
He kept his own statistics that year. Practice statistics. He shrugs. "Those were my games. That's all I had."
The next year he worked with receivers coach Mike Heimerdinger, who came in with the meticulous Shanahan when Phillips was fired. Smith became a threat on deep routes by learning to keep his shoulders closed while running down long balls, a practice that earned him an extra half-yard. The off-season conditioning made him stronger against the bumpand-run, and he employed his knowledge as a former quarterback, which he was recruited to play in college, to hone his route-running.
Here's the kind of information that escapes public notice but earns raves in the league: Smith understands timing, a quality that makes him one of the best at getting open when he is the second or third option on a play. "It's subtle," Plummer says, "but if he's the third guy, he knows I have to make two pumps before I get to him. Some guys get open right away, then come back to the huddle and say, I was open.' I say, Maybe, but not when I needed you to be.' "
In the first half of the Broncos' 28-20 win over New England on Oct. 16, Plummer looked off two receivers before hitting Smith deep over the middle for a 72-yard gain that led to a touchdown.
Shanahan provides Smith with the perfect front-cover blurb: "He's an overachiever with ability-and what a great combination that is"
AT THE end of training camp in 1995, Heimerdinger phoned Smith on cut-down day to salute him for making the team. The culmination of a lot of hard work for both, the call was a nod of appreciation.
"Thank you, Coach," Smith replied, "but don't ever call me on cut day again." "I just wanted to congratulate you," Heimerdinger said. "Don't call me on cut day," Smith repeated. "I can't take it." The next year, Smith was a starter from the first day of camp and held the job through the preseason. Heimerdinger couldn't resist picking up his phone on final cut-down day. Smith cursed the cackling coach: "I told you not to do that."
"You've been the starter since the spring," Heimerdinger said. "Did you really think you have to worry about being cut?"
"The first thing I do when I get to the locker room every day," Smith replied, "is check to make sure my nameplate is above my locker."
There's an added twist here, one that elevates his … what is it? Possessiveness? Paranoia? Inability to believe his good fortune? Whatever it is, it has persisted through 12 NFL seasons, two All-Pro teams, two Super Bowl rings, seven 1,000-yard seasons and two 100-catch seasons. Smith still looks for his nameplate. He still freaks out when he sees a number from Broncos headquarters on his phone. "To this day," he says, "I have the same fear of being fired I had when I was on the practice squad."
One of the most basic rules of all: If it can be taken away from you, don't take it for granted.
NONE OF this is meant to suggest that Smith is perfect. In January 2000, he was arrested on a domestic-abuse charge stemming from an incident involving the mother of his two sons, Jamie Mourglia. For a guy dedicated to turning negatives into positives, this was a serious challenge.
In the aftermath of the arrest, his two sons, Roderick Jr., now 13, and Devin, 11, moved with their mother to Florida. His positive image temporarily suspended, Smith underwent 36 weeks of anger-management counseling and ended up on Oprah, the self-help mountaintop, discussing his new definition of being a man. "I was taught that we as men walk around carrying bags. We keep putting stuff in themking of the household, breadwinner, tough guy-until those bags break. First I learned not to put stuff in those bags, and then I dropped the bags altogether."
Roderick and Devin spend summers, holidays and most home-game weekends with their father. The second story of the new house is theirs. A daughter from a previous relationship, 15-year-old Vanessa, lives with her mother in Missouri. Vanessa has sickle-cell anemia that requires monthly transfusions. He sees her less often. "I learned a lot about my past by facing my present, and I miss my kids every day," Smith says. "Just because you're on the pedestal, with millions of dollars and fame, doesn't mean you don't have issues. It's all about how you deal with them."
Smith's rule is to not run away: After you make a mess, the worst thing you can make is an excuse.
IT COMES as no surprise that Smith once attended a Tony Robbins seminar or that he learned from one of the guru's questions: On your way to the top, who did you bring with you?
"That struck me," Smith says. "Here I am, living a pretty good life, and I hadn't really brought anyone with me."
He now teaches financial literacy classes to rookies, leaning heavily on the theories of Rich Dad, Poor Dad author Robert Kiyosaki. His sons are involved as well. Devin's Christmas wish list, at this point, consists of one item: a percentage of one of dad's business ventures. Rod signs autographs for at least an hour after each home game, and he became suspicious after this year's Patriots game when Devin kept bringing him items to sign. It didn't take long to discover that he was accepting $20 from impatient fans.
"You can't do that," Rod told him. "This is sacred ground between me and the fans."
Devin cited one of Kiyosaki's principles: "Dad, you're making me give up my passive income."
Rod Smith Development has two employees: Rod Smith and Barry Baldwin, who left banking to work with his college friend. A condition of Baldwin's employment calls for him to provide his boss with personal financial statements every month, itemizing expenditures and documenting his savings. Smith explains, "If you're going to work for me, you've got to understand me and what I'm reading."
His penchant for handing young teammates slips of paper with names and numbers-of financial advisers, real-estate agents, tax people-is legendary. When fullback Kyle Johnson joined the team two years ago, he arrived in Denver without a bed. Smith went into action, working a deal for Johnson to drive Plummer's truck to Smith's house to pick up a bed he was replacing. "I hadn't been here more than a few hours, and here I'm driving the quarterback's car to get the Pro Bowl receiver's bed," Johnson says. "That's when I knew Rod was something different."
All part of dominating the background: He who helps others helps himself most.
SMITH ATTENDED a home-builders' show at Invesco Field last spring to shake some hands and make some contacts. When a group of contractors heard he planned on building his own home, a few of them laughed. He knew what they were thinking: dumb jock can't build a house. "If they had said great idea, I might not be doing it," Smith says.
And that nails the essence of Rod Smith.
They laughed in the man's face, so he's standing in front of the house, wondering if the gravel he ordered that morning will be spread over the dirt drive before the next day's rain. He's already thinking about the house he'll put on the other half of the lot. The look on his face says he still hears the laughter of those who doubted him, and if you'll excuse him for a moment, he's got some landscaping plans to look over.
Which brings up what might be the most cherished Rod Smith Rule of all:
The toughest guy to catch is the one who keeps moving.