If irritability is symptomatic of a concussion, then perhaps Broncos veteran Rod Smith has been dinged in the head one too many times.
Asked if he hobbled to the Denver bench because a Kansas City defender knocked him woozy in the fourth quarter, Smith responded with anger.
“Next question. Or get out of my face, one of the two,” Smith barked, after a tense Sunday that saw the Broncos squeak by the Chiefs in overtime.
The edge in his voice and the glare in his eyes told you something. Smith was scared. One of the most frightening words in the NFL is concussion. It’s an injury no surgery can fix. Brain damage ends careers.
Concussion. The word scares a man as brave as Smith so intensely he bans it from his vocabulary. Was the 36-year-old receiver concussed?
“You call it whatever you want. You write what you want,” Smith growled. “I don’t need it. I’m not medical personnel. I just play football.”
This feistiness, this disdain for surrender and this inherent refusal to compromise can make Smith hard to live with, but impossible not to love.
In his dozen years working for the Broncos, Smith has never been the most talented athlete on the team.
But Smith loves winning as much or more than any player who has ever pulled on a Denver uniform.
Smith is OK. When doctors cleared him to play against New England, the sigh of relief could have shook the walls of the Broncos locker room.
Smith evokes devotion from teammates like no Denver player since John Elway. How much he means to the Broncos was evident when players ran on the field almost before Smith hit the ground with the first of two wicked head shots he suffered against the Chiefs.
Al Wilson, Keith Burns, Nick Ferguson and John Lynch all gathered around the spot where their team leader fell, to make sure Smith would get back up after his third concussion within a year.
The Broncos are scared, too.
They cannot win big or consistently without Smith.
As the catches pile up, now 802 career receptions and counting, sentiment grows to push Smith as a candidate for the Hall of Fame.
There has never been a receiver in NFL history who has traveled farther than the route taken by Smith, an undrafted free agent in 1994.
But what chance does Smith really have for enshrinement in Canton, Ohio? It’s a stretch, at best.
If you are honest, it’s hard to argue Smith is more deserving for his sport’s highest honor than any notable on a list of past and present Broncos that includes
Shannon Sharpe, Gary Zimmerman, Tom Nalen, Randy Gradishar, Louis Wright, Steve Atwater and Lynch.
It is impossible, however, to imagine the Broncos playing for the NFL title in February without Smith on the field. Too much of the team’s competitive heart is wrapped up in No. 80.
Not long ago, Smith was describing to me his role as mentor, a task he does as passionately as grabbing a third-down pass. Smith said it was up to him and the few remaining Broncos from those league championship teams of the late 1990s to grind on the newcomers and remind them how much it takes to win a Super Bowl.
But it’s getting harder for Smith.
Memories are painfully short in sports, and young players are often more interested in talking cars or music than NFL history.
When coach Mike Shanahan traded for receiver Javon Walker, most folks figured it was an indictment of Ashley Lelie, when really the more pressing need was to make sure Denver will remain in good hands when Smith retires.
In the NFL, everybody is one nasty hit away from the end of a career.
Smith, however, has reached the point where any shot to his noggin could be a knockout blow.
The links to the Broncos’ glory years are either graying or fading.
But here’s a promise.
Smith won’t go without a fight.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-954-1053 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
