Rod Smith's retirement was a year in the making, and it won't be talked about much anywhere outside of Denver.
The wide receiver with the Hall of Fame-worthy stats never did an end zone dance, never popped off to the press about his teammates, never slipped on a fast-food wrapper and put his hand through an entertainment center, never skied down a mountain of coke and then snorted it while simultaneously banging 14 Peruvian hookers.
He just played football, and he played it really, really fucking well.
Need a five-yard out for a good gain on first down? Done. Rod's got it. Running a sweep, and need a solid block on the corner to seal the edge? Sure. Rod's got it. Need someone to run a route over the middle, go up for a ball thrown too high, and come down with the grab on third-and-long after getting spit-shined by a linebacker and a strong safety? No problem. Rod's got it. Fancy a clutch punt return to turn momentum on its head? Rod's in his mid-thirties, but fuck it - he's got it.
So, all in all, thank you Rod. Thanks for busting your ass. Thanks for being a professional.