Backing up his own words
9/26/2003 12:00:00 AM | Football
It all happened in a blur.
The first time Vernon Smith came from California to the University of Montana, he arrived in the midst of a blinding snowstorm.
He walked onto the field in Washington-Grizzly Stadium and with his cold hands wrote his name in the end zone snow: V. Smith #5.
"I was imagining I was writing my name in my house," he said.
Two years later, the grass was green, and Smith, the Grizzlies' hard-hitting cornerback, made it back to the same end zone in a game against Weber State.
He took a chance and went for a pick.
"I just got caught in the moment," he said, remembering the few seconds before he ran 29 yards and scored a touchdown.
"Afterwards, it was just a blur."
Once Smith was in the end zone he looked back at his teammates. There was no arm flapping, jumping or dancing.
"Let's step on their throats now," he said. He was focused on winning.
The interception that he ran back for a touchdown against Weber State is an example of a few seconds in Smith's life when he saw the field in full focus. But the action of football isn't always that clear.
The setting was the second half of a quarterfinal game against McNeese State in the 2002 I-AA playoffs. One second Smith, who now wears #11, was leaping over a pack of linemen attempting to block a field goal. The next he was on his back, wondering where the crack he had just heard came from.
He had established himself as a major component of the Grizzly defense earlier that season. He had caught six interceptions, made 47 stops and deflected 10 passes before he injured his shoulder trying to block the field goal.
In practice only days earlier the team had been rehearsing almost the exact same scenario. One of Smith's teammates had warned him then.
"I said I know those linemen have done it to me before, they've flipped me over before," Smith said.
And that's exactly what happened during the game. There he was, lying on his back in the second half of an important game knowing he was hurt badly and knowing his team needed him. The Grizzlies lost that game and were eliminated from the playoffs. When the game was over the trash-talking, hard-hitting defender sobbed.
"After the game I cried like baby," he said.
It would be a while after the tears dried before Smith would regain his focus. He had to have surgery on his shoulder.
With excruciating patience, he stood on the sidelines for most of the spring and summer recuperating and watching his teammates.
"I felt I was letting my teammates down," he said. "It was rough watching."
His mind would only become more clouded during the months following his injury. He couldn't focus in class any more. He started flunking tests.
"I just don't like school," he said. "But I knew it would be a shame to come here and not get a degree."
On the walls in her San Diego home there are many pictures of Vernon Smith holding a football, his mother Jeanette Benyard said.
In one, he is four years old.
Back then he was mostly concerned with showing up his grade-school buddies who played football and looking good in the uniform.
"(My friends) were all talking about how good they were and how good they were going to look," he said. "So I was like, 'Oh man I can do that. I can look way better than you.' That was it. That started it right there."
The uniforms were green and white.
Since then, Smith's fling with football has developed into a full-fledged love affair. The game has become an essential part of his life.
"There is no other feeling like it," he said. "It makes you feel invincible. It makes you feel like you can do things you couldn't do before."
It was sometime in the middle of spring semester 2003 when Smith realized he desperately needed to shape up in the classroom or face the possibility of becoming ineligible.
Football was close to becoming a memory.
"I almost lost it," Smith said. "I had to make a choice: Am I going to do the work or am I going to go back home and tell mommy I lost it because of my grades?"
Smith chose to do the work. His GPA is about 2.2 and his coaches and family expect him to graduate this spring with a degree in sociology.
Today he stands firm in his conviction that he will graduate.
"People didn't think I'd be the one to make it," he said. "But I have to."
Still, Vernon Smith is known to be a big talker.
He says he hasn't always been a trash talker. However, his teammates say he definitely has a lot of "smack" to talk, especially in practice.
"Vern doesn't ever shut his mouth," said team co-captain Dylan McFarland. "He definitely gets to people sometimes."
"But," McFarland quickly adds, "he backs it up."
Position coach Ty Gregorak says he doesn't mind Smith's trash talking, so long as he saves it until after he makes a good play.
"That's football to him," Gregorak said. "It's part of his game."
One frequent recipient of Smith's taunts is Grizzly wide receiver Jon Talmage. The two match up with each other in practice during one-on-one drills and have an ongoing competition.
Smith is quick to declare himself the winner.
"I try not to tackle (Jon) in practice," Smith said. "I wouldn't want to hurt him."
Talmage won't miss an opportunity to talk back to his on-the-field rival and his friend.
"I'm definitely winning," he said, after being informed that Smith had declared himself the winner.
"Anyone that is 6'1'' and weighs 150 can't really tackle anything," he said.
When asked about his trash talking Smith leaves out most of the derogatory words he is rumored to use during the games and at practice.
"First I tell you I'm gonna stop you," he says. "Then I stop you, and after I stop you I tell you, 'I told you I was gonna do that.'"
But, even big talkers have soft spots.
His mother knows this first hand. Benyard said Smith was raised to be polite and respectful, but above all else to have the tenacity to never give up.
In January of 2001 he proved his tenacity. Benyard had an allergic reaction to chemicals she was cleaning with. It caused her heart to stop. Smith called the ambulance and calmed his brother and two sisters down.
"My heart stopped, but Vernon wouldn't accept that," Benyard said. "He was right there holding my hand telling me, 'No mom, you'll be OK.'"
Just as Smith didn't give up on his mother, he hasn't given up on his grades. Benyard believes if Smith says he will graduate he will and she'll drive all the way to Montana from San Diego to see him. She hates to fly.
"I don't worry about him because he doesn't worry," she said. "And he's going to do what he's going to do anyway. He's strong-willed."
So when Vernon Smith says he's regained the focus that had previously been blurred, many people believe him.
Perhaps the most important person who believes is the man himself.
"Am I just another guy with potential or am I going to be the one to put it all together?" he said. "I'm going to put it all together. It's time for me to perform."
The first time Vernon Smith came from California to the University of Montana, he arrived in the midst of a blinding snowstorm.
He walked onto the field in Washington-Grizzly Stadium and with his cold hands wrote his name in the end zone snow: V. Smith #5.
"I was imagining I was writing my name in my house," he said.
Two years later, the grass was green, and Smith, the Grizzlies' hard-hitting cornerback, made it back to the same end zone in a game against Weber State.
He took a chance and went for a pick.
"I just got caught in the moment," he said, remembering the few seconds before he ran 29 yards and scored a touchdown.
"Afterwards, it was just a blur."
Once Smith was in the end zone he looked back at his teammates. There was no arm flapping, jumping or dancing.
"Let's step on their throats now," he said. He was focused on winning.
The interception that he ran back for a touchdown against Weber State is an example of a few seconds in Smith's life when he saw the field in full focus. But the action of football isn't always that clear.
The setting was the second half of a quarterfinal game against McNeese State in the 2002 I-AA playoffs. One second Smith, who now wears #11, was leaping over a pack of linemen attempting to block a field goal. The next he was on his back, wondering where the crack he had just heard came from.
He had established himself as a major component of the Grizzly defense earlier that season. He had caught six interceptions, made 47 stops and deflected 10 passes before he injured his shoulder trying to block the field goal.
In practice only days earlier the team had been rehearsing almost the exact same scenario. One of Smith's teammates had warned him then.
"I said I know those linemen have done it to me before, they've flipped me over before," Smith said.
And that's exactly what happened during the game. There he was, lying on his back in the second half of an important game knowing he was hurt badly and knowing his team needed him. The Grizzlies lost that game and were eliminated from the playoffs. When the game was over the trash-talking, hard-hitting defender sobbed.
"After the game I cried like baby," he said.
It would be a while after the tears dried before Smith would regain his focus. He had to have surgery on his shoulder.
With excruciating patience, he stood on the sidelines for most of the spring and summer recuperating and watching his teammates.
"I felt I was letting my teammates down," he said. "It was rough watching."
His mind would only become more clouded during the months following his injury. He couldn't focus in class any more. He started flunking tests.
"I just don't like school," he said. "But I knew it would be a shame to come here and not get a degree."
On the walls in her San Diego home there are many pictures of Vernon Smith holding a football, his mother Jeanette Benyard said.
In one, he is four years old.
Back then he was mostly concerned with showing up his grade-school buddies who played football and looking good in the uniform.
"(My friends) were all talking about how good they were and how good they were going to look," he said. "So I was like, 'Oh man I can do that. I can look way better than you.' That was it. That started it right there."
The uniforms were green and white.
Since then, Smith's fling with football has developed into a full-fledged love affair. The game has become an essential part of his life.
"There is no other feeling like it," he said. "It makes you feel invincible. It makes you feel like you can do things you couldn't do before."
It was sometime in the middle of spring semester 2003 when Smith realized he desperately needed to shape up in the classroom or face the possibility of becoming ineligible.
Football was close to becoming a memory.
"I almost lost it," Smith said. "I had to make a choice: Am I going to do the work or am I going to go back home and tell mommy I lost it because of my grades?"
Smith chose to do the work. His GPA is about 2.2 and his coaches and family expect him to graduate this spring with a degree in sociology.
Today he stands firm in his conviction that he will graduate.
"People didn't think I'd be the one to make it," he said. "But I have to."
Still, Vernon Smith is known to be a big talker.
He says he hasn't always been a trash talker. However, his teammates say he definitely has a lot of "smack" to talk, especially in practice.
"Vern doesn't ever shut his mouth," said team co-captain Dylan McFarland. "He definitely gets to people sometimes."
"But," McFarland quickly adds, "he backs it up."
Position coach Ty Gregorak says he doesn't mind Smith's trash talking, so long as he saves it until after he makes a good play.
"That's football to him," Gregorak said. "It's part of his game."
One frequent recipient of Smith's taunts is Grizzly wide receiver Jon Talmage. The two match up with each other in practice during one-on-one drills and have an ongoing competition.
Smith is quick to declare himself the winner.
"I try not to tackle (Jon) in practice," Smith said. "I wouldn't want to hurt him."
Talmage won't miss an opportunity to talk back to his on-the-field rival and his friend.
"I'm definitely winning," he said, after being informed that Smith had declared himself the winner.
"Anyone that is 6'1'' and weighs 150 can't really tackle anything," he said.
When asked about his trash talking Smith leaves out most of the derogatory words he is rumored to use during the games and at practice.
"First I tell you I'm gonna stop you," he says. "Then I stop you, and after I stop you I tell you, 'I told you I was gonna do that.'"
But, even big talkers have soft spots.
His mother knows this first hand. Benyard said Smith was raised to be polite and respectful, but above all else to have the tenacity to never give up.
In January of 2001 he proved his tenacity. Benyard had an allergic reaction to chemicals she was cleaning with. It caused her heart to stop. Smith called the ambulance and calmed his brother and two sisters down.
"My heart stopped, but Vernon wouldn't accept that," Benyard said. "He was right there holding my hand telling me, 'No mom, you'll be OK.'"
Just as Smith didn't give up on his mother, he hasn't given up on his grades. Benyard believes if Smith says he will graduate he will and she'll drive all the way to Montana from San Diego to see him. She hates to fly.
"I don't worry about him because he doesn't worry," she said. "And he's going to do what he's going to do anyway. He's strong-willed."
So when Vernon Smith says he's regained the focus that had previously been blurred, many people believe him.
Perhaps the most important person who believes is the man himself.
"Am I just another guy with potential or am I going to be the one to put it all together?" he said. "I'm going to put it all together. It's time for me to perform."
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