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The Roar

So consistently brilliant that we've almost gotten used to Aaron Smith's genius... but we've also somehow taken him for granted

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Roar Guru
7th October, 2024
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1888 Reads

Aaron Smith.

If you’re a rugby fan, the name alone conjures images of crisp passes, lightning-fast decision-making, and, of course, a lot of flustered opposition forwards who’d rather be anywhere else than chasing him around the field.

The man’s been a one-man highlight reel for over a decade, and yet, somehow, despite his genius, it often feels like we’ve taken him for granted – like a public toilet in a crowded park.

Always there when you need him, but nobody really gives him much thought until it’s not working.

The unsung hero of rugby

In the world of rugby, big blokes smashing into other big blokes tends to steal the spotlight.

The wingers get all the oohs and aahs, the forwards grunt their way to glory, and the fly-halves walk off with all the glamour.

Meanwhile, the scrum-half… well, the scrum-half is just expected to do their job, no fuss, no fanfare.

Smith did his job so well, so efficiently, you’d forget he was even on the field until the scoreboard started ticking over and you realised he was pulling all the strings like some kind of rugby puppet master.

You see, while other players were busy diving over try lines or turning their jerseys into mud sculptures, Smith was there being the smartest bloke on the field.

He wasn’t looking for the spotlight; he was too busy bossing around the forwards and the backs – and basically making everyone else look good.

In short, he was rugby’s equivalent of that mate who organises everything for a night out, but you only remember to thank him after you’ve lost your wallet and he’s called you a cab home.

A small bloke in a big man’s world

In a game that worships size like it’s the only thing that matters, Smith’s relatively small stature made him the odd one out.

But while other players were using their size to bulldoze through opponents like a tradie on a Friday afternoon sprinting towards the pub, Smith was using his brain.

Funnily enough, it turns out that rugby isn’t all about running straight at people like a runaway fridge.

Aaron Smith of New Zealand celebrates as Shannon Frizell of New Zealand (not pictured) scores his team's third try during the Rugby World Cup France 2023 semi-final match between Argentina and New Zealand at Stade de France on October 20, 2023 in Paris, France. (Photo by Michael Steele - World Rugby/World Rugby via Getty Images)

Aaron Smith of New Zealand. (Photo by Michael Steele – World Rugby/World Rugby via Getty Images)

With Smith, it was like watching someone play chess while everyone else was playing checkers.

His speed of thought, his precision passing, his game management – he was always two steps ahead, orchestrating everything like the conductor of a very violent orchestra.

Other players might’ve been the star violinists or the thunderous drums, but Smith? He was the bloke waving the baton, making sure the whole thing didn’t descend into chaos.

Well, organised chaos, anyway – it’s still rugby, after all.

Longevity: The ultimate flex

Most rugby players are like fireworks. They explode onto the scene, burn brightly for a few seasons, then fizzle out, leaving you with vague memories of that one time they scored a hat-trick against the Springboks.

Aaron Smith, though? He’s more like the trusty torch you keep in your shed for emergencies. Dependable, always ready, and while it’s not flashy, you’d be stuffed without it.

Smith’s longevity in a sport where blokes get sent off the field looking like they’ve been run over by a herd of rhinos is nothing short of miraculous.

How many scrum-halves can say they’ve been the best in the world for over a decade? It’s like being the best at parallel parking while everyone else is crashing into the kerb.

He’s made it look effortless, year after year, and yet, somehow, people still managed to overlook him – because he’s always been that good.

Aaron Smith of the Highlanders runs with the ball

(Photo by Dianne Manson/Getty Images)

When Smith finally retires from rugby altogether, it’ll probably be like when the internet goes down – you won’t realise how good you had it until you’re suddenly unable to connect.

Then you’ll spend hours trying to figure out what’s gone wrong, wishing you could just have Smith back, passing the ball like it’s attached to a string.

The invisible wizard

So, why hasn’t Smith received the kind of love and adoration lavished on other rugby superstars? Well, that’s the thing about doing your job too well – it’s easy to get overlooked.

Smith was never flashy. He didn’t need to run 90 metres, stepping through defenders like he was on Dancing with the Stars.

No, he left the glory runs to the wingers.

What he did was far more subtle – and far more valuable. He just made sure the ball got to those wingers in the first place.

It’s like being the designated driver on a wild night out.

Sure, your mates might get all the attention at the bar, but who’s there to make sure everyone gets home in one piece? Aaron Smith, that’s who.

The invisible wizard behind the wheel guiding everyone to safety, even if no one remembers to thank him when they get out of the car and stumble towards their front door.

Aaron Smith of the All Blacks celebrates his 100th game with his wife Teagan Voykovich and son Luka after the Rugby Championship and Bledisloe Cup match between the New Zealand All Blacks and the Australia Wallabies at Eden Park on August 07, 2021 in Auckland, New Zealand. (Photo by Anthony Au-Yeung/Getty Images)

Aaron Smith of the All Blacks celebrates his 100th game with his wife Teagan Voykovich. (Photo by Anthony Au-Yeung/Getty Images)

The legacy we didn’t deserve

As Aaron Smith edges closer to full retirement, the realisation is beginning to dawn: we’ve had it good.

So good, in fact, that we barely noticed.

Smith was the scrum half we needed, but not the one we deserved. A player so consistently brilliant that we almost got used to it.

When he’s gone, it’ll be like when they shut down your favourite local café – suddenly, you’re left wandering around, realising that nothing else quite hits the same.

His legacy, when all is said and done, will be one of quiet brilliance. He didn’t need the try-scoring records or the highlight-reel sidesteps.

He just needed a rugby ball, a pack of forwards to bark orders at and a game to win.

Win he did – again and again and again. But as is the case with all good things, we only realise their true value when they’re no longer there.

So, let’s raise a glass to Aaron Smith – the most convenient player in rugby history.

Always there when you needed him, doing the hard yards so others could take the glory.

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Because when the taps run dry and the lights go out, you’ll finally understand just how much we all relied on him.