CRASH & LEARN

Lamar Smith will talk, but only for five minutes, and no personal questions, you got that?

Nothing about being behind the wheel of car that smashed into a utility pole six years ago.

Nothing about admitting he had been drinking at the time.

Nothing about how he walked away from the wreckage, but a former teammate probably never will.

Lamar Smith of the Miami Dolphins can run for 209 yards in a playoff game, but he knows he can’t escape what, until now, had been the defining moment of his life.

So this pleasant man spends what should be a splendid week with a face of stone.

Sure, he would like to talk about today’s second-round game against the Oakland Raiders, but what if somebody asks him about the vehicular assault conviction?

Certainly, his breakout season would be fun to share with the world, but what else would he have to give up?

Five minutes. No personal questions. You got that?

In a phone call to Atlanta, you remark that it’s as if Lamar Smith were still in prison.

“Oh yeah?” says Mike Frier, that paralyzed former teammate. “Well so am I.”

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Funny how these things work out. Well, maybe not funny. Maybe just sad.

The paralyzed guy has moved ahead.

The able-bodied guy can’t.

Perhaps you remember the night that brought them together.

On a rainy December night in Seattle in 1994, Smith gave Seattle Seahawk teammate Frier a ride home from a restaurant.

Frier, a backup defensive end, had just been acquired on waivers. Smith was a backup running back. Both were only beginning their careers.

They had just met. They were not friends. Chris Warren, another Seahawk running back, was also in the car. They were going to his apartment. It was no big deal.

Then, as quickly as it took Smith to change a song on the stereo of his sport-utility vehicle, it was the biggest deal of their lives.

Smith’s eyes left the road long enough for him to lose his bearings. His SUV hopped a median and smacked a utility pole.

Smith and Warren climbed out of the front seat with minor injuries. But Frier couldn’t get out of the back, having suffered a broken neck that left the 6-foot-5, 300-pound player paralyzed from the waist down.

After an initial mistrial, Smith pleaded guilty to vehicular assault, served a couple of months in jail and performed some community service.

Even though he was not given a blood-alcohol test at the accident, because police thought Warren had been driving, Smith later admitted to Sports Illustrated that he had been drinking.

“It was all my fault. . . . I take sole responsibility. . . . I should never have been drinking and driving,” he told the magazine. “There’s no one to blame but me.”

He kissed Frier, apologized to him and, as part of a civil suit, agreed to pay him as much as 50% of his future earnings.

Although nothing can fix his horrible mistake, Smith has shown every ounce of remorse that society and Mike Frier have demanded.

Yet he’s still grinding behind bars, unable to enjoy the sudden success that has resurrected the tragedy.

While the paralyzed man charges on.

“I don’t feel bad for Lamar Smith,” Frier said from his Atlanta home. “I pray for him.”

Not to mention, cheer for him, and not only because he is receiving part of Smith’s earnings through 2004.

This fall, Frier and Smith became linked in another way.

Frier picked Smith for his fantasy football team.

Serious.

“But I didn’t start him,” he said, laughing.

Frier has not worked since the accident, but he is taking computer classes and hoping to return to the field as a college assistant coach.

He still has no movement below his waist, and said he also sometimes struggles with his upper body. He lives with his brother, who helps care for him.

He said that at times, he is still angry and frustrated.

“I watch guys on TV who I played with and I think, ‘I could be doing that,’ ” he said. “Heck, I could tackle Lamar Smith. I probably still could tackle him.”

But he said he has realized, he is only 31, and life still beckons.

“I’m lucky to be alive, and I’m getting on with my life,” he said. “What happened was in the past, and I can’t live there anymore. I’ve got to get past it.”

He has not spoken to Smith for several years, but he is not surprised.

“We weren’t friends before the accident, there is no reason to be friends now,” he said. “But he’s lived up to his part of the agreement, so I hold no grudges. I wish him luck. And I wish he could get on with his life.”

Smith is doing that on the football field, having scored more touchdowns this season, 16, than in his previous six seasons combined. Counting his first playoff game, his 1,348 yards rushing are nearly double his previous season high.

After bouncing around behind Warren in Seattle, and in Mike Ditka’s doghouse in New Orleans, Smith has found a home on this Dolphin team of mostly rejects and castoffs.

“None of us are judging him, because we’ve all had things in our lives,” receiver Leslie Shepherd said. “He’s always going to have that label. The important thing is, how do you deal with the label?”

Smith has tried to run over it. After signing as a free agent, he showed up in the spring and worked every day. He showed up in the summer and never complained.

He showed up with a NFL playoff-record 40 carries last weekend against the Indianapolis Colts, and linemen say his demeanor never changed.

“I tell these guys, ‘You judge somebody by how hard they work,’ and nobody worked harder than Lamar,” Coach Dave Wannstedt said. “Everybody saw that. He was accepted immediately.”

Smith had no idea he would give the Dolphins their first true running threat in more than 20 years.

But when it happened, he knew what it meant.

You become a star, everybody wants to know your story.

The way many athletes deal with past troubles in a new town is to rehash them once and make them old news.

Understandably, regrettably, Smith can’t bring himself to do even that.

Five minutes. No personal questions. Starting now.

“It’s all about having the will to do something,” Smith said, fidgeting in front of his locker. “Sometimes you just have to suck it up.”

He is asked about his season.

“It’s been fun, because we’ve had to overcome adversity,” he said.

He is asked about joining the Dolphins.

“They’ve been great, giving me the opportunity, welcoming me with open arms,” he said.

He was asked about the loose bunch of footballs crammed into the top of his locker. Game balls?

“No, touchdown balls,” he said, finally smiling, suddenly relaxed.

That’s all, fellas. Five minutes are up. No more questions. Thank you very much.

You want to ask more. You want to ask about those balls, about an odd drawing hanging in his locker, about a telegram he reportedly received from former Dolphin star Larry Csonka, about that great smile.

Lamar Smith looks as if he would want to tell you. But he will not. He cannot.

Amid the buzz of a playoff locker room, he sits down, quiet and alone, back behind the soundproof glass.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at his e-mail address: bill.plaschke@latimes.com.