Day of Reckoning for Humble Pair

Coming from nowhere to somewhere, from Millbrook, Ala., and Lynchburg, Va., from odd jobs to community college to Houston, from Western Kentucky, where basketball was king, to being an NFL defensive coordinator, standing on the turf of the Superdome and looking up to see your teammates, your defenders, holding up the Super Bowl trophy, it can make men positively teary-eyed.

Humility joined with hard work. That’s what shaped Antowain Smith, New England Patriot running back, and Romeo Crennel, New England Patriot defensive coordinator. Nothing more or less.

Who are these guys? Just hard workers, serious professionals, humble men who did jobs.

As the flabbergasted Patriots celebrated their 20-17, last-second upset of the St. Louis Rams in Super Bowl XXXVI, Smith and Crennel walked slowly off the field, each wiping something from their eyes. Sweat, maybe. A tear possibly.

All week the world was treated to stories of the excellence of Marshall Faulk, considered the best all-around player in the NFL by many people, and to the charming tale of Ram defensive coordinator Lovie Smith, who came to St. Louis this year to rebuild a wimpy defense into a fearsome powerhouse. Faulk was from New Orleans. Smith had a cool first name and the tag of hottest assistant coach, certainly destined in the next couple of years to become a head coach.

Sports is a funny thing, quirky and contrary. What you expect, it doesn’t always happen. What is made out to be the best and hottest, somebody on the other side might not pay attention to that.

Smith and Crennel weren’t on the front pages of newspapers all week, weren’t being invited to the Jackson Square sets of Fox or HBO or ESPN or every radio station in the country, and that was OK.

Because ultimately, in a most memorable, meaningful, magical Super Bowl, where wearing red, white and blue wasn’t corny and being a Patriot wasn’t embarrassing, Smith and Crennel were the stars who didn’t brag, the Patriots who didn’t mind being ignored, the athlete and the coach who did their jobs and believed that’s what they were supposed to do.

Smith is the low-rent New England Patriot running back from Millbrook, Ala., a free agent who came to New England as a cheap cog in an expensive machine, who outgained Faulk 92 yards to 76. Smith never fumbled, hardly ever stumbled, just bulled ahead, even after injuring his ankle and his coaches asked if he wanted a rest.

“No,” Smith said, “I was not coming out of this game. Not ever. Not today. Not when nobody wanted to give us any credit or any chances. I wasn’t coming out. Not after taking my road.”

The road Smith took was the road adults who accept responsibility sometimes, but not always, take. Smith didn’t play football until his senior year of high school and then became an all-district and all-conference running back. Smith never had much time for sports because he worked as much as he could. “My grandparents were taking care of me,” Smith said, “and I needed to help.”

Smith was recruited by some mid-sized colleges but stayed home to work in a factory, to earn money for his grandparents. After his grandmother died in 1994, Smith went to East Mississippi Junior College, then spent two years at the University of Houston. He spent four mostly nondescript years with the Buffalo Bills and was picked up as a free agent by the Patriots because he’d had some good games against the Patriots and because somebody in the Patriot front office recognized that Smith was quiet, hard-working, incredibly strong.

“I’m not all that fast,” Smith said Sunday night. “Was I insulted Marshall Faulk got all the attention? Why in the world would I be? He deserves everything he got. I get what I earn.”

Smith, who will turn 30 next month, does not run, as he says, “with twists and turns. I don’t have moves. I don’t swivel my hips. I just run.” Smith gained 1,157 yards this year which didn’t make him Faulk but which did make him just what the Patriots needed--somebody who knew his job and who did it.

He sat with a box of Wheaties in front of him. In this age of instant marketing, Smith was front and center of six Patriots on a box of cereal. Being on a box of cereal made Smith laugh. “Just eating cereal was a big deal for me sometimes,” Smith said.

Crennel has coached for 32 years. He is a short-necked, large-bellied man who teaches his defenders to hit hard, always to hit hard, to concentrate on hitting hard. No need, he said, to always be trying to strip the football or knock away the football or concentrate on making the fancy interception. Just move quickly toward the man with the ball and hit that man hard.

Here’s the measure of Crennel, what he is about, why his players love and respect him.

When Crennel was a senior at Western Kentucky, after he had been a three-year starter at defensive lineman and was all set to make a name for himself in front of pro scouts, the Hilltoppers’ offense quit working because the offensive line was hurting. So Crennel volunteered to move from the DL to the OL. Pro scouts quit paying attention but Crennel was named team MVP.

Crennel was named Patriot defensive coordinator a year and three days ago. In Super Bowl XXXVI, the New England defense made the St. Louis offense lose its rhythm, its focus, its sense of superiority, its feeling that any play was possible, that scoring would happen whenever necessary.

Somebody asked Crennel if he was a defensive genius. Instant genius status comes pretty easily in the NFL. Every week brings a new genius.

“No, I am not a genius by any stretch of the imagination,” Crennel said. “I’m just a hard-working coach, I have hard-working players and we play together as a team very well.”

It sounds simple but just working hard, just coaching hard, not worrying about being a star or a genius, sometimes that’s what winners do.

*

Diane Pucin can be reached at diane.pucin@latimes.com.