The Immortal Harrison Smith

Torture devices. Late-night film. Instincts sharpened through nearly 200 games. The Minnesota Vikings safety is piecing together a career worthy of Canton... and he's not close to finished yet.

Illustration by Brave Buffalo

Players do not last 13 years in the NFL by mistake. Talent never stumbles into longevity. Last this long in pro football and you’ve mastered a formula. You’ve traveled down a peculiar path that works for you.

Tom Brady makes himself a bowl of avocado ice cream in-between pliability sessions. Aaron Rodgers sips ayahuasca and slips into a darkness retreat. Along his own pursuit of a ring, at age 38, Calais Campbell’s home is full of specialists for practically every body part. Latavius Murray bought a house in West Seneca, NY one year ago to force himself to make the Bills as the oldest back in the NFL — “burn the ships,” he told us. And up close, a young safety for the Minnesota Vikings experienced one season with Antoine Winfield Sr., before then witnessing how Terence Newman managed to play until age 39 at cornerback.

Newman never dabbled in funky diets or training regiments. His secret? Pickup basketball. He barely lifted weights, period. That’s why Harrison Smith started playing hoops all offseason himself.

Then, he started to age himself. Two years ago, the Minnesota Vikings safety felt far too much tightness after the season. If Smith had any hope of evolving with the speed of the game, he needed to drastically loosen up his joints and muscles. So, he went to Home Depot. He filled a cart with wood and pulleys, returned home and started hammering away. At one point, his wife entered the room. Madison took one look at this “Pravilo” stretching device and wondered what in God’s name her husband was building.

The training philosophy was first developed by Slavic warriors in preparation for battle centuries ago.

Smith researched it all online and decided to build the apparatus himself.

Basically, you strap your ankles and wrists in let the machine stretch your limbs. To demonstrate, Smith drops his helmet on the practice field and holds his arms out as wide as he can.

“It’s almost like a medieval torture device,” Smith says. “I get pulled in every direction and then you can make it active and use it as a workout. It’s silly but that makes me feel so good.

“Everyone that comes over and sees it says, ‘What the f--k is that?’”

Extreme traction activated his spine in a completely new way because the device, Smith adds, “pulls you apart.” He starts each morning with this homemade Pravilo. If his back’s on fire, it’ll immediately make him feel better. Chiros are useful but he believes this creates more “space” in his body.  

He’s reminded of his pigmentation predicament. There aren’t many other Caucasian defensive backs trying to chase players nicknamed “Cheetah” in a sport rigged in the offense’s favor. After initially claiming that there’s more safeties of his ilk than people realize, Smith admits those players are stashed away on special teams. He knows he’s an anomaly. “Loosen those hips up!” he says with a laugh.

So, bring on the torture chamber.

This week marks Game No. 185 of his NFL career. He’s still intercepting passes, sacking quarterbacks and directing all traffic on the back-end of the Vikings’ defense. The sport has changed in a million ways since Smith first arrived as the 29th overall pick in 2012. Rules soften in the offense’s favor. The other 11 players continue to be deployed in wacky new ways. While getting faster. While he ages himself. While, of course, Smith transitions through three eras of Vikings history: Leslie Frazier to Mike Zimmer to Kevin O’Connell. Yet, the 35-year-old finds ways to adapt. Always. On the verge of another season, Smith speaks while baking in the training-camp heat. His Vikes have just completed a joint practice with the Cleveland Browns in Berea, Ohio when one player in orange and brown approaches to shake his hand.

Awestruck, thanks Smith for all of their battles on the field, says he respects him and gives Smith props for lasting 12 years in the league. “Thirteen,” gently corrects with a laugh. The player’s son is on the field, too, and tells Smith he’s seen him on Madden.

The two players dap up, wish each other well and… Smith admits a few moments later he has no clue who that player was.

Hard to blame him. Play this long in the NFL and opponents will blur.

But something’s working.

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The first safety Smith felt drawn to in this sport was Denver’s Steve Atwater. The Hall of Famer’s most famous collision, of course, was stoning Christian Okoye in the hole. But it’s not this hit vs. the “Nigerian Nightmare” that hooked Smith. He was still too young then. The hit he loved — one he admits is completely outlawed now — came in Super Bowl XXXII vs. the Green Bay Packers in San Diego. On third and 6 with 36 seconds left, three-time MVP Brett Favre floated a ball down the middle and a headhunting Atwater obliterated three players at once at the 10-yard line: wide receiver Robert Brooks, Broncos teammate Randy Hilliard and himself.

Helmets all smashed with a chilling thud.

All three players sprawled on the grass in a daze.

On the broadcast, Paul Maguire puts it bluntly: “Atwater just killed Randy Hilliard.”

Somewhere, a kid one week shy of his ninth birthday watched in awe.

“I just thought it was awesome,” Smith says. “That play’s not really part of the game anymore. But that was when I was like, ‘Oh that looks fun!’ as a young kid.”

Years passed and he watched all the legends: Ed Reed, Troy Polamalu, Brian Dawkins, Sean Taylor. The former three are in Canton. The fourth was tragically killed before getting the chance. All presided over a completely different sport. The rapid evolution of football has put no player in a bind quite like the NFL defensive back. Owners want 38-35 shootouts, not slugfests.

Medieval contraptions help. So does getting his playing weight down from 214 as a rookie to 207 today.

His nickname is “The Hitman,” but Smith is no lumbering relic.

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Perhaps the best thing he’s done is accept the reality that football is softening instead of protest it. Early on, it’d piss him off when flags flew so liberally because of his deep love for the physicality of the sport. But it’s not hard for him anymore because he believes the rules will ultimately keep the sport healthy years from now. Smith learned to play within those malleable rules best he can. Giving up a big play is simply part of doing business for all DBs now.

Out of Notre Dame, Smith naturally drew “box safety” stereotypes. Now? Teams in possession of a “box safety” are probably also watching film on DVD players. Playcallers are too good at scheming up 1-on-1 matchups. Both safeties in a defense must be interchangeable. It didn’t take Smith long to prove he can cover the entire field.

He’s up to 35 interceptions, 12 forced fumbles, 87 passes defensed, 19.5 sacks, 42 quarterback hits and six Pro Bowls.

“When I came in, there was generally less space created by offenses,” Smith says. “The game was officiated differently. You can’t really touch guys at all now, so guys are free in space a lot. So having flexibility. I’ve tried to keep my weight down as I’ve gotten older, so I can run all day. Offenses are coming up with stuff every year. It tends to get harder for defense to play good defense with the way the rules are. I used to complain about that. You don’t complain about it. You just accept it.”

Under this defensive scheme, with second-year coordinator Brian Flores, the Vikings can go into any given play with four different checks. As Juan Thornhill detailed in Cleveland, too much thinking can dull down a defense. That’s why players on the Browns’ reigning No. 1-ranked D love Jim Schwartz’s simplified attack. Smith, on the contrary, sees a delicate balance between playing fast with disguise.

A good fit considering Smith has always tried learning everything he can about the opposing offensive coordinator before a game: How he’s calling game. Who he’s prioritizing. The flow and sequencing of plays. Thirteen years of playing ball builds up a massive mental database. This helps him evolve, too. He’s always been a fan of the game. Not too long ago, Smith could name just about every player on every team. Once the season begins, trends begin. He takes note of what plays “get hot.” And as those plays start to proliferate to other teams, he gains a keen sense for what’s popular with which coordinator and has a good sense for what’ll go down on Sunday.

“You’re not always going to be right,” Smith adds, “but it can help.”

He brings up one major trend that caught on and continues to evolve.  

When Smith went pro in 2012, some teams used jet motion. But it was very elementary. A 5-foot-9 utility-knife of a receiver would sprint across the ball after the snap. Most of the time, the quarterback handed the ball off to a running back before faking the end-around. The goal: Freeze a linebacker. That’s it. But now? Receivers are running post patterns deep downfield off their jet motion.

Not just any receiver, too. Tyreek Hill will turn his motion into a 50-yard post. Or a dig. Or a route Smith has never seen before. This twist doesn’t only complicate your coverage in the secondary—it also muddies the run fits up front. The gaps change in real time for defensive linemen.

The Vikings get creative themselves. Their 6-foot-1, 195-pound star receiver, Justin Jefferson, has even lined up in the backfield.

Generally, there are three “trees” of offensive playcallers in the league at one time, Smith learned. That’s his starting point, and then he dives headfirst into the film. Be it at the facility or at home. Tablets weren’t even used for film when he first came into the league. He tries his best not to let his kids see him glued to a screen. Smith wants to practice what he’ll forever preach as a father. The good thing is, Smith has reached a parenting sweet spot. His seven-month-old son needs Mom more than Dad at the moment and his 2-year-old daughter zonks out like clockwork at 7 p.m. That gives Smith a solid two to three hours to hunt for clues on his iPad.

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Nobody would blame this father of two for retiring. His career earnings are inching closer to $100 million as we speak.

But he feels healthy and sincerely believes he’s still playing at a high level, so Smith returned for more in 2024.

With each game-warping play, the Pro Football Hall of Fame becomes more of a reality. Smith supplied the knockout punch in Minnesota’s 28-6 win over the New York Giants last week with a fourth-and-8 interception in the end zone. Hall voters have also warmed up to safeties in recent years, admitting the likes of LeRoy Butler and John Lynch. The man running this defense, Flores, told Purple Insider’s Matt Coller that Smith is “Hall of Fame worthy” and that the conversation should be had whenever he does retire. Longtime Viking linebacker Anthony Barr agreed. “In terms of individual success and defensive success,” Barr said, “there’s not too many people you can put above him.” 

Canton isn’t on Smith’s mind. He’s locked into week-to-week football mode.

However people think of him? So be it.

“I’m going to control what I can control,” Smith says. “Do what I can be to make myself the best I can and then permeate that throughout the guys I’m around, the team I’m around. And at the end, you look up and see where you’re at. Obviously, everyone has the same goal and then there’s going to be this ride that you go on every season. How do you respond to that ride? Good or bad? And it’s just a long game you’ve got to play. Everyone’s got to play on their own, but collectively as well. That’s the beauty of football. The physicality that’s added in. The pain. The love.

“There’s not really another sport I’ve been around that really gets to the human emotion and soul.”

He’s still addicted to that rush in the best way.

He’s also seen the sport psychologically crush others.  

When you’re winning, just about everyone in the building is happy. Losing tends to infect a team like a disease.

Few franchises have pendulum-swung between euphoria and soap operas quite like these Vikings this century. Smith has reached the playoffs five times, losing twice in particularly numbing fashion: a missed 27-yard kick in the minus-25 wind chill vs. Seattle (2015) and an NFC Championship blowout in Philly that would’ve led to a home Super Bowl (2017). The end of Zimmer’s tenure — as chronicled here, here and here — was ugly. Minnesota went 7-9 in 2020, then 8-9 in 2021. When seasons like these careen out of control, Smith says all players have two options: “Keep going” or “Quit.”

For him, the Covid season was (extremely) taxing. Injuries mounted, playing in empty stadiums was bizarre and, treading carefully, he assures life as an unvaccinated player was not enjoyable. Unlike others, Smith never felt too beaten down by Zimmer. He experienced the good times with the crotchety head coach and knew Zimmer was also dealing with a lot in his personal life. He didn’t want to hold that against him. Mike’s son, Adam, died of chronic alcohol abuse in 2022.

Replacing Zimmer with Kevin O’Connell was an instant breath of fresh air. Minnesota went 13-4 in Year 1. Still, as Harrison Phillips admitted, the Vikings defense wasn’t as hard on themselves as they should’ve been through the thrilling one-score victories. Ed Donatell was replaced by Flores at DC and judging him by his own messy exit, you couldn’t help but wonder if the Vikings had welcomed a Zim-like presence back in the building. The way Dolphins players criticize Flores is eerily similar.

When his new DC was hired ahead of ’23, Smith talked to players who’ve had Flores. It wasn’t pretty.

“But I think he’s probably a little different than how people describe him that’ve been around him in the past,” Smith says. “He’s different than K.O., but he’s very reasonable. He’s very smart and very black and white.”

He appreciates tough love. O’Connell and Flores balance each other.

Nobody on defense is getting lax after a win.  

“Everything that I heard about him, I have not experienced. All the bad stuff,” Smith says. “All the good stuff is really good. The way he allows us to play, too, he puts a lot of faith in his players. And it’s a refreshing approach. He’s really involved in the plays and the schematics of it and why we’re doing this vs. this, this, and this. And he gives us the ability to make those decisions. Now if we’re f--ked up, he will correct it. But he puts it in our hands a lot of the time.”

“Things don’t get missed. Even when we’re winning, we’re still going to correct the wrong. It doesn’t mean you’re getting mother--ked. It means you’re correcting it because you want to keep winning. There’s no emotion in it.”

The difference between Flores’ attacking scheme and others, he adds, is that it’s not “dog off a leash.”

There’s true rhyme and reason to why and when Flores chooses to blitz. He’s not haphazardly releasing the hounds.

Smith downplays his own role in getting everybody up to speed on the X-and-O complexities, but not O’Connell. The head coach has cited Smith as a cerebral vet who’s expedited the learning process for everyone.

Watch any Viking games and you’ll see a cluster of bodies crowding the line of scrimmage. Bodies that wait until the last split-second to disperse. Who’s blitzing? Who’s dropping? This mystery deceives and disrupts many quarterbacks. After a full season in 2023, Smith expects the unit to only grow in 2024 and early returns are encouraging. New York’s Daniel Jones was shellshocked most of last Sunday’s game. Next up: the reigning NFC Champion San Francisco 49ers. What Smith loves most is that Flores puts control of the chaos in the players’ hands. All of these checks are up to them. He’ll tell players where to be if the offense lines up a certain way but — if it doesn’t feel right? — they’re allowed to roll with whatever’s comfortable.  

Smith does most of the talking in the secondary. Linebackers with a clear picture of the offense speak up, too.

“We’re all in constant communication,” Smith says.

This makes home games difficult because players often can’t hear a thing. A team like Cleveland that feeds off energy with a simplified scheme excels in such a Thunderdome.

Smith actually loves road games because it’s so quiet. It feels like practice.

He’s heard of calculus-complicated schemes like the one Rex Ryan deployed in New York and Buffalo. If there’s such a thing as a complex scheme that’s still player-friendly, Smith believes this is it. He sees why Flores’ roots are in New England.  

“Without sitting down and going through it, it’s enough but it’s not too much,” Smith says. “And sometimes it becomes too much. We start having success. We’re like, ‘Oh we’ll do this, we’ll do this.’ And then you’ve got to pull back a little bit. It’s a dialogue.”

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Defensive backs in Smith’s cleats start to look constipated at age 35. If they’re allowed on the field at all. A precipitous decline in athleticism prompts an owner to politely lead the aging safety off the stage with promises of a “Ring of Honor” induction. This was different. After 2023, Smith’s future was in Smith’s hands because he still had juice. The Hitman saved Minnesota in Carolina with a hat trick of sacks. He knew the Vikings may rebuild with a rookie quarterback but wanted to see the transition through.

Kirk Cousins signed his $180 million contract with the Atlanta Falcons, the Vikings selected Michigan project J.J. McCarthy 10th overall and, by August, reports out of Minnesota camp were glowing. McCarthy’s improvement from OTAs to training camp in footwork and accuracy was the team’s No. 1 storyline of the summer. Before the Vikings were unfortunately viking’d again. McCarthy tore the meniscus in his right knee and was placed on season-ending IR. This came on the heels of wide receiver Jordan Addison being charged with DUI after falling asleep at the wheel on a Los Angeles freeway.

The pursuit of a ring can become an obsession for all vets waging war vs. Father Time, but Smith is not concerning himself with expectations at all.

This is a player who has lived Viking madness before and insists he’s staying locked in the moment because forget day-to-day — he says everything changes “hourly” in this league.

He remains the defense’s rock, tying for the most defensive snaps (68 snaps, 96 percent) in the ’24 opener after playing the second-most snaps (1,113, 98.41 percent) last season. The Pravilo helps and, for what it’s worth, he doesn’t look old. His hairline is holding strong, and that’s been tough for white safeties past. Mention Mike Prior’s bald dome in the 90s and he laughs. So many guys back then looked old, he says, when they were only 28 years old. The classic NBC graphic of Tom Brady and George Blanda at age 43 comes to mind. Brady’s the one with the chiseled jawline, perfectly coiffed hair and glistening skin. Blanda is rocking mutton chops, wrinkles and, as Smith jokes, “looks like he’s on his deathbed.”

Football is changing — rapidly — but so is the way players stay at peak performance.

Smith is changing, too.

Usually, a player his age cannot wait to rip the equipment off and seek shade during a dog day of summer. This entire 45-minute conversation, Smith stands with his pads on.

A cool breeze finally sweeps through and Smith realizes he’s one of the last three players from the Browns and Vikings on the practice field. He’s no hurry to leave this afternoon and he sure doesn’t sound like a player eager to leave the sport any time soon. Smith is effectively steering his kids toward his favorite animated movie as a kid, “Robin Hood,” and other classics. There’s no “Cocomelon” or “Blippi” crack looping in this household. And whenever he’s on a screen himself a little too long in front of his kids, his wife keeps him in line.  

Balancing life and football is going just fine.  

He’ll make a play that wins another Vikings game soon.

So, hey, why stop now?

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