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Few players are as untouchable as Cameron Smith in the eyes of the media.
If there’s any consensus within the NRL, it’s that Smith is one of the competition’s flagship players.
Even more so than Johnathan Thurston, Smith often feels like the spokesman for the game at both a national and international level.
Yet like all icons, Smith also has his haters.
To some extent, the opinions of those haters are kneejerk reactions.
They’re also a response to the style of football played by the Storm, which is often conflated with Smith’s own on-field personality.
At the same time, however, there is something to be said for the scepticism.
Take this year’s grand final as a case in point.
After the game, I could have predicted the way things went the next day.
For every pundit who congratulated the Sharks, there was another claiming that Smith’s class in defeat was the real highlight of the night.
Sure enough, the plaudits for Smith almost seemed to outweigh the plaudits for the entire Cronulla team.
Many of those accolades centred on Smith’s perceived “class”.
Nearly everywhere I looked – on Twitter, Facebook, and in the wider media – people were waxing lyrical about his gentlemanly and gracious acceptance of defeat.
No doubt, Smith is well-spoken, and that can be a rare asset in the NRL.
But does being well-spoken make you a good sport?
Jarrod Croker might have developed a different perspective on that after the preliminary finals.
Why, then, is Smith perceived as a gentlemanly player in so many circles?
To some extent, it must come down to his relatively restrained manner on the field, combined with the self-discipline that inevitably arises from working with both the Storm and the Maroons.
However, it is also a result of Smith’s perceived normality.
Once upon a time, the NRL was full of your typical “blokes-next-door”.
In an age in which the game has become increasingly international, there may be something comforting to fans about Smith’s iconic “accountant” face, as well as the way he manages to use it to conceal and control his passions during the game.
It may also be that as scandal becomes more and more endemic to rugby league, there is something consoling to fans about Smith’s ability to present himself in a clean-cut and professional manner, especially during his public appearances.
Additionally, Smith’s tenure with the Storm makes him an icon for longevity.
In an NRL era with frequent player movement, Smith is that rare thing – a one-club player.
Along with his contribution to the Queensland dynasty, this makes him a throwback to a less precarious time in Rugby League.
As an object of nostalgia, then, Smith makes more sense.
But as the game’s most gentlemanly and classy player? I just don’t get it.
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