A miraculous comeback, the team he believes didn’t want him, the two that still do, and the decision to end a career unlike any other.
Alex Smith could stand right there forever, toes spoiled by the plush strip of emerald green underfoot at his Hawaiian hideaway. “Some of the best grass in the world,” he says, awestruck, like he’s walking on cashmere covered in talc. His eyes scan the tropical paradise spread before him, all paddleboards, putting greens and palm trees, waves crashing into white sand and black lava rocks on a March afternoon so perfect that “blissful” undersells.