Most days in Latrobe, Arthur Smith would finish training camp practice and walk to the throng of fans hanging over the ropes calling his name. They might’ve made the trip to Saint Vincent College for stars like T.J. Watt, Minkah Fitzpatrick and George Pickens, but when it comes to the Steelers, they even wait their turn for an autograph from the offensive coordinator.
And it wasn't lost on Smith that he was coaching on the grass at Chuck Noll Field, on the same ground where six Super Bowl-winning teams were hardened. He calls it “a real football place” and would say the same for Pittsburgh, where he’s about to become one of the most exalted or disparaged people in town. For offensive play-callers, there’s not much in-between.
Smith has gotten used to that over the past three years, when he went from the penthouse to the outhouse as Falcons head coach. He’s a bit resistant to use Mike Tomlin’s term, “scalded” — the same one he applied to quarterbacks Russell Wilson and Justin Fields as a means to group them with Smith — but Smith tends to wax poetic a bit to try to say exactly what he means and steer clear of anything too incendiary.
“I mean, everybody’s got different things that drive ’em, whatever it is. That’s kind of like life,” Smith was saying midway through his first Steelers camp. “It may not go the way you want. Another opportunity opens up, you learn from it. Always grateful for every experience I’ve had, good or bad. You try to learn and be objective. But definitely excited to be here. It’s been refreshing.”
That feeling might only last until the first punt, first 3-and-out, maybe even the first incompletion given this fanbase’s frequent offensive frustration while Smith was in Atlanta. Last year during training camp, Matt Canada signed a toilet seat, so perhaps there’s nowhere to go but up — whether it’s fan interaction or the actual job of coordinating an NFL offense.
No one knows for sure if he’ll be better at it than Canada, or if he’ll be better than the Arthur Smith of the Falcons, or the Arthur Smith of the Titans. But he’s been a breath of fresh air for the Steelers, even if by default. They’ve been one for Smith, too, but by design.
He rattles off the names of his mentors and it sounds like a Steelers alumni gathering. Mike Munchak, Mike Vrabel, Mike Mularkey and guys not named Mike — Dick LeBeau, Russ Grimm, Ken Whisenhunt. Players seem to think Smith feels right at home here, too. The word “rejuvenated” got an approving nod from running back Cordarrelle Patterson.
“Honestly, he seems a lot different — in a good way,” Patterson said. “It seems like he doesn’t have so much stress on him, you know? Ever since I met Arthur, he’s been my guy. It was a no-brainer for me to come here when he got the job.”
Smith has several players from his time with the Falcons who followed him to the Steelers, but none have been with him as long as Patterson. When he joined the Falcons in 2021, Smith effectively rehabilitated his career as an offensive weapon.
Beyond football, Patterson insists he could call Smith “at 3 o’clock in the morning, tell him I’m stuck and need his help, and I know he’d pick up for me and find a way to come get me.” And Patterson views Smith as the kind of guy he’d invite to his house, take on a boat ride, go fishing and throw some food on the grill just to hang out.
“I’d do anything for him,” Patterson said. “I know I can't do much for him because of who he is, but ... ”
Indeed, Smith certainly didn’t have to jump back into play-calling this season. Not with a father who founded FedEx, an NFL coaching resume that’s impressive in its own right, and a young family at home.
But Smith hunkered down at the SpringHill Suites less than a half-mile from the Steelers facility this spring, spending long hours in the office studying what he did the past five years as a coordinator or head coach. On the weekends, he’d leave the South Side to go see his wife and kids. Patterson shook his head when asked if he had any idea at first that Smith was born into generational wealth but chose to pursue a life in football.
“Hell nah. You wouldn't even know,” Patterson said, looking around the locker room. “Some of the running backs didn't even know that. And that’s a good thing. He doesn't go around telling everyone, ‘My dad is a billionaire, I don't [freaking] need this job.’ He got it out the mud. That’s probably why a lot of guys respect him. He worked his way up.”
Patterson’s referring to Smith’s climb from college graduate assistant to NFL quality control coach to the top of the pro ladder. It took eight years to become a full-time position coach, six more to become a coordinator, two more to be one of 32 in charge of everything.
What did Smith learn? Well, some of that had to be lived in to be understood. It’s an unavoidable shift in perspective when you go from calling the shots for a “subculture” — as Smith refers to an offense or defense — versus a whole team.
“Your kind of tunnel vision is in your own lane,” Smith said. “But I guess you probably have more empathy for stuff that comes across Mike’s desk.”
Mike as in Tomlin, another NFL coach who has a hefty say in personnel decisions the way Smith did in Atlanta. Smith laughs that there are two people in any organization who overwhelmingly deal with complaints: the head trainer and the head coach.
Both are dealing with the entire roster and the stressors that can come with it. There are any number of issues that can arise, big and small, from player No. 1 to No. 53 (plus the practice squad).
“Nobody’s ever coming to you with a good problem,” Smith said. “Usually, something’s going on. That’s part of the job — some things that are private that you try to help people with. You know they're carrying a heavy load.”
So, yes, he takes the work seriously. But he doesn't take himself too seriously.
Smith is still the same guy who called his college quarterback and roommate at North Carolina “Mr. Glass” because he thought Matt Baker had a tendency to be over-dramatic when taking a hit in-game. Ironically, it was Smith who was hampered by injuries as a Tar Heels offensive lineman.
Those two stayed friends, though. Baker’s actually an offensive assistant now with the Steelers after being one of Smith’s special teams coaches last year with the Falcons. And Smith remains a good-natured straight-shooter who likes to cut up on the quarterbacks a little. When undrafted quarterback John Rhys Plumlee told him that some people call him “JR,” Smith decided his nickname henceforth would be “Junior.”
“It’s kind of stuck a little bit,” Plumlee said during training camp. “A lot of the guys are calling me that.”
The duality of Smith is that he’d make Plumlee run a lap for screwing up in practice, but then he’d go and run it with him. He also brought back his mustache this summer after a dalliance with it in Atlanta.
“It seems to have a better vibe up here,” Smith chuckled. “I don't know. We’ll see how it goes.”
It makes him look like an old-school authoritarian, but it’s just as likely that he grew it for the bit. He’s far from a jester, but for the first time in a few years, he’s no longer wearing the crown. That’s “freeing,” as he put it, and if he succeeds with the Steelers, he can put himself back on a path to being in the big chair again.
In the meantime, he’ll coach up his offense with tough love and the kind of wisdom that can only come from failure. And he’ll do it with or without the ’stache.
“Arthur’s going to be Arthur, man,” Patterson said. “He’s still the same crazy [expletive] day in and day out.”
First Published: September 1, 2024, 2:00 p.m.
Updated: September 1, 2024, 4:30 p.m.
