When I think of Emmitt Smith, I find it overly difficult to suppress that sickening, nauseous feeling.

This past Sunday, I was just thankful to have a medicine closet stocked with Dramamine.

With Emmitt primed to break Walter Payton’s career rushing record, every last granule of attention was focused on the Cowboy, his prolific career and his durability, his character and his ball-carrying ability. John Madden droned on about how Emmitt was a class act, and Chris Berman felt so sentimental that he ran clips of the top 10 Emmitt runs of all time.

Watching Berman’s highlights, I realized that Emmitt didn’t deserve to be called the greatest rusher of all time; instead, it dawned on me that Emmitt seemed to spend his entire career chasing a different title: Most Boring Rusher Ever.

Smith’s 11-yard run against the Seahawks that snapped Payton’s record of 17,726 career yards was typical Emmitt: He took the handoff, had the presence of mind to run through a gaping hole directly in front of him, and ran right at corner Ken Lucas, who tripped him up, causing Emmitt to stumble towards his record yards.

The run didn’t showcase Emmitt’s jaw-dropping moves, probably because he’s about as shifty as Tony Siragusa. He didn’t use his blazing speed to fly past Lucas, probably because he’s got as much wheels as a busted unicycle. He didn’t finish his run with a neck-snapping collision to pick up a couple extra yards and remind Lucas who’s boss, probably because with Emmitt’s severe lack of power, you’d think he was born before Thomas Edison was around.

There’s just no question, playing a position that glamorizes and tests those three things — speed, shiftiness and power — Emmitt circled choice D: none of the above.

Thanks to the record, Emmitt will indubitably be considered among the greatest backs in the history of the NFL. There’s another list, though, one that those who truly appreciate greatness in sports place far more value on, a list Emmitt’s name will never be scribed on: the list of the greatest runners in history.

There might be a little discussion over who tops that list. Barry moved like his body was rubber and his feet were feathers. Jim Brown mowed down tacklers with all the force of an irate tornado. Sweetness, whose record Emmitt stole last Sunday, could dance like Barishnikov and sprint like Jesse Owens.

Just watching highlights of these three can give one goosebumps. Payton looked like a gazelle gliding around the field, swinging the ball around, alternately tempting and trashing tacklers. ESPN probably needs an entire sub-basement to house all of Sanders’ archived highlights. With his raw speed and harrowing power, Brown was such an astounding physical specimen one couldn’t help but stop and gape. Despite their impressive career totals, it’s not about the numbers with these guys. It’s about style, and gracefulness, and making a serious imprint on people’s memories.

Despite his impressive rushing totals, nowhere this side of Dallas will you hear people singing the above praises about Emmitt. He was, simply, the product of a system, and a very good one at that.

During Emmitt’s heyday, Dallas’ Super Bowl years, the Cowboys managed to assemble the greatest offensive line in history. With a busload of agile and powerful 300-pounders and the best blocking fullback in the league in Moose Johnston, Leon Lett could have run for 1,000 yards in Dallas, provided Don Beebe wasn’t playing defense.

And Dallas’ vicious passing attack certainly didn’t hurt Emmitt’s cause. With Troy Aikman, Michael Irvin and Alvin Harper all posting sick numbers on a weekly basis, nickel and dime became the base packages, and teams couldn’t stack up against Emmitt. With teams concerned about getting beat over the top, the small (5-foot-9) but stocky (210 pounds) Emmitt just sidled in there among the big, big uglies and just ran straight forward.

Emmitt never had that extra step, never really broke away; he always seemed to get just enough separation. His runs rarely had powerful finishes; he always seemed to just spin off the tackler. He always managed to avoid the big hit, but at the same time, he never looked to dish it out. In the absence of great speed or power, his vision was probably his greatest asset, but it’s not all that hard to recognize a hole that a 747 could fit through comfortably.

In the end, it’ll be the mental images of Emmitt, or lack thereof, that will define the back. Sure, he scored a lot of touchdowns and won more than his share of Super Bowls, but the absence of even one breathtaking highlight will relegate Emmitt’s running style to NFL obscurity. In a single half, Barry could have come up with 10 runs more breathtaking than those that Berman dug up for Emmitt’s highlight reel.

Playing a position that glorifies glorious moves and forever remembers the fluidity, agility and escapability of its great ones, not their numbers, Emmitt appears to be a back whose legacy will rest squarely on his rushing records, his 150 touchdowns and his three Super Bowls rings. He did what the Cowboys needed of him, grinding and chugging along for 12 years, fitting the system and the team perfectly. Emmitt was not a bad back; he was a pretty good one, all things considered. But in the NFL, it’s the runners and their moves that live on in the memories of the fans, and despite his impressive career totals, Emmitt’s lack of distinctiveness and spark will relegate him to the dark, dusty corner of the shelf of highlight reels.