I can retire from football with a smile on my face.

The words of John Matuszak carry the resonance of a warrior who has laid down his arms: “I can retire from football with a smile on my face.” At first glance, these words may appear simple, even casual. But beneath them lies a truth profound and eternal: that the measure of a life, or of a career, is not merely in its victories or its scars, but in the peace with which one steps away when the battle is done. To smile at the end of a great struggle is to declare that nothing was wasted, that the journey itself was noble, and that the soul has been fulfilled.

For football, to Matuszak, was more than a game. It was an arena of combat, a proving ground of strength, discipline, and brotherhood. Every collision on the field was a test, every season a campaign. To survive such a gauntlet, to endure years of hardship, and to look back without bitterness is no small feat. Many men end their battles with regret, haunted by missed chances or consumed by wounds of body and spirit. But Matuszak’s words show a heart unchained—he speaks of retirement with joy, with a countenance that shines not from wealth or fame alone, but from the knowledge that he gave his all.

History too speaks of such endings. Consider the tale of the Roman general Cincinnatus, who after leading his people to victory, laid down power and returned to his fields. He did not cling to authority, nor did he weep for lost glory. Instead, he walked away with dignity, content in the knowledge that he had fulfilled his duty. His “smile” was not written on his lips but in his deeds, in his willingness to rest after toil. Matuszak’s statement echoes this same spirit: that true greatness lies not in holding on forever, but in knowing when to depart in peace.

The smile in this saying is a symbol of acceptance. It is the smile of the farmer who sees his harvest gathered, the smile of the poet who closes his final page, the smile of the mother who watches her children grown strong. It is not the empty grin of denial, but the radiant sign of a soul that has poured itself fully into its work and can now walk away unburdened. Such a smile is hard-earned, born of years of sacrifice, triumphs, and defeats accepted alike.

Yet this truth is not confined to athletes or warriors. Each of us will one day step away from some labor that has defined us—whether a career, a project, or a season of life. The question is: will we leave bitter, clinging to what is gone, or will we, like Matuszak, walk away with a smile? To prepare for such a moment, we must live and labor with fullness now, giving our energy and passion without restraint. Only then can we retire, not with sorrow, but with joy.

The teaching is clear: live so that when the end comes—whether the end of a game, a career, or even a life—you may look back without regret. Do not hold back your effort, nor let fear cause you to shrink from challenges. Pour yourself into your calling, as the gladiator pours his strength into the arena. Then, when the day comes to set aside your tools or hang up your armor, you may say, as Matuszak did, that you can walk away smiling, for nothing was left undone.

Therefore, let all who hear these words act with intention. Approach your work and your life not half-heartedly, but with vigor, with discipline, with courage. Treat every day as part of the great campaign, every challenge as a chance to leave nothing in reserve. And when your moment of retirement comes, whether from one season or from life itself, may you too carry that radiant strength—the ability to say with peace: “I can retire… with a smile on my face.”

This is the wisdom of Matuszak, echoing across the ages: to end not in sorrow, but in joy; to close the book not with trembling hands, but with a heart filled with pride. It is the art of finishing well—and there is no greater legacy than that.