His age (four-one) is approaching his 40-time (four-three), but it will still be hard to see him leave.

Darrell Green chased down Tony Dorsett from behind, Eric Dickerson from behind and Emmitt Smith from behind, and trust me, he'd win a race tomorrow with Randy Moss. Other than Bob Hayes, I can't think of a faster person in the history of shoulder pads, and the charm of Darrell Green was that he drove to work for over 10 years in a VW Bug.

Fastest man, slowest car.

He was humble when humble was cool. He is the anti-Deion. Both took away one side of the field, and both could return any single punt for a touchdown, but one of them was from the me-generation and the other was from the please-and-thank-you generation. And you know which is which.

But it has to end sometime, and usually it's the end when you're demoted to nickel back, so Darrell Green retired Tuesday, effective in January, after 19 incomparable years with the same team. He's not your father's cornerback -- he's your father's age. He's so old, he covered two different Cowboy 88s -- Drew Pearson and Michael Irvin -- and by the time he's done, he'll have faced every Cowboy quarterback from Danny White to Quincy Carter.

He has played in more games than any other Washington Redskin, intercepted more passes than any other Washington Redskin, scored on more interception returns than any other Washington Redskin and shaken more hands than any other Washington Redskin. His career is a tribute to clean living (didn't drink, didn't smoke, said "shucks"), but to better appreciate him, you should weigh him (only 180 pounds), measure him (only 5'8") and look into his soul (only gratitude).

How he got here is beyond me, and how he stayed 19 years is beyond his coaches, but his story bears telling.

He grew up sleeping with three brothers in the family garage. A garage with no windows -- in Houston. A garage that nearly burned down one night with him in it. A garage that he sprinted out of, wearing only a bedsheet. Which is when everyone first realized he had speed.

Speed that got noticed again when, after school, he'd imitate a motorcycle. It's true. He'd endlessly run down his street, going "vroom, vroom, vroom."

By the time he got to high school, he wanted to buzz by everyone on the football field, but the coach wouldn't even put him on the varsity. His mom was glad, though. "Would you want your kid to play at 140 pounds?" he says. "Of course she was glad."

By his senior year, he finally made the team, but the coaches wouldn't even assign him a number. That senior season alone, he wore No. 32, No. 40 and No. 82. On the day of the team photo, he happened to be wearing No. 82, so that's the number they'll have to retire someday.

But, the truth is, not one college recruited him, other than Texas A&I. And Texas A&I recruited him by accident -- the cpaches had actually come to see one of his teammates. But they couldn't miss Darrell. Couldn't miss his blur, that is.

The thing is, he tried to leave Texas A&I during his freshman season, because he was homesick. His coach, Fred Jonas, couldn't find him at practice one day, played a hunch and drove over to the Greyhound station. Only to find Darrell Green sitting on a bench. Jonas got his butt back to practice, but the kid was still homesick and convinced a hometown friend named Cornell to drive him home the next weekend.

Only Darrell couldn't find Cornell when it was time to go.

And turns out, Cornell, on his way back to Houston that weekend, was killed in a car wreck.

"I could've been in that car," Green says.

So Texas A&I still had him. But then came the knife incident. Darrell had had to pick up trash on campus -- like all freshman players were required to do -- and his cousin decided to help him one day. But a senior football player started antagonizing Darrell's cousin, and his cousin ended up stabbing the player in the back with a switchblade. The prosecutors came to question Darrell, and it became somewhat of a flap on campus, and Darrell decided it was time to get on that Greyhound bus for good.

He went home and drove a furniture truck. That was his job. "It could still be my job," he says.

But a year and a half later, Green bumped into Jonas, who'd left Texas A&I by then. And Jonas told him he should go back and play. That he was too fast to be sitting down for a living. Sitting down in a truck.

Green went back, all right, and made the "Little All-America Team." Which had nothing to do with him being little.

He began running track, too, and a general manager named Bobby Beathard started drooling over the kid's time in the 100 meters.

Every time he'd win a race, Green would say, "Thank God." A Texas A&I trainer -- whom Darrell only remembers as Doug -- kept hearing him say that, and finally asked if he'd like to come to a bible study. Which led Green to become a born again Christian.

A few months later, in April 1983, Beathard drafted him to be a Redskin. "I'd like to thank Bobby Beathard for not having me go out and scout Darrell," says the former Redskin defensive coordinator Richie Petitbon. "Because I'd have said no."

The point was, Darrell Green was miniature by NFL standards.

"Bobby was famous for drafting guys with broken legs, and I thought this was another one of Bobby's boners," Petitbon says. "I looked at Darrell and I said, 'Here's another one.' Until I saw him run."

And now it is nearly 19 years later, and Darrell Green still can run. And still can remember.

He has a youth center in D.C. that houses children who have previously slept in ... garages. Just like him. He tells kids to go back to school. Just like him.

So this is the Darrell Green you hate to see go. A guy who used to volunteer to cover kicks. Who never asked to be traded. Who never said look at me. Who still has his VW Bug.

A VW Bug with over 100,000 miles on it. Just like him.

Tom Friend is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at tom.friend@espnmag.com.