Moss took a year off, seemingly retired, fishing, hanging out with his kids and sometimes showing up on Ustream, a live broadcasting site on the Internet.
Then one more incredible thing happened. The 49ers, a team on the edge of greatness, brought him back - not to leap over defenders but for the influence he might have on youngsters in the locker room.
Randy Moss was coming back as an elder statesman.
Dawg was going to impart wisdom.
Remarkably, he settled into his new role. He didn't streak down the field like he used to - but he didn't run his mouth so much either. The wily vet showed young teammates the way.
"Randy's been ridiculously good," 49ers offensive coordinator Greg Roman said in a fresh Sports Illustrated sitting on my coffee table.
"His leadership has been off the charts. He's a first-ballot Hall of Famer, and he doesn't care about anything but winning every day."
Then, just as I was about to marvel at the miracle of maturity, to wax about the perspective that age gives us - the old Randy roared back.
This week, behind the podium at a Super Bowl media day, Randy proclaimed himself the greatest receiver to ever play the game. It was like the synapses in his brain snapped to attention, just like his fast-twitch muscles still can.
Boom! Old Randy is back, running his mouth like a rookie.
"I'm me," Moss declared. "I just do it my way. That's just how I feel. I don't try to be better than the next man, or break any laws or any rules. Nothing like that.
"But what do I believe in? I believe in myself. That's just the way I've always done it.
"I know," he quickly added, "there's some people out there who like me, and I know there's a lot of people out there who don't. For what reason, I don't know and don't really care."
Thanks, dawg. You ruined my conclusion that you're older and wiser. But you wouldn't be Randy Moss if you didn't.
I liked it.
Yo dawg. Do your thing one more time. Bring back a Super Bowl ring to Rand.