After a resurgent season, Gronk stares down football's one certainty

— -- TO SEE ROB Gronkowski leap into the air and gently pluck a football out of the sky, his gigantic arms and legs moving in a manner that feels improbably graceful for a man his size, is the closest thing there is in the NFL to spotting a unicorn.

He is, quite possibly, the rarest commodity in football: the balletic big man, sturdy and swift, large yet liquid in his movements. Gronk is unlike any offensive player the league has ever seen. He possesses the arms and torso of a lumberjack and the feet of goal-scoring midfielder. He can catch virtually anything, often by contorting himself into improbable pretzels, and as a blocker he is willing to mix it up with anyone.

But over time, it has become clear that Gronkowski's greatest strength might also be his biggest liability. Like Shaquille O'Neal early in his prime, Gronkowski is such a nimble giant, defenders almost have to grab him, or smack him around, just to slow him down. If you watch tape throughout the course of this season -- and his career -- you'll consistently see examples of players doing everything they can to surreptitiously yank on his jersey, grab an arm, or bump him off his route beyond five yards.

As a result, Gronkowski has built a Hall of Fame resume -- and made the GOAT quarterback Tom Brady look even greater -- while constantly absorbing an unhealthy dose of violent, ligament-bending, bone-crunching collisions.

This is particularly true when it comes to catching the ball up the seam, in the semi-lethal space beyond the linebackers but in front of free safeties. Gronkowski has made a career out of making safeties look silly -- his 76 career touchdowns in eight seasons trails only Antonio Gates and Tony Gonzalez among tight ends in league history -- but safeties have also spent eight years ramming into him like a truck accelerating downhill with no brakes.

The hit that Jaguars safety Barry Church laid on Gronkowski in the AFC Championship Game -- a blow that knocked him out of the game with a concussion and has left him questionable for Super Bowl LII this Sunday -- is a prime example of the dilemma Gronkowski creates.

Gronkowski left his feet in an attempt to make the catch, his arms fully outstretched in front of him, giving himself a great chance to snag Brady's throw but also leaving himself totally vulnerable to a huge hit. Church knew if he went high to try to dislodge the ball, he'd risk initiating helmet-to-helmet contact. If he went low, he knew he might blow out Gronkowski's knee. The safety says he tried to put a shoulder in Gronkowski's chest, but the two players' helmets still collided with a sickening crunch. Church was flagged for unnecessary roughness, and later fined $24,309.

When Gronkowski got to his feet, some TV viewers thought they could read his lips telling a teammate "I don't know where I am ..." as he was escorted from the field. He didn't return, although his one catch for 21 yards was enough to earn him the distinction of being the NFL's all-time leader in postseason yards for a tight end.

So what are we to make of such nasty collisions? Should we admire Gronkowski's fearless -- or perhaps foolish -- bravado? Or is it fair to wish he would do more to protect himself? How long can one man's body take this kind of beating? Should the league do more to punish players who dole out hits that result in concussions?

When it comes to Gronk, there are plenty of questions and few easy answers.

ASSUMING GRONKOWSKI IS?medically cleared to play in Sunday's game -- and it seems likely he will be after he rejoined practice last weekend -- the Patriots will once again have the league's most unique offensive weapon for the most important game of the year. That's a luxury they didn't have in the Super Bowl last year, when Gronkowski's career seemed at a crossroads.

And there likely will be a moment against the Eagles when Brady identifies an obvious matchup advantage and lofts a ball in the direction of Gronkowski, toward a spot where only his tight end can snag it. You might hold your breath watching Gronk put his body on the line, straining to make an almost impossible catch, even as a human wrecking ball barrels toward him.

That kind of play can leave you marveling at the absurdity of a man Gronkowski's size possessing that kind of balance and dexterity, but it also can't help but raise an uncomfortable question: How many violent collisions can one man's body handle before his fearlessness robs him of the very thing that makes him special?