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Below is a long-form essay I wrote about Peyton Manning a couple years ago before the Super Bowl against the Seahawks. Given the result of Super Bowl 50, I thought it was worth revamping and sending it out on a victory lap. Much like the one Peyton’s currently enjoying.
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“This is unbelievable, honey.”
She was right. I was practically hyperventilating during pre-game, alternating between a yearning for and a dreading of the opening kickoff of the AFC Championship Game between the New England Patriots and Denver Broncos.
“It’s his last chance,” I said. “It’s been getting worse the older he’s gotten because his window is shrinking.”
“Wrong,” she said. “It’s been getting worse the older you’ve gotten because your neurosis is growing.”
Touché.
Only not really. Because while my wife is usually right when it comes to assessing any one of my peculiar proclivities, she was dead wrong in assessing this one. My neurosis isn’t growing. At least not as it pertains to sporting events. I don’t attach anywhere near the significance to wins and losses as I once did. Forty-plus years and the ever-growing list of responsibilities that come with them will do that to a man.
That said, if you look closely enough, you’ll probably notice the Peyton Manning Exemption stamped neatly upon my sports-tortured psyche in the very finest of font. Because, as my wife observed during the AFC Championship Game, I tend to lose my marbles whenever Manning takes the field. The bigger the game, the further they roll. And my Twitter feed tells me I’m not alone. Which begs the question, why do I — why do we — care so very much about Peyton Manning’s football career?
The easy answer is because he’s the most prominent Vol in recent history, if not ever. But I don’t think it’s that simple. At least not in my case.
Charlie Garner was a prominent Vol. Definitely on my top 10 list of favorite Volunteers (a list that has like 30 names on it, but whatever). And I wasn’t anywhere near as amped for his Super Bowl with the Raiders as I was for any of Peyton’s Super Bowls. Despite having a legitimate incentive above and beyond my affinity for Charlie. Five hundred of them if memory serves.
Same with Reggie White. Another name on my top 10 list. One of very few Vols who could legitimately be classified as iconic. And his first Super Bowl was after the 1996 season, long before Peyton ever lined up under an NFL center. So not only was Reggie one of the most beloved Vols ever. Not only was he a bonafide icon. He was also arguably the most prominent Volunteer of all time at that point. Wouldn’t it stand to reason that I would have felt at least a fraction of the anxiety witnessing his quest for the Lombardi Trophy as I’ve felt witnessing Peyton’s? Because that wasn’t the case.
Nervous? Obviously. On edge? A bit. But was it to the point of caricature? No. It wasn’t.
Conversely, the level of my investment in Peyton Manning rendered me emotionally bankrupt and virtually listless for a couple of bleak days a few Januarys ago after the Baltimore debacle. And don’t even get me started on the Seattle beatdown two Super Bowls ago. Or the one-and-done against the Colts last year. With each came a palpable pain which proved capable of waking me up more than once in the cold, dead night.
Why?
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It was August of 1998, and just a few months prior, my dad had been diagnosed with the cancer that would eventually claim his life. I was in my twenties and working for a branch of GE Capital in Seattle. But the moment I learned of Dad’s prognosis, I’d begun actively seeking a job that would bring me back to the Southeast and closer to my hometown of Knoxville.
Which is why August 9 was so important. For on that day, I had a second interview with a reputable financial services firm. If I got the job, they’d relocate me to Nashville where I could spend the last chapter of my dad’s life fewer than 200 miles west of the ivy-covered stone house of my youth. The one he and my mom still called home. To make that interview, I had to catch a 6:15 am flight which meant leaving my house by 4:45. Inconvenient, yes, but I’d obviously make it. Because getting that job was my top priority.
Which is why you might be surprised to learn I spent the prior night crushing a few cold beers in the now-demolished Kingdome. Hey, finding a way to relocate to the Southeast to be closer to my ailing father may have been priority number one, but watching Peyton Manning play football was certainly a close second. And on August 8, Manning was to play in his first ever NFL game (albeit a preseason one) against the Seattle Seahawks. And I was compelled to attend that contest, my fondness for Peyton being but one of the reasons.
The others are harder to articulate.
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