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Even Peyton’s most ardent supporters would have to admit his postseason exploits haven’t been for the faint of heart. And while researching this piece, I was amazed by the number of different ways Manning and his teams had come up short in the postseason. Amazed because I didn’t remember them all, this despite the fact I’d seen every one. It’s like I blocked them out as defense mechanism or something.
Vanderjagt’s missed kick in overtime against Miami. The 41-0 throttling in the Meadowlands. The four picks against Tom Brady and the New England Patriots in the ’03 AFC Championship game. The three measly points they scored in their second consecutive playoff setback in Foxboro. The weird loss to Pittsburg in ’05 (thanks in part to yet another Vanderjagt miss) in the wake of unspeakable tragedy, the suicide of Tony Dungy’s 18-year-old son.
Even Manning’s Super Bowl victory over Chicago (along with the distinction of being named the game’s MVP) couldn’t silence his critics. For many quickly noted that Manning’s postseason run contained seven picks against just three touchdowns. Very un-Manning-like numbers that proved Peyton still underperformed in the clutch. (But, wait. I thought stats didn’t matter? Only rings. Wasn’t that the whole argument to begin with?)
Regardless, the Super Bowl win put Manning above .500 for the first time in his postseason career at 7-6. Talk about perseverance. The guy who started his NFL postseason career by dropping his first three, the guy who couldn’t win the big one, had won seven of his last ten do-or-die games.
But back-to-back one-and-dones against the San Diego Chargers again put Peyton below .500 in the postseason, and the haters were louder than ever. So loud that no one remembers his historical playoff run following the 2009 campaign. The one that came on the heels of his fourth MVP season. The one in which he completed 68% of his passes. The one in which he averaged 319 yards per game. The one that featured six touchdowns against just two interceptions.
All folks remember is the ball Tracy Porter took to the house, which left Manning once again in need of redemption, if not validation.
As if that Super-Bowl-losing play weren’t enough to overcome, along came the neck surgeries. And the subsequent release by the team he had made relevant for nearly a decade and a half. Peyton Manning. One of the greatest quarterbacks to ever lace ‘em up. The Colts’ all-time leader in pass attempts, pass completions, passing yards, passing touchdown and career wins. The man armed with 11 Pro Bowls, four league MVPs, a Super Bowl MVP and, most notably, a Super Bowl ring, was cut.
BOOM. Done. Thanks for everything. Take good care.
Add that psychological devastation to the physical one he was enduring at the time and let that simmer for a spell. Which is what makes Manning’s second stanza at Denver so remarkable. The fact that he was able to guide a team to two Super Bowl appearances in four years at his age with his health situation? It was against all odds.
Yet his stint in Denver eventually became a microcosm for his broader career. One in which he’d be questioned all over again.
The loss to Baltimore in the AFC Championship Game. The throttling at the hands of Seattle in Super Bowl 48. The one-and-done last year against his former team at the hands of the guy who’d replaced him. And this season, getting unceremoniously benched the very game he set the all-time completions record. The national narrative that essentially cast him off. Even in Denver they asked Will Peyton ever play another snap?
Peyton Manning, in the eyes of many, still had something to prove, this despite the fact that Father Time was conspiring against him. And whether Peyton fans like it or not, the questions swirling around about him were fair. At least to a certain extent. Even during Peyton’s first two years in Denver — two of his top-three statistical years of his entire NFL career — he was but a shell of his former self. This year, a shell of that shell.
Yet it’s never been Peyton Manning’s physical attributes which have made him so great. It’s been his mind. His determination. His work ethic. His dedication to his craft. And, of course, the thing that lies just beneath his own placid surface — his heart. But unlike the “scruffy little city” that will forever hold a special place in it, Peyton’s heart probably isn’t a mere insult away from an all-out fistfight. Through it all, he’s never once lashed out, despite having ample opportunities — ample reasons, even — to do just that.
But his heart has proven to be a mere setback away from bouncing back. Whatever the odds.
We all know the deal. Peyton wasn’t exactly Joe Montana out there on Sunday when he captured his second ring.
But he was Peyton Manning.
The guy who handled his dismissal from Indy with impossible grace. The guy who waited hours after a heartbreaking playoff loss to the Ravens to congratulate Ray Lewis. The guy who never once made this week — the last he’d ever spend as an NFL quarterback — about himself. The guy who refused, even after the game, to publicly speculate about his future. They guy who didn’t want to deflect even one iota from his defense, the true reason his team hoisted the Lombardi Trophy. The former first man who was more than willing to be just another cast member. The team-first guy who seemed happy just to be there.
The guy with heart.
In 1998, I watched Peyton Manning play his very first NFL game when I was a carefree bachelor in my twenties. Last night, this middle-aged father of five watched him play his last. And I was so relieved that the football gods saw to it that the right quarterback took home the trophy. Yet even in winning his second ring, Manning’s performance will do nothing to silence the critics.
Nor will the fact that he led four different coaches to the Super Bowl. Or that he was the first ever starting quarterback to win the Super Bowl for two different teams. Or that he’s once again above .500 in the playoffs (14-13). Or that he’s 3-1 against Tom Brady in AFC Championship Games. Or that he’s now 2-2 in the biggest game on the planet.
No, I’m afraid the critics will always be there. Always questioning. And the answers Peyton managed to muster up during the second stanza of his career, as impressive and improbable as they may have been, will still fall short of their expectations.
Which is fine with me, because the critics are wrong. And I’m more than happy to keep fighting for him. I’ve got a feeling I’m not alone.
