by Mark Kiszla
“You’ve got to find answers. And, if you don’t know the answers that second, you better go investigate and find out.”
OK, riddle me this:
Where on earth did the Broncos find the inspiration to think a broken-down quarterback, unwanted by the Indianapolis Colts, was the answer to their Super Bowl problem?
For centuries, the purple mountain majesty of the Rocky Mountains has inspired moments of 1,000-mile clarity for artists, from western frontier painter Albert Bierstadt to pop musician John Denver, who sat around the campfire, with everybody high, singing about it raining fire in the sky.
In a state with 53 peaks that tower more than 14,000 feet above sea level, it is not hard to get a natural high. The fourteener straight west of Denver that serves as the city’s backdrop is Mount Evans. Mount Evans is the centerpiece of a stunning view out the windows of the executive offices on the second floor at the Broncos’ Dove Valley Headquarters.
Mount Evans was not always Mount Evans. Way back in 1863, Bierstadt hopped a crude wagon alongside journalist Fitz Hugh Ludlow and took a rocky ride to Idaho Springs, in search of an alpine vista fit for framing. The painter found his inspiration while traveling up Chicago Creek, where Bierstadt was awestruck by the natural beauty of a yet unnamed peak standing tall among gray, threatening storm clouds.
Ludlow, his companion on the trip, was notable for two reasons: (1) the publication of an autobiographical book extremely provocative in the 1800s, because it was titled “The Hashish Eater” and detailed experimentation with cannabis extract, and (2) his hot young wife, a society woman named Rosalie Osborne, who had definitely caught the wandering, artful eye of Bierstadt.
With every masterstroke of his brush, Bierstadt revealed the turbulent, covetous, adulterous emotions roiling inside his heart. Bierstadt called the resulting painting: “A Storm in the Rocky Mountains, Mount Rosalie,” thus christening a 14,000-foot peak in the name of a married woman he secretly desired.
By 1866, that cad Bierstadt had wooed Rosalie away from Ludlow. “In 1895,” according to Denver art historian Tam O’Neill, “the Colorado legislature decided that the majestic peak should not be named for a scandalous divorced woman, and so changed the name to Mount Evans, honoring John Evans, the second territorial governor of the state.”
In 2012, the inspirational powers of the peak formerly known as Mount Rosalie were again messing with affairs of the heart. In fact, you could blame the same mountain for causing the Broncos to cheat on Tim Tebow and dump him for a more attractive quarterback.
The man in the Broncos organization to first propose the bold masterstroke of bringing Manning to Denver never scored a touchdown in the NFL and was not classically trained in football. But a brilliant idea can come from anywhere. The wild-and-crazy notion that Manning could lead the Broncos back to the Super Bowl was originally uttered by Joe Ellis.
Ellis, a 1980 graduate of Colorado College, is the franchise president. His areas of expertise are wide-ranging, from fiscal planning to marketing to stadium development. But watching football videotape? Not so much.
Ellis is a business guy, known primarily as the team executive who took the blame for the hiring mistake and the rocky coaching regime of Josh McDaniels. Ellis could walk down the 16th Street Mall in downtown Denver alongside Elway and barely get noticed. In the Broncos’ huge media guide, the biography of Ellis is tucked away on page 44.
But you can take this to the bank. In his imagination, Ellis painted the image of Manning wearing a Broncos uniform before anybody else of power in the franchise did. This is absolutely true, as no less an authority than Elway has confirmed it to Denver Post reporter Mike Klis.
Elway said: “Joe Ellis was the first one to talk with me about Peyton Manning.”
The Manning Solution was not born in a high-level, dusk-to-dawn, catered-lunch meeting of Broncos front-office executives brainstorming at the demand of franchise owner Pat Bowlen. The image of Manning throwing a touchdown pass to Demaryius Thomas did not startle Ellis awake from a dream in a cold sweat. There was no eureka moment. “To be honest, I approached this more from a fan’s perspective,” said Ellis, poking fun at himself. “It wasn’t like Albert Einstein thinking about the wonders of electricity.”
So I had to ask: How did the thought of Manning playing for the Broncos originally cross Ellis’s mind? What was he doing?
“I was looking at Mount Evans,” Ellis said. “I was staring at Mount Evans. I was. I distinctly remember being in John Elway’s office. And I wasn’t even looking at him. I was looking out the window.”
The idea of Manning came to Ellis out of the clear blue sky, delivered to the Broncos from the 14,265-foot summit of Mount Evans.
OK, brace yourself, Tebowmaniacs.
Here is a dead giveaway of the thought process by the Broncos brain trust that is almost certain to irritate every man, woman, and child in the legion of Tebow fanatics.
By the time Tebow delivered the signature moment of his Denver career and shocked the NFL world with that gorgeous 80-yard touchdown pass to beat the Pittsburgh Steelers 29–23 in overtime on January 8, 2012, his fate with the Broncos was all but sealed. Days earlier, the team had begun thinking in earnest about a better alternative at quarterback, before Tebow even had a chance to win a playoff game in dramatic fashion.
Despite the fact that Tebow had rallied a team that started the 2011 season with an ugly 1-4 record to postseason contention, an air of melancholy occasionally hung like a brown cloud over Dove Valley during the holiday season. After reaching eight victories, the Broncos lost their final three games of the regular season to New England, Buffalo, and Kansas City by the aggregate score of 88–40. It appeared NFL defensive coordinators had figured out how to put a cap on Tebow’s magic. On New Year’s Day in Denver against the Chiefs, Tebow completed only six passes for 60 yards.
“We backed in the playoffs after we lost to Kansas City, in a game where we never really crossed midfield, save for one turnover,” Ellis said. “I don’t know how many yards we had passing against the Chiefs. But it was well under 100, I am quite sure. And I think there was exasperation that we weren’t advancing as an offense.”
The date that changed Broncos football forever was January 2, 2012. At the time, it did not seem like any reason to circle the first Monday of the year in red ink.
Sometime during the 24 hours after every game, Ellis and Elway honor a little ritual. The president of the business side of the team drops by the office of the executive vice president of football operations. Elway and Ellis chat. Nobody takes notes. It is all very casual.
“It was a Monday morning, and we weren’t in the best of moods,” Ellis recalled. “I think John [Elway] was stunned by how much trouble we were having moving the football.”
Elway was plopped behind his desk, attention fixated on video of the 7–3 loss to the Chiefs. Ellis took a seat in a chair, but could not get comfortable. He got back up. Intense competitors often seem to move with a caged tiger’s uneasiness after a failed hunt for victory.
Ellis looked to the west, out the window of Elway’s swanky second-floor office, seeking a little serenity in the majesty of Mount Evans. Without any deep reflection, or anything close to the formality of a PowerPoint presentation, he asked a question. It turned out to be the question.
“Do you think,” said Ellis, his words coming out more as an exhale than an intense business proposal, “we could get Peyton Manning?”
Elway barely grunted a reaction. He was stuck in the stinky tape of the loss to Kansas City. But it was clear Elway had heard Ellis. Rather than jump to a conclusion or blurt out a response, Old No. 7 was slowly digesting the bold idea.
Before walking out the door, Ellis left Elway one more juicy tidbit to chew on.
“If you think Manning is an option,” Ellis said, “we can find a way to make it work.”
On the second day of January, as the Denver coaching staff focused on some way to upset Pittsburgh in the playoffs, the Bronco
s could not be certain Manning would be available on the open market. But the word on the streets of Indianapolis was the Colts were going to reshape their future with Andrew Luck, a ballyhooed prospect from Stanford.
“We knew the Colts were having a tough season and they might have the number one pick in the draft, so they were going to have a tough decision to make at quarterback. That was in the news,” Ellis said. “We were struggling as a team throwing the ball. And this is a passing league.”
What did the Broncos do? They zipped lips, rolled up sleeves, and went to work.
Weeks before Indianapolis owner Jim Irsay found the gumption to formally tell Manning the Colts wanted a divorce, Denver began plotting, scheming, and asking questions about how the Broncos could stay ahead of the pack in the chase for the most famous free agent in NFL history.
“We weren’t allowed to contact Manning, because he was still under contract to the Colts. So there was no meddling,” Ellis said.
So riddle me this:
What’s rule number one when thinking outside the box?
The best answer might never be found, unless you’re brave enough, bold enough, and maybe just crazy enough to keep relentlessly asking the next question.
The answer to what had seemed like the Broncos’ search for a worthy successor to Elway? Ellis found it during a stream-of-consciousness flight of fancy on a blue Monday after a disheartening loss.
Ellis changed the course of franchise history with these dozen words: “What do you think our chances could be of getting Peyton Manning?”
You never will know if you are afraid to ask.
When Manning went looking for a new employer, he needed to a find a work environment where it was safe to ask anything. And everything.
In good fun, Manning handed out a homework assignment to young backup Brock Osweiler, asking the rookie to memorize the funniest lines from actor Steve Martin in his classic 1979 movie The Jerk, so the two quarterbacks could have something in common to chuckle about. In a more serious vein, Manning also unabashedly asked the Broncos to step up their game, from darkened film rooms to the bright lights of the stadium.
“Every little detail of the football operation to Peyton Manning is important,” Ellis said. “And because everything is important to him, it makes every little thing more important to everybody else on the team than it might have been if Peyton weren’t here. Does that make sense?
“What I’m trying to say is Manning’s influence carries beyond the other 52 players in the locker room. It influences the trainer. It changes the way you think and approach a problem, whether you’re the equipment guy or the team president or the nutritionist. It is all because everything matters so much to Peyton. It matters so much to him, because it is all about the team. And it is all about winning for him. That attitude rubs off everywhere Peyton Manning goes. And it puts everybody else on notice.”
Who is the quarterback who tweaked the way the Broncos organization thinks by always asking one more question?
The Prince of Puzzlers. The Count of Conundrums. The Truthsayer of Touchdowns.
Now playing quarterback for the Broncos, number 18: The Riddler.
Chapter 4
He’s PFM. You’re Not.
Let’s get this out of the way. Manning can be a real a pain in the ass. He is Peyton Freaking Manning. You’re not.
Got it? Good.
A perfectionist can be hard to live with. In Chicago, the Bulls adhered to the Jordan Rules, set down by Michael. While winning four Stanley Cups from Montreal to Colorado, goalie Patrick Roy was far from a saint when perturbed.
Teammates feel genuinely honored to stand in the huddle with Manning. There will never be a Build-A-Bear named in honor of Peyton, though. He is not cuddly. He is demanding. It is nice to be liked, but for a quarterback it is far better to be respected.
On any given Sunday, catching touchdown passes from Manning can be the coolest job in America. But the other 349 days of the year? Working for the NFL’s most demanding quarterback might be a more thankless task than being Donald Trump’s apprentice. Or comb.
“It’s not easy. He stays on you,” Broncos receiver Demaryius Thomas told me after a practice when he stayed for extra tutoring by Manning. “He stays on you. But the more Manning stays on you, the better football player you become. I like it. When somebody stays on me, sure, it might bother me. But, at the same time, it makes me better.”
Like any professor who practices tough love in the classroom, when a receiver blows a route, Manning might meet him back on the team bench after the punt, and ask his teammate if the hard cut in the route was supposed to be at nine yards or seven yards, when both the quarterback and the receiver damn well know the answer.
“Sometimes, it stings,” Thomas said with a smile. “But I’m the type of guy that doesn’t say anything. I just go back on the field and do my job.”
At the NFL Combine during the winter of 2013, it seemed as if University of Southern California quarterback Matt Barkley showed up a year too late. Once projected as the top selection of the entire draft, Barkley’s star had fallen. During his final season at USC, the Trojans finished 7–6, the most disappointing team in college football. And Barkley was their leader. NFL personnel executives took Barkley to task at the combine, showing him endless video of his mistakes. When the difficult process was done, Barkley sat down for an interview with respected Sports Illustrated writer Peter King and made a confession: Quarterback is a bad job for Mr. Congeniality.
A tough senior year at USC had driven home advice that should have been taken to heart when Barkley attended the Manning Passing Academy during the summer of 2012. “I learned a valuable lesson from Peyton,” Barkley told King, “about sometimes you have to be a dick.”
Only a fool challenges the authority of PFM. Dan Patrick, the best sportscaster in the business, once made the mistake. He gave me a word of caution, a little something to keep in mind when Manning came to Denver. Ask Manning a question he does not particularly like, as Patrick once did, and the quarterback might give you the cold shoulder. For years.
Got it? Good.
In a city that bleeds orange and blue during NFL season, more than 75,000 Broncomaniacs make Sunday pilgrimages to Sports Authority Field at Mile High. While chowderheads in Boston or wannabe cowboys from Dallas might argue the point, there is no better sports town in the United States than Denver, Colorado.
There are no sunnier fans anywhere. Win or lose, Denver leads the country in the most cheers per capita. The Rockies play baseball in a park where blue skies are the main attraction and the score is usually forgotten two minutes after the final out. The Nuggets and Avalanche turn the heat up in an arena that allows an escape from the chill of a Colorado winter. Only the Broncos, however, are religion in Denver. And the stadium Broncomaniacs call home is their church, although it is seldom quiet and is often unholy.
Wearing jerseys adorned with the numbers of football heroes past and present, fans squeezed onto RTD light rail make NFL game days one of the few times when commuting in automobile-obsessed Denver really feels like a community activity. I like riding the light rail, even though as kickoff approaches, the railcars often are packed tighter with bodies than a clown car at the circus. The guaranteed claustrophobia or an occasional toe squished by a stranger is well worth the trouble, though, because the peeps heading to the stadium give an accurate emotional weather report for Broncos Country, during the hot streaks or cold spells of any season.
On the first Sunday of December 2012, the train was light as laughter and rocked with giddy anticipation, with fans buzzing about plans for Christmas and the playoffs as the doors opened to unleash an orange flood at the Mile High Station across Interstate 25 from the team’s 11-year-old home. The Broncos had won six games in a row, wrapped an iron-fisted grip on first place in the AFC West, and invited the Tampa Bay Bucs in town for the honor of becoming victim number 10 of an increasingly exciting regular season.
The walk from the
rail station to Mile High, on a path that winds beneath the highway overpass and a bridge spanning the narrow South Platte River, was the football version of a Mardi Gras parade. Toasts to good fortune were made with cans of Coors Light. Vendors lining the route sang “Burritos, burritos!” The rare, brave supporter of Tampa Bay wearing Bucs gear caught an earful of good-natured heckling.
Then, the parade hit a speed bump. Folks stopped in their tracks. Gawked. Pulled out the smartphone to click a photograph. And for what reason?
A man selling T-shirts.
But not just any old T-shirt.
“Who needs one? Right here, guys. They’re going fast,” pleaded salesman Carlos Farmer. He enticingly waved a cotton, short-sleeved shirt dyed neon orange and painted on the front and back with big blue lettering in profanely blue language that repeatedly coaxed a spontaneous, laugh-out-loud reaction.
“Oh yeah! How much?” said a young fan, who was keeping his head toasty warm under an orange hunting cap adorned with wonderfully tacky and fuzzy orange earflaps.
“Twenty-five dollars. What size do you need? Large?” replied Farmer. “And if you don’t buy the shirt, I need a donation for that picture you’re taking. This is not a photo shoot, my man.”
Farmer then proceeded to drum up more business by revealing the reason for all the fuss being caused by his custom-made attire.
“Peyton Fucking Manning,” Farmer said, reciting the words printed in block letters on the front of the T-shirt.
And the message on the back of the shirt was even more politically incorrect. But the slogan was delivered proudly by Farmer, in the irresistible staccato rhythm of a street-corner rapper: “If you don’t bleed navy and orange, take your bitch ass home.”
The T-shirt was crude, rude, and socially unacceptable.
But the message struck a chord with ticket-buyers who had developed a big orange crush on the new quarterback in town. From his earliest days in Denver, Manning quickly acquired a nickname that gave a nod to his past as a Broncos Killer, but also let him know Broncomaniacs were damn glad to finally have another Hall of Fame quarterback on their side.