Peyton Manning

by Mark Kiszla

  With assistance from the beautifully warped minds of SNL writers, Manning stars in the most hilarious—and quite possibly the most dastardly—public service announcement ever recorded. It debuted in March 24, 2007, on the occasion of Manning’s 31st birthday, and a few scant weeks after Manning claimed his only NFL championship. The parody of the NFL’s well-known United Way commercials is more perfect than the shine on the Vince Lombardi Trophy.

  The scene opens in a city park. Wearing a blue V-neck sweater, Manning jogs in to play football with adorable young children. His mission is to graciously share life lessons on teamwork. The voice-over announcer tugs at our heartstrings by earnestly declaring: “Being a kid can be harder than it looks. So it helps to have an adult around. This is why Peyton Manning takes the time to volunteer with local youth groups.”

  Manning gathers his young admirers in a huddle, lines them up, and calls signals as the quarterback in a game of two-hand touch. Aw, isn’t that sweet?

  Madness ensues. Profanity happens. Manning’s flawless image is ripped to shreds.

  From the first snap, frustration at children unable to meet a perfectionist’s standards angers Manning. “Get open, get open,” the quarterback mutters at a 10-year-old boy running a short down-and-out pattern.

  Then, Manning fires a pass that nails the offending kid in the rump, the football knocking the boy to the ground in a puddle of pain and humiliation.

  “Get your head out of your ass! You suck!” Manning declares, adding insult to injury.

  The fuming football star demands that his team return to the huddle for remedial instruction.

  “Except for you!” Manning screams at the boy who ruined the quarterback’s completion percentage by allowing the game’s first pass to hit the ground incomplete. “I can’t even look at you. Go sit in the Port-o-Let for 20 minutes. Just stay in there!”

  With Manning more intense than a Little League parent from hell, the football game is a spectacular failure. So he offers them a lesson every big-city kid can use: How to break into a car.

  As police sirens wail, Manning cocks his head and warns his young apprentices: “I’ll kill a snitch. I’m not saying I have. I’m not saying I haven’t.”

  Oh, boy.

  The PSA has driven home the point with the wallop of a two-by-four upside the head. There is no more important work an adult can do than shape the character of a child. The announcer leaves us all with one final thought:

  “The NFL and United Way urge you to spend time with your kids, so Peyton Manning doesn’t.”

  What made the sketch pure comedy gold was the way it blew all preconceived notions of Manning’s sterling reputation to smithereens. The skit had more bite than a Land Shark. And the most precise quarterback in football executed the game plan to absolute perfection.

  “He didn’t buckle under the pressure. I told him to go kill a 12-pack and make it happen,” cast member Jason Sudeikis told the Indianapolis Star on the night of Manning’s bravura display of comedic timing. “I see an Oscar within the next five years. Maybe not even in acting. Maybe in directing.”

  Now that is funny. The kernel of truth is comedy gold. Manning constantly directs. And it is no act. As Broncos wide receiver Demaryius Thomas once told me: “I think Manning has run the show for every team he has every played on, from the time he was a kid to when he goes to Hawaii for the Pro Bowl.”

  Manning prods and pushes teammates to performances they did not think possible. If it requires 99 takes to get down the timing of a pass route, then Manning is going to rehearse the play 100 times. At the very least.

  The writers at SNL could not have known how faithfully their art replicated life. Dallas Clark was a rookie tight end in the Indianapolis training camp of 2003. In a scene recounted by ESPN the Magazine, Clark got off on the wrong foot with the perfectionist playing quarterback.

  The issue was Clark’s lack of flexibility. Every time the rookie ran a quick-out route toward the sideline, he had trouble swiveling his torso to be a ready target for Manning’s crisp spiral. As frustration built, Manning refused to wait for Clark to catch on. Instead, Manning drilled Clark with beautiful pass after beautiful pass in the back of the tight end’s helmet.

  That little kid in the SNL skit certainly could identify with Clark’s pain. While the young tight end might not have been too fond of Manning’s unforgiving approach to teaching, he learned. Maybe Clark should have considered himself lucky he was not banished to the Port-o-Let.

  In other words: Manning can be a real pain in the ass.

  But teammates never tune Manning out. Why? His way wins.

  When Manning departed the University of Tennessee in 1998, he owned the Southeastern Conference record for career victories by a quarterback, with 39 to his credit as a starter for the Volunteers.

  With his NFL record as a starting quarterback now sitting at 154-70, Manning has surpassed John Elway’s mark of 148-82-1.

  Who can forget the Manning commercial for NFL Mobile from Sprint? In the spot, he played a fan of . . . Peyton Manning. Standing in a garage, he wore a fake mustache, poorly adhered above his lip, and a Colts jersey. The sales pitch: Every football lover needs game highlights on the cell phone. Especially, this imposter dressed like a fan suggests, if your favorite player is “Peyton Manning. That guy’s pretty good. If you like 6-5, 230-pound quarterbacks with . . . laser-rocket arm.”

  It is more than a track record of success to sell his message, though. Manning can be hilarious in front of one of the toughest crowds to impress: an NFL locker room.

  Asked about the quarterback’s habit of borrowing the flight attendant’s microphone and performing an impromptu stand-up routine as the Broncos traveled back from road games on their chartered jet, Denver veteran Champ Bailey said: “I can’t give all of his secrets away. But Peyton Manning can be a very funny man. He knows you can’t be serious all the time. He knows how to keep it light.

  “But you can tell he thinks about it before he gets up and tries to be funny. Peyton Manning always does his homework. And, whether he’s throwing a pass or telling a joke, his timing is always perfect.”

  As dry as a shot of top-shelf tequila and packing as much bite, the best shots of comedy by Manning do a nice, slow burn.

  A funny thing happened on the Broncos’ way to routing the Oakland Raiders 37–6 in Sports Authority Field at Mile High on the last Sunday in September. Leading by a touchdown in the second quarter, a Denver drive faced fourth down at the Oakland 36-yard line.

  Contrary to his conservative nature, Broncos coach John Fox decided to go for the first down. And why not? Denver needed to gain only a single, silly yard to move the chains.

  With one of the more dangerous offenses in the league, the options seemed limitless. Running back Willis McGahee could be handed the rock, so he could churn for positive yardage behind the block of star offensive tackle Ryan Clady. Or perhaps Manning could play a simple game of catch with longtime pal and slot receiver Brandon Stokley.

  What did Fox choose? Something off the menu: a fake field goal, which required both Denver’s punter and placekicker to pass the football.

  The snap went to punter Britton Colquitt, the regular holder for field-goal specialist Matt Prater, who was lined up for a 54-yard attempt, well within his range, especially at 5,280 feet above sea level.

  But instead of placing the point of the ball in the turf, Colquitt tossed it to Prater, who took the lateral and rolled to his left, out of the pocket and out of his element. Since when did the Broncos mistake a 5-foot, 10-inch kicker for Jake “The Snake” Plummer?

  Well, Prater pointed out, in his flag football league back home, he is undefeated in the games where he is allowed to be the all-time quarterback for both teams. But the guys he is schooling on that field are accountants and barbers.

  The play was designed as a run-pass option. Less than three strides into the run, however, Prater determined there was one tiny problem: He is too slow to catch a bus, much less spri
nt past an Oakland defensive back looking to cause some mayhem.

  So Prater went to Plan B: self-preservation. Spotting 305-pound Broncos guard Zane Beadles chugging down the field, the kicker launched something that more closely resembled a helium balloon release than a Hall of Fame throw.

  “I tried to give him a 50-50 ball,” said Prater, as if his target were Randy Moss rather than an offensive guard. “Might have overthrown him a little bit. Had a little extra adrenaline. I’m not used to having the ball in my hands.”

  Beadles tripped over his shot at glory. The pass crashed to the turf, with a sound as uncomfortable as china in a five-star restaurant hitting the floor.

  “We probably won’t see that one again for a while,” Fox admitted.

  Manning was asked to critique the genius used by Broncos coaches to make this bit of football trickeration.

  “I kind of told them to maybe give Manning to Stokley a chance, maybe before Prater to Beadles,” said the quarterback. His voice dripped with sarcasm. And he was just getting warmed up.

  “It’s one of the all-time great combinations right?” added Manning, thinking of the most dangerous quarterback-receiver tandems of his generation, from the Buffalo Bills to the San Francisco 49ers. “[Jim] Kelly–[Andre] Reed . . . [Joe] Montana–[Jerry] Rice . . . Prater–Beadles. You know?”

  For those of you keeping score at home.

  Career pass receptions: Rice 1,549. Beadles? Zero.

  Career pass completions: Manning 5,082. Prater? Zero.

  Whenever within shouting distance of Manning, the listener better be ready to catch some good-natured grief. Teammates. Media members. It makes no difference. If you leave yourself open as a target, Manning will find you.

  In May of 2012, after a spring practice during which Manning got his first real chance to inspect the work of 6-foot, 8-inch rookie quarterback Brock Osweiler, Manning was asked for an expert evaluation.

  “Is it weird looking up to a taller quarterback?” said 104.3 FM reporter Brandon Krisztal, who could be approved for a spot in a 6-feet-and-under basketball league without ever consulting a tape measure.

  Krisztal is short. Manning is tall. So the intrepid radio reporter wanted to know if Manning felt small next to Osweiler.

  “That doesn’t happen too often to you, does it?” Krisztal asked.

  Replied Manning: “Happens to you all your life.”

  Then, to emphasize the point, he gave Krisztal a gentle pat on the head.

  Who said it was the No Fun League?

  In October of 2012, at one of the more disheartening junctures of the Broncos’ season, with Denver trailing 10–0 on the road at San Diego, Manning lofted a perfect pass beyond midfield to Eric Decker, who hauled in the football with nothing between him and the end zone.

  At the 40-yard line, Decker tripped. Nobody touched him. He flopped, head over heels, on the ground coming to rest with a forward somersault, preventing a certain Denver touchdown with nothing except his own inexplicable clumsiness.

  Former Broncos safety Brian Dawkins immediately tweeted: “Turf monster got ’em!”

  Denver came back to beat San Diego 35–24, so it was safe for me to ask Manning after the fact: What the heck happened to Decker on that embarrassing play in the first half?

  “That guy made a great tackle,” Manning replied, before giving it some thought. “I mean, the piece of grass made a great tackle.”

  On his Twitter account, Decker offered his own theory: “If y’all didn’t see, they had a trip wire out there tonight. I reported it to the NFL so an investigation is pending. #humblingmoment.”

  What is the best way to rid your nightmares of a turf monster? Kill him with laughter.

  Although obsequious admirers might think a star quarterback is always funny, Manning works without a laugh track. He does not need canned chuckles. The great ones never do.

  During the telecast of the Academy Awards in 1979, master of ceremonies Johnny Carson scanned the room of beautiful Hollywood stars, many of them anxiously waiting for a call from Oscar. Carson quipped: “I see a lot of new faces . . . especially on the old faces.”

  Contrary to popular belief, snark was invented before the birth of the Twitterverse. Snark is a time-honored comedy tradition, older than Don Rickles.

  Manning can do snark.

  In fact, Manning does snark every year, as the unofficial master of ceremonies at the Pro Bowl.

  When the most talented players from the American and National conferences gather for the opening meeting at a ritzy resort in a private little corner of Oahu, Manning routinely stands up and warmly welcomes them to one of the coolest fraternity houses on Earth. He has hosted the party more often than Billy Crystal has served as emcee to the Oscars.

  On this Tuesday night in 2013, Manning gave an impassioned plea to raise the Pro Bowl’s level of play, or else face the consequence of NFL commissioner Roger Goodell following through on his threat to cancel the game and everyone’s all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii.

  His primary mission accomplished, Manning lightened the mood with an ego-popping zinger for nearly every star in the resort’s ballroom. Andy Fenelon was present and recorded some of the best, clean shots by Manning for NFL.com.

  Checking off the first task of any veteran social chairman, Manning wanted to make certain nobody got in trouble. “Couple of rules, couple of reminders,” Manning said. “Let’s just keep the pictures and autographs at the pool to a minimum. It’s an area for the guys to hang out, get to know each other. [The rule] is not for guys like me. I’ll sign whatever. It’s for guys who get bothered for autographs all the time. Guys like Dustin Colquitt, Phil Dawson.”

  Colquitt is the punter for the Kansas City Chiefs. Dawson kicks field goals for the San Francisco 49ers. About the only time these two guys get asked for a signature, a waiter is holding a check for dinner.

  “These guys,” insisted Manning, “can’t go anywhere.”

  After roasting the dubious achievements of players with lengthy Pro Bowl backgrounds, Manning eventually turned his sharp tongue on himself.

  “Peyton Manning,” the Broncos quarterback announced, reading from the all-star game’s dusty annals, “holds the record with nine interceptions in the Pro Bowl. I want to thank PR for looking that up for me.”

  Manning paused, searching for NFC cornerbacks in the crowd.

  “I want to keep that record,” Manning deadpanned. “So, on Sunday, [Charles] Tillman, [Tim] Jennings and [Patrick] Peterson, look out. I’m going to throw it every time.”

  Maybe Manning’s best line was saved for Minnesota running back Adrian Peterson, who had recovered from serious knee surgery to lead the league with 2,097 yards rushing and become the primary rival of the Denver quarterback in the race for Most Valuable Player.

  With the reminder that the Pro Bowl should be more than a game of two-hand touch, Manning cracked: “Everyone should play like Adrian Peterson. The guy does everything at full speed: The Pro Bowl. Promoting himself for MVP.”

  Everybody laughed. Nobody laughed harder than Peterson. “I thought it was funny, man,” Peterson told me. “Manning is always pulling somebody’s chain. This time, he got me. That’s just the way he is. And I have a ton of respect for him.”

  As we walked together toward the locker room where the AFC squad of Manning would meet the NFC squad of Peterson, the Minnesota running back got an unmistakable look in his eyes. Peterson was looking for an opening. Who was I to disappoint the man?

  “So,” I asked Peterson, “who is going to win the MVP award. You? Or Manning?”

  “Oh,” replied Peterson, “I’m going to win. I will get it.”

  Touché.

  On February 2, 2013, the loudest noise at the NFL Honors Ceremony was the sound of the last laugh by Peterson going down. In a vote of a 50-person panel assembled by the Associated Press, Peterson won the MVP. He received 30.5 votes to 19.5 for Manning.

  In recognition of the 37 touchdown passes against 11 interceptions h
e threw during his first season as Denver’s quarterback, Manning had to settle for the Comeback Player of the Year award.

  But Manning was not even slightly disappointed.

  “I used to say this was an award I never wanted to have, because it meant having a significant injury and missing some time. I will say for any young player out there, if they do get injured, I wish they would be as fortunate as I was to receive the kind of help and support from all kind of people from all different places. Denver, Duke University, coaches, trainers, doctors who have supported me. Family members,” Manning told the Denver Post.

  “I’m very grateful to be back playing this game.”

  Comeback Player of the Year?

  For Manning, it was far more than a nice consolation prize.

  For a guy fired from his job a year earlier, it was sweet redemption.

  Chapter 13

  Last of the Dinosaurs

  Darwinism does apply to football. Adapt or die. The NFL is known as the Not For Long for good reason. From the salary-cap restrictions on rosters to schedules slanted against elite teams, the league is rigged in favor of turnover and parity. Stealing is the ultimate form of flattery. This is the ultimate copycat league, from cheerleaders dancing on the sideline to zone blitzers sacking the quarterback.

  The current flavor of the month in the NFL is the read-option offensive scheme. The read option is the bastard son of a wildcat and the father of invention. Please do not take that as an insult. The read option is ingenious. There was a glaring need in pro football, and the read option filled it, at least long enough for San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick to become a household name across America.

  In a sport where it seems all the rules are designed to make quarterbacks rich and famous, know what is a bummer? There are never enough quality quarterbacks to go around. Teams without a reliable quarterback tumble to last place, then reach into the draft for a quality signal caller faster than you can say Ryan Leaf.