Peyton Manning

by Mark Kiszla

  Archie Manning and his wife Olivia watched the game from their home in New Orleans as nervous parents. Although delighted Peyton was back in uniform on the Denver sideline after a lengthy absence, “He told me beforehand, ‘I’m not going to play,’” Archie recalled.

  Shortly after halftime, Olivia peered at the television and could not believe what she saw, then exclaimed to her husband: “Peyton’s warming up!”

  “Aw,” replied Archie, “he’s probably just doing a little throwing, just in case.”

  “No!” insisted Olivia. “He’s warming up to go in the game.”

  This comeback was dedicated to every father and mother who have ever sat in the stands and prayed a silly game would not break their kid’s heart.

  Archie Manning is the proud father of three boys. Ask him the favorite performance in his middle son’s pro football career, and the surprise is it’s not a Super Bowl victory. No. 1 on Dad’s list was when Indianapolis rallied from a 21–3 deficit against New England during a much-hyped AFC championship showdown in January 2007, when Peyton overcame a pick-six interception during the second quarter to lead the game-winning drive in the final minutes of the fourth quarter.

  “But the second most important game that Peyton has ever been a part of might be his only bullpen game,” added Archie, the patriarch of America’s first family of quarterbacks.

  After 186 career victories as a starting NFL quarterback, Peyton came off the bench and got credited with a huge save against the Chargers.

  In the span of seven weeks, he went from zero to hero. He saved his best for last. In the end, with time running out, Manning saved the Broncos’ season.

  Chapter 24

  The Last Rodeo

  Peyton Manning won back his job as the starting quarterback. And there was gratitude in his heart. But it did not take away the hurt.

  On a chilly January morning, coach Gary Kubiak ended any possibility of a prolonged quarterback controversy. In the playoffs, which began with a home date against Pittsburgh, the Broncos were going with the legend over the kid. Brock Osweiler would watch. Manning would play.

  As Manning strapped in for another wild ride, I had one question for him:

  Could this be your Last Rodeo?

  “I’d be lying if I said I’m not thinking about that,” Manning replied.

  It was a startling admission from a quarterback who sets the agenda with the media as deftly as he directs traffic at the line of scrimmage. If Manning was thinking this was his last, best chance to win a championship with the Broncos, then it was the first strong indication he had begun to make peace with the idea of retiring from football.

  Controlling the chaos is Manning’s thing. A blitzing linebacker? No problem. But showing any sign of vulnerability to the public? That scares him. In those rare moments when Manning reveals a little of what makes him tick, the tell is how his voice of authority is reduced to a soft stammer, as if he is working out uncertain emotions as the words tumble slowly out of his mouth. On January 7, 2016, shortly after Manning was given his job back as starting quarterback, the veteran quarterback pulled me away from the crush of television cameras around his locker. Manning needed to share some unfiltered truth: The previous 12 months had been brutal on him, with humbling changes to his role with the team and unexpected attacks on his character from far and wide. It had been a tough year that forced him to grow in uncomfortable ways.

  “There were a lot of firsts . . . a lot of firsts for me this year. It’s weird in your 18th season to have so many firsts,” Manning said. “But when you sign up to play, you sign up for anything.”

  Then, Manning looked me in the eye and made a confession: Nothing in his long and brilliant career had prepared him for the adversity that blindsided him in so many ways that he could never saw it all coming. His favored offensive scheme was junked. His touchdown-to-interception ration stunk. His foot hurt and his coach benched him. He was accused of being a malcontent, a drug cheat. . . .

  “You learn about yourself and how you handle it,” Manning said. “That’s been my theme all year: Just keep being a pro. I’ve been through a lot of stuff. . . . But that’s what I drew on during this time: Be a pro. Handle it. And keep the faith.”

  Long before he threw the first of his 17 interceptions, 2015 got off to a rocky start during the chilly winter months that followed a bad playoff loss to Indianapolis. The Broncos slashed Manning’s salary, initially asking him for a 50 percent cut, then reached a compromise that paid the quarterback $15 million plus incentives. Money talks in pro sports, and what general manager John Elway told Manning by reducing his base salary by $4 million was unmistakable: You ain’t what you used to be. Money drove a wedge between Elway and Manning, creating a frosty relationship between the team’s general manager and quarterback.

  After Manning was benched in favor of Osweiler nine games into the 2015 season, NFL Network insider Ian Rapoport reported it created “a very uncomfortable and difficut situation in Denver” because Manning “really does not want to be a backup.” Being characterized as a malcontent infuriated Manning. He derided the story in the strongest terms, angrily telling me after a December loss to the Pittsburgh Steelers: “It’s a flat-out lie. It’s insulting. That’s 100 percent bullshit.”

  Al Jazeera, a news organization based in the Middle East, attacked Manning’s integrity during its telecast of “The Dark Side: Secrets of the Sports Dopers,” which was released at the end of 2015. The documentary claimed to have knowledge human growth hormone had been shipped in the name of Manning’s wife to their home while the quarterback recovered from neck surgeries in 2007. He denounced the story that tried to link his name to performance-enhancing drugs, and welcomed an NFL investigation.

  On top of everything, it often hurt to watch when the 39-year-old quarterback was physically able to play. During more games than not, he wasn’t Peyton Freakin’ Manning any longer, but an imposter wearing No. 18 for the Broncos, trying to fool opponents into believing it was still the Hall of Fame player he used to be.

  During training camp in August, Manning finally confirmed to Peter King of Sports Illustrated what had been obvious to me for years: The most crucial fallout from the four neck surgeries during his final months in Indianapolis was not weakened arm strength but nerve damage in his throwing hand that made it difficult to spin the ball with precision: “I can’t feel anything in my fingertips. It’s crazy,” Manning said. “I’ve talked to a doctor recently who said: ‘Don’t count on the feeling coming back.’”

  Even legends grow old. The mind trick is not to be defeated by that bummer of a realization. There were Sundays when the Broncos won in spite of Manning. A pathetic 67.9 quarterback rating, as well as his 224.9 yards passing per game, were the worst statistical markers of his career. It was not easy for Manning to accept the betrayal by his body. Weakened by age, he could no longer produce Hall of Fame results when he dropped back to pass. But it did not stop Manning from winning. He won seven of nine starts as a starter, and led Denver to its crucial comeback victory against San Diego during a relief appearance.

  From the negotiating table to the rumor mill to the Denver huddle, there was never-ending bad news on his doorstep. “A drama,” Manning said. “I’ve always told you all I’ll never write a book. I could probably write a pretty good short story, though, on the past offseason and season.”

  Recalling that Manning took a mental break from the pressures of football during his early years in Denver by plopping in front on the television to watch the travails of Enoch “Nucky” Thompson in Boardwalk Empire, I suggested all this melodrama might be material for a future soap opera on HBO.

  “Now that,” Manning said, “would be an insult to Boardwalk Empire.”

  Denver extracted revenge for a regular-season loss to the Steelers with a 23–16 to open the NFL playoffs. There was nothing subtle about how the Broncos won. The defense took a sledgehammer to Pittsburgh quarterback Ben Roethlisberger. After jump-starting a sputteri
ng Denver offense in the nick of time for a comeback victory, Manning admitted he did just enough to survive and advance. Up next was an even bigger challenge for linebacker Von Miller and the No-Fly Zone secondary: Tom Brady and the New England Patriots.

  In the AFC championship game, Manning connected with tight end Owen Daniels for two touchdown passes that staked Denver to an early 17–9 advantage over the Pats. But down the stretch, Manning was a game manager, conservatively throwing only a dozen times for a mere 48 yards in the second half. He again leaned leaning heavily on the Denver defense, which halted a furious rally by Brady when Broncos cornerback Bradley Roby intercepted a pass in the end zone that could have tied the score on a two-point conversion with a scant 12 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter.

  After the city of Denver could exhale, a tense 20–18 victory against New England complete, I crossed paths with Archie Manning, who pulled two leather gloves from his coat pocket. “On January first, I made a resolution not to bite my fingernails. So I wore these gloves the whole game,” said Archie, proudly curling his fingers so I could inspect his pristine nails, fully intact. “Still got ’em. So I guess the gloves worked.”

  While I was chatting with Archie, his son was out on the field, shaking hands with New England coach Bill Belichick. It was a brief, but revealing private conversation between two longtime foes that was caught on tape by an eavesdropping camera from NFL Network. “Hey listen,” said Peyton, speaking in the ear of Belichick, “this might be my last rodeo. So it sure has been a pleasure.”

  Manning got the best of Brady in the 17th showdown between the two QBs who defined football excellence in the opening quarter of the 21st century. Reviewing the great escape against his longtime nemesis, there was a twinkle in the eye of an old quarterback playing with house money.

  “Never a doubt, right?” said Manning, stepping in a stadium elevator. As the doors closed behind him, a red arrow pointed straight up, toward Super Bowl 50.

  Everybody wanted to know: Was the championship game to be the final chapter in one of the greatest quarterback stories ever told?

  “Daddy,” 4-year-old Mosley Manning asked at the outset of Super Bowl week, “is this the last game of the season?”

  “Yes,” replied the Broncos quarterback.

  Mosley: “I sure do want you to win that trophy.”

  Daddy: “I do, too, Mosley. And that’s what we’re going to try to do.”

  Then, as kids often do, Mosley got down to the real nitty gritty: “Daddy, is this the last game ever?”

  NFL Nation was antsy, with loyal fans in New Orleans, Knoxville, Tenn., and Indianapolis all hoping and praying Manning could retire on top. We’re all suckers for a fairy-tale ending, aren’t we?

  Super Bowl 50, however, was billed as another heartache waiting to happen for Broncos Country. Carolina had won the NFC championship by routing Arizona 49–15. The oddsmakers in Las Vegas established the Panthers as 5½-point favorites. When Broncos president Joe Ellis was asked what he it would be like watching Manning take the field with his teammates at Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, Calif., his blunt answer came straight from the gut. “Any way you chalk it up, it’s 3½ hours of unmitigated misery,” Ellis said. “It’s all fire in the belly.”

  It was the Last Rodeo.

  In a sport where quarterbacks rule, Manning figured to have no shot against Cam Newton of Carolina, who would be awarded the first MVP trophy of his pro career on the eve of Super Bowl 50. If Manning was the grizzled old face of the NFL’s glorious past, then the 26-year-old Newton was certainly the league’s future.

  Manning is affectionately called the Sheriff. But Newton? He is Superman, known for a celebratory dance dubbed the Dab and an ego as large as his 6-foot-5, 245-pound frame.

  “Everybody sees the super hero in how I play,” Newton boasted in September, then backed his boast by throwing 35 touchdown passes for the league’s highest-scoring team. “I’ve gotten the nickname Superman, Super Cam, ever since I can remember.”

  But here’s the one secret of Super Bowl 50 you need to know: In the days prior to kickoff, members of the NFL’s top-ranked defense grew sick and tired of hearing about Superman. “Cam, Cam, Cam. It got old listening to all the talk about him all week,” Broncos defensive end Malik Jackson said.

  What’s more, as the game on Sunday drew closer, word slowly began to leak that defensive coordinator Wade Phillips had installed a game plan to use Newton’s own arrogance against the Carolina quarterback and his teammates. “They’re front-runners,” safety T.J. Ward told me fewer than 36 hours prior to kickoff. When cornerback Chris Harris Jr. also confided it would be the Denver defense that dictated how Newton would play, I knew: There might not be a money-back guaranteed the Broncos would win the game, but that definitely was the smart way to bet.

  Rather than react to Newton with a spying linebacker assigned to mirror the quarterback’s moves, the Broncos decided to attack Newton with blitz packages. The conservative blocking scheme of the Panthers, which regularly employed a tight end and sometimes also a fullback to protect Newton in the pocket, allowed Phillips to aggressively rush Brandon Marshall or another defender unburdened by pass-coverage responsibility against Carolina’s easy-to-read offensive tendencies.

  Denver dared to do more than tug on Superman’s cape. Phillips’s ballsy idea was to hit Newton hard, physically and emotionally. The Broncos wanted to knock doubt into the head of Carolina’s quarterback. Maybe Superman would be stunned to learn he was not bigger and badder than every other football player on the field. The Broncos intended to gobsmack Newton and see if Super Cam cracked.

  The plan worked to perfection. On a clear, 76-degree February afternoon of which California dreams are born, Lady Gaga sang a rendition of the “Star-Spangled Banner” that raised goose bumps on 71,088 spectators who had paid top dollar to attend the Super Bowl. Denver took a 3-0 lead on its opening drive, which ended with a 34-yard field goal by Brandon McManus. The teams traded punts. Then, with 6 minutes, 34 seconds remaining in the first quarter, Broncos linebacker Von Miller and the defense dropped the full force of its shock and awe on Newton.

  As Newton retreated to pass in the shadow of his goal line, Miller blew by Panthers offensive tackle Mike Remmers and promptly introduced Superman to the player affectionately known in Denver as the Vonster. Pouncing on Newton without warning, Miller ripped the football from the quarterback’s hands. Jackson fell on the turnover in the end zone for a touchdown. Orange pandemonium rocked the stadium. Denver was ahead 10–0. The tone for Super Bowl 50 was set in stone.

  Superman blinked. Pounded by the Broncos with the same disdain they showed for Roethlisberger and Brady earlier in the playoffs, the arrogance of Newton turned to panic. He could not run. He could not hide. He would only complete 18 of 41 passes for 265 yards against the Broncos.

  “I don’t care who we’re playing. There’s 100 percent confidence,” said Ward, who dissed the Panthers as poseurs who were wannabe rappers and dancers. “It doesn’t matter if we’re playing Johnny Unitas. If he came out there, we’d shut him down.”

  Manning is the Sheriff. But it was Miller, the most valuable player of this game, who laid down the law. It did not matter that the 194 yards in total offense were fewer than the production of any of the previous 49 Super Bowl winners. It did not matter that while clinging to the lead in the second half, the Broncos ended four consecutive possessions with three meek punts and one awkward fumble. It did not matter, because with 4 minutes, 16 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter, with Denver up 16–10, Miller stripped Newton of the football one more time, forcing a turnover that set up an insurance touchdown, scored on a 2-yard run by C.J. Anderson.

  For the third time in franchise history, the Broncos were Super Bowl champions. There was no arguing the primary reason why this 24–10 upset victory happened: “The best defense in Broncos history. We can say that now, without reservation,” declared Alfred Williams, a fierce pass-rusher for the Broncos when the team w
on back-to-back championship in the late 1990s.

  The Last Rodeo was a grind for Manning. He hung on more than he stood out. His body took a pounding and it hurt to look at his stats: 13 completions for 141 yards, five sacks, one interception. But do you think he cared? Of course not. And, as far as he was concerned, the inevitable trip to Disneyland for the Super Bowl winning quarterback could wait. His first stop was going to be the fridge. “I’m going to drink a whole lot of beer,” Manning said.

  As gold confetti fluttered in the air and Elway raised the Lombardi Trophy while shouting “This one’s for Pat!” in tribute to 71-year-old franchise owner Pat Bowlen, confined to care in Colorado fighting the ravages of Alzheimer’s disease, there was a little scene off to the side of the raucous celebration maybe only a mother could appreciate.

  On the field, Olivia Manning exhaled with relief. She had wished so earnestly for her son to beat the Panthers it hurt. “I would like for him to retire. I would,” Olivia confided to Sam Farmer, an excellent reporter from the Los Angeles Times. “Physically, I just don’t think it’s worth going on. He won a Super Bowl. It’s the best way to go out.”

  Her son was on the podium, standing front and center of the football universe. Commissioner Roger Goodell turned to Manning, and spoke for everybody from trombone players in the University of Tennessee marching band the QB had led in renditions of “Rocky Top” to waiters that served his steak dinner at St. Elmo’s after dozens of Colts victories in Indianapolis.

  “Peyton, I don’t know if this is your Last Rodeo,” Goodell told America’s favorite quarterback. “But it was one heck of a ride. And we thank you for the ride.”

  The weeks that followed the Super Bowl included a parade through the streets of downtown Denver lined with an estimated one million admirers and a happy, little chat with Jimmy Fallon on “The Tonight Show.” But when the party hit the pause button, it was not an easy time for Manning.