I Wanted It To End ... But Not Like This

One of the reasons why we are so obsessed with professional sports is a fascination with our own demise. How's that for a statement? I've written before about the myriad of sports mega stars who hold on too long, and do damage to their legacy in the process (Jordan, Favre, Ali, Mays to name a few). Their is something romantic about this, because it helps us to realize that even the best of all time are prone to the same human fallibility that we are in our everyday existence. When we see Joe Montana in a Chiefs uniform there is a part of us that can relate to holding on to something beyond its' expiration date: a romantic relationship, a friendship, a job ... anything.

In fact, we get so used to this norm, athletes holding on too long, that we can get downright upset when we are robbed of this. A great example of this fact can be seen in the retirement of Barry Sanders, often referred to by illustrations such as "premature," "for selfish reasons," and "robbing us of his talent." Conversely, the general public and most of the media felt better, and took greater joy in the end of the career of Emmit Smith, Sanders' contemporary. We could write, depending on our perspective on Smith, that he "left it all on the field," "gave it all he could," "ruined his legacy," or "was so self-centered that he held on for every last penny, and was so egotistical that he played three years past the absolute end of his prime just to break Walter Payton's rushing record" (I may or may not be wearing a Payton jersey as I write that last one). How do you think St. Louis Cardinal fans would react if Albert Pujols walked away at the end of this year, not to another team, but to retirement? My guess is that it would be a much more hostile feeling than they had for Mark McGuire, who walked away with a broken down body. McGuire was (rightly so) praised for walking away from guaranteed money, but he did so because he could not play anymore. We can handle that. We can't handle players robbing us of our entertainment.

The lone exception to this might have been Michael Jordan's second retirement. Phil Jackson famously told Michael at the time of his first retirement that he was being selfish in robbing people of the chance to see him play, and that statement reportedly ate away at Michael and played on his ego so that the 1st comeback was possible. But by the time he retired a second time the consensus was that management was forcing MJ out, and so the fans blamed the Jerry's rather than Michael. Still, even with no pressure to return, Michael found his way back. He had the most productive seasons ever for a player of his age, and he had a few moments that reminded you of what he had become, but he still did far more damage to his legacy than anyone would care to acknowledge (it may say more about the extent of Michael's power that we've all agreed to forget that he played in Washington at all). But on the whole, even the greatest of all time was unable to avoid this pitfall, even when afforded the opportunity to do it without any fan retribution.

And all that background is meant to drive home one point: athletes hang on far longer than they should as a general rule. And, again as a general rule, we thrive on their decisions to do so. We almost need them to do so, because it helps us to make sense of our own demise in professional life and life in general. When our body no longer reacts the way it is supposed to we can look at MJs knees going out ... or Ali's reaction time ... or Mays ability to patrol the outfield ... and we can say "well, this happened to (the icon of our childhood), so it's natural it happens to me." Hell, it makes us feel good about the changes in our lives. If Michael Jordan gets old and can't do it anymore, why should I be any different?

And that, finally, brings me to Peyton Manning. My old nemesis. I have, happily, proclaimed my hatred for Manning since he was playing at Tennessee and I was just starting to learn about college football. I've always found Manning to be pompous, self-centered, and annoying. His drawl reminded me of Forrest Gump, but at least that character was humble. Manning was not. Colts fans jumping on his bandwagon and anointing his the greatest of all time far too early drove the point home for me. Manning was worthless, the Colts were worthless, and I enjoyed a great deal of satisfaction out of watching them fail year ... after year ... after year. Until they toppled my Bears it seemed that I would always be able to have a Manning playoff choke to count on. What I didn't count on was the ability of Rex Grossman to out choke Manning, although in hindsight that should have been self-evident.

Now Manning is getting older, and he's dealing with some pretty serious stuff. Neck injuries are nothing to mess around with. When I wake up with a stiff/strained neck (which happens about monthly thanks to a fall on my head in a high school during a basketball game) it's good to ruin my week to some degree. I've learned to deal with it, but I'm always thankful that it's a minor neck injury. I'd hate to have to deal with a major one. You can't look without turning your whole body, and even then it hurts. You can't get to sleep easily. Simple tasks like driving become major endeavors.

With an injury of this kind Manning has an easy out. Nobody will question him if he came out tomorrow and said the following:

"I've loved playing football, and I've loved playing for the Colts. Colts fans will always be in my heart and mind, and I will always do what I can for the city and the team. I will never be able to pay all of you back for what you've given me. It pains me to announce that I can no longer continue to play football. I look at so many former players lose the ability to move around freely and I do not want that for myself. My teammates have helped me to avoid major injury for a long time, but I do not want to be unable to move by the time I'm 50. I never thought it would end like this, but it is time for me to walk away."

I have no idea if Manning will do this, but I'd like to think I would in his shoes. He's got more money than he and his children and his children's children would ever need if he is smart. He will remain marketable for many years after his retirement as an NFL icon. He will always be able to sell himself in the Indiana area. He's been remarkably healthy, and walking away now, under the guise of this injury, gives him the perfect out. Nobody will question it like they did with Sanders, and nobody will get the chance to criticize him like they did Emmit Smith. This is his Jordan in 1998 moment: circumstances have given him the almost impossible perfect out.

And so I'm left to think about what all of this means to me. And, I have to tell you, I feel for the guy. As much as I hate to admit it, he's grown up a good deal in the last few years. Listening to him talk now there is much less "me" and much more "team." Maybe that's the calm that came when he broke the MVP record. Perhaps it started when he was able to win a Super Bowl. Maybe it came when he failed to win a second Super Bowl, but was universally acclaimed (and rightly so) for carrying a number of bad Colts teams into contention by himself. In all honesty, the Colts probably wouldn't have been in the playoffs, let alone the Super Bowl, without Manning two years ago.

If he does walk away, I'll miss rooting against him. He's the ultimate villain because he's worked so hard to become the good guy, and because, unlike someone like Barry Bonds, there were an equal number of people who liked him. In my circles people were equally divided on Manning, and that made it half the fun. I always envisioned Manning's numbers decaying like Dan Marino's, or him holding on just a bit too long like Favre did. I always knew he would pull an Emmit Smith and hang on far too long just to be self centered and break the records. But I'm not that sure anymore. And if he walks away this way, I'll feel bad for him, and I'll miss him. He will have been taken too soon. And that's something I never expected.