Dear Mr. Manning –
I am not a sports reporter, not an NFL analyst, not a former
player.
I’ve never studied film, and I’ve not catalogued all the
best and worst moments in football history.
I know the game of football well, though I still can’t
figure out why you can challenge a first down spot but not a pass interference
call.
What I have done is played some seriously rugged flag
football games, donned blue and orange every Sunday from August to January for
the past 43 years, sat through some unbelievably frigid games at Mile High
(once while 7 months pregnant) and cheered for the Denver Broncos since before I
can remember…even during the heart-crushing games.
I even named my beloved Black Lab after John Mobley (who I still
believe is responsible for saving
the Broncos’ victory in Super Bowl XXXII against the Packers.)
And most proudly, I am a mom of two little boys who adore
their #18 jerseys and can’t wait to find out “how Peyton Manning’s team did?”
every Monday morning.
So I am undeniably biased.
And it is because of my bias – and lack of NFL analysis
experience – that makes me far more qualified to talk about your legacy than
any of those analysts, former players, coaches and commentators (I’m looking at
you, Mike Greenberg and Cris Carter).
They operate in a world where recency dictates everything,
and controversy and sensationalism make the headlines.
No, I am more qualified because I am a mom.
I actually understand – on the most basic level – what
legacy truly means.
Legacy is something handed down that matters.
It is something that matters to young players and athletes
and kids looking for mentors to help them find their way.
You don’t hand down Super Bowl trophies. You don’t hand down
NFL MVPs or franchise records. And you don’t hand down touchdowns, statistics or
win-loss records.
You hand down an example of work ethic, of courage to come
back after a career-threatening injury, of humility in victory and graciousness
in defeat, and of perspective on one’s own accomplishments.
That legacy matters, and that’s why yours is
untarnished even - and especially - after Sunday's loss.
It matters that you’re professional in the way you talk to
reporters.
It matters that you give credit to others – coaches,
teammates, mentors.
It matters that you don’t give up in a bad game and keep
fighting no matter the odds.
It matters that you take time to write hand-written notes to
fans and sign autographs – even after crushing defeat.
It matters that you know the difference between being embarrassed
by your team’s performance and just not being the best team on the field that day.
And it matters that you meticulously prepare to play the game...and encourage everyone around you to do the same.
I doubt you take stock in what those analysts say about your
legacy (no doubt a trait your
father has clearly bestowed upon you and your brothers), but I want you to know
that this mom of two young boys who already recognize you’re different from the
others, believes your legacy has never been stronger.
And I'm confident thousands of others agree with me.
Whether you win another game, your accomplishments in
football are nothing short of remarkable – alongside many other outstanding
players.
But it’s your character that sets you apart from so many of
your predecessors and peers.
And that’s a legacy that matters.