Fourteen Months

Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts lost to the New York Jets in the wild-card round of the playoffs in January 2011--Manning's last game as a Colt.  Of course, no one knew that then.  To suggest this that night would have been absurd--you would have been laughed out to the street.  You lose.  Good day, sir.  Of course Manning would retire a Colt, seeing as how he surely had a good four to five very effective years left in him, and even if he did hang on a year or two, the Colts and their fans owed that to him, and should appreciate his cerebral adjustments when his body began to give. Duncan's a Spur, Jeter's a Yankee, and Manning's a Colt.

And yet since that night, the Indianapolis Colts had lost Manning for an entire season, finally drinking the poison that was the tangible collective fear the Mighty Manning may actually go down. Luckily, Colts fans were not subjected to The Blindside Hit, or The Knee Explosion, or a similar signature "ended the season" moment.  Seeing Tom Brady take his, three years before in the first quarter of the first game after 18-1, made me, a Patriot hater, more sad and disappointed than anything. Yes, it was to a great player and a guy I wanted the Colts to get a shot at, but more so it was another reminder that Manning spins the same wheel.

Since that night, the Colts-Jets playoff game that is, the Colts have fallen from NFL royalty at an astounding rate. Prime time games, normally incredibly entertaining and victorious nights, evolved from humiliations to extinct. 62-7 happened. Jim Caldwell, who I'm sure is a good man, happened. Video evidence exists that Curtis Painter was involved. Rumblings of an inverted perfect season (0-16!) happened. This to a team who, twice in five years with roughly the same core sans #18, had an undefeated record going into their 14th game of the season, with everyone's minds going towards perfection, trophies, and immortal legacies.

Since that night, Bill and Chris Polian were fired, and Bill is now a PUNDIT and mouthpiece on ESPN. If only FFGP2's illustrious street cred could grant it access to a digital video library of just how many times Polian has ripped on exactly these men.

The aforementioned and overmatched Caldwell, since calling one of the dumbest timeouts in someone with a really good memory's memory in the Jets playoff game, was shown the door. He was 14-2 his first year as the head coach just two seasons prior.  The Colts could have sold lottery tickets to pack his bags.

Some burly, white-shirt-with-tie man named Ryan Grigson came over from the Eagles to be the new general manager.  Some guy named Chuck Pagano, who sounds like a wire-tapped informant's fake wiseguy name, came over from the Ravens to be the new coach.

Since Nick Folk's kick ended that season, the likeable, fan-friendly, historically good core from The Manning Era had been gutted and left on the curb like a fish.  90% of the city's jerseys became vintage in an hour, and although it was visibly draining and difficult, you couldn't end an era without ending the man who shares its name.

And so, Peyton Manning was released by the Colts.

And with that, Peyton Manning was a free agent.  He was immediately courted by 3/4 of the league.  Wined and dined, even.  

Since Mark Sanchez won his last playoff game in Indianapolis that January night, Peyton Manning held up a fucking Broncos jersey with a "yeah, I like my second wife, but my first was the love of my life" face.   He's preparing and practicing, relentlessly, to win the Super Bowl...for the Denver Broncos.  It's Indiana-Texas Tech Part Deux, and I would be interested in comparing last season's numbers with this year concerning Broncos games ratings in Indiana homes.

Andrew Luck, who bypassed the draft last year knowing full well he would be the number one pick, was drafted by the Colts, a team--much like the Spurs and Duncan--essentially being historically rewarded for one bad season, and allowing the organization to kick sand in the face of every organization desperately seeking its next (or first) pearly white, cereal box, endorsement-hawking, Lombardi-raising face of the franchise.   People who know say he's the most pro-ready quarterback in the history of the NFL, and how can you argue?  You can't compare the position of quarterback now, in the ESPN Vomiting All Over Itself Era, with any other time in the league's history.  And apparently, this kid is as prepared for the game and the celebrity attached as...well...

The last fourteen months or so have been, roughly in order, incredibly curious, cruel, heartbreaking, hopeful, and, yes, lucky, for Colts fans.  It was so easy to take the winning for granted.  It was so easy to pencil Manning in every game.  More than anything, it was easy to predict the future:  Manning retiring with every record, one or two more trophies, and, the surest bet of all, as a Colt. 

And yet, this is how it works.  I met my newest, unconditionally-loved favorite players the last two days, and will cheer for them because they play in my hometown.  As of this day, I'm fairly certain Andrew Luck will break every NFL passing record, win three to four Super Bowls, and retire a Colt.  Why should I, a crazy fan, not think this?

LeBron's a Cav, Albert's a Cardinal, and Manning's a Colt.

And now, so is Luck.

Something doesn't add up.