Just over a year ago, the “little show that could” rolled into my life like a runaway freight train via The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon. Something Rotten! performed a couple of songs from their show, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. A couple months later, I traveled to New York to see this show I couldn’t get out of my head and proceeded to spend three straight performances with them taking it all in. I was hooked. I’ve been back several times since to see the show, again and again. It’s just that good, in my opinion. I spend my days crunching numbers and telling people what they can and cannot do, which does not lend itself to the creative process in any way, so spending those two and a half hours inside the St. James Theatre watching these talented people spread the creative process all over the place while bringing this hilarious and heartfelt story to life fills my heart with joy. I have been to see it just because, and I have been to see it because an understudy (or two) was performing for one of the principle cast. Seeing different takes on the characters keeps the story fluid and provides new perspective.
As is the standard with a hit Broadway show, actors depart their roles for new adventures even when the show is not closing immediately. This was the case on Saturday night when four of the original cast took their final bows in Something Rotten!. I am eternally grateful to the creative masterminds Karey Kirkpatrick, Wayne Kirkpatrick, and John O’Farrell, who I finally got to meet that night, for the beautiful words, lyrics, and music of this show. They are the reason I know who Nigel Bottom, Bea Bottom, and Portia are as well as a very different side of William Shakespeare. Beyond that though, Heidi Blickenstaff, Christian Borle, John Cariani, and Kate Reinders are the reason I know what those characters look like and sound like; what makes them laugh and cry and sing; why they get mad and what they do when they get mad. These characters and the people who played them have become a beacon for me. Something I could point to and say, “You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Heidi Blickenstaff belt Right Hand Man live and in person.” Or, “Boy do I understand how Kate Reinders feels when she swoons and falls at Christian Borle’s feet the first time she meets Shakespeare.” Plus, “I cannot even explain how difficult it is to get through To Thine Own Self and its reprise without crying because of John Cariani and Brian d’Arcy James’s (before he departed in May) heartfelt portrayals.” And, “Can we please talk about Christian Borle’s voice as he sings the lines from the balcony scene of Romeo and Juliet?” I can’t. It leaves me speechless. These are my memories…the ones I will carry with me when someone asks, “what do you remember from the first original Broadway cast you ever saw?” Because that’s what they are. This is the first show for which I had the privilege to experience the original cast. They have set the bar mighty high, and I’m not sure anything will ever be able to top it.
Because they have brought me so much joy, I felt the only thing I could do in return was to be there for their final performances. I could tell during the show it was an emotional night for all of them. Not just the ones leaving, but the rest of the cast as well. It was bittersweet for me. I tried to take in every second knowing this was the last time I would see these actors perform these extraordinary roles that have, from the beginning, seemed like they were written for them intentionally. And, having seen the show a number of times, I was even more emotional as each person’s final scenes were played out. That last walk off stage is a hard one to accept even for an average audience member such as myself. In a crazy way, I (or anyone who bought a ticket to this show over the last 16 months) have shared something with those four. We’ve shared the irreplaceable beauty of live theatre together, and we’ve shared moments at the stage door that have meant the world to me even if they were only brief seconds. In fact, on Saturday night, I finally had the opportunity to meet Jordan Roth, president of Jujamcyn Theaters who owns the St. James. He shook my hand, told me he recognized me from “the Twitter,” and talked to me about his baby that is due this week. Mazel Tov, Jordan!
It is not a simple thing for the actors to walk out of the theatre, sign a few autographs, smile for pictures, and listen to us ramble on about how amazing they are. They’ve just completed a two and a half hour high intensity, cardio workout all while singing, dancing, acting, and entertaining us. They are not obligated to stop. We are not entitled to their presence, but I’ve learned so much from spending time at the stage door after shows, particularly this one, as I’ve watched them in their interactions with other fans in line with me. I continue to be stunned when one of them recognizes me and even remembers my name. (Looking at you, Beth and John.) Their kindness, generosity, and patience with everyone speaks volumes no more so than on Saturday night.
The line stretched the length of the front of the theatre, which is at least 100 feet, if not more. One by one, the cast members walked out and took their time with every single person who wanted an autograph, a picture, or simply to tell them “you were fantastic.” It took a solid 90 minutes from the time the show concluded until the last fan had seen the last cast member, and not once did any of them get flustered or impatient with the crowd.
Christian was the last one to exit and by the time he had reached the end of the barricades, which only stretched about halfway through the crowd, the security guard (one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met) told Christian to stay where he was and directed all of us to keep moving up for our turn. As I stood in line chatting with Jim, my favorite usher at the theatre, I watched Christian not try to move everyone through as quickly as possible, but to give each person his full attention for just those few moments he would have with them. No one person was more or less important than the next. Everyone received the same respect and appreciation from him. It was a masterclass in how to treat the stage door from both the actor and the fans. When the last person had their time with him, he stopped to give the security guard and Jim each a hug and take pictures with them, and then he was off to what I’m sure was a cast party to end all cast parties.
By all accounts, the show is in good hands with the replacements. I had the privilege to see one of them Saturday night. Rob McClure who replaced Brian d’Arcy James in May was utterly phenomenal. I wasn’t sure what to expect because I have such adoration for Brian and his portrayal of Nick Bottom, but Rob took that character and made it his own. He showed me things about Nick that hadn’t occurred to me, and I laughed harder than I’ve laughed in a really long time. Rob is this little nugget of joy that I didn’t know was missing in my life until Saturday night, and I cannot wait to go back and see him in this role, again, and to take in all the other new cast members.
As I’ve tried many times over the last year in conversations with people to explain just what this show means to me and why I keep going back, there’s this little quote from an episode of the television show Designing Women that comes to mind every time and sums it up better than I ever could:
It [is] a rip-roaring firecracking, roller coaster of a ride — and we are all better for having bought a ticket.
Farewell, Christian, Heidi, John, and Kate. Thank you for the ride of a lifetime and for making those tickets worth every penny.
Today is the day when I remind you all that our battle is not over. Cancer still exists. It’s still an enemy, it still devastates lives, and it still takes our loved ones from us far too soon. It does not discriminate. It affects your grandmother, grandfather, mother, father, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, husband, wife, children, and friends.
Every year on the day of the ESPY awards (tonight), ESPN dedicates their broadcasts to raising money for The V Foundation for Cancer Research.
EVERY SINGLE PENNY donated goes towards cancer research. Their administrative costs are fully funded. Nothing you donate goes towards paying their CEO or the person answering their phones. It goes towards the fight. They have had one goal for over 20 years: to put themselves out of business by finding a cure for EVERY cancer.
In 1993, a month before he left us, Jimmy V stood on a stage to accept the inaugural Arthur Ashe Courage Award (video below) and started his foundation with these words: “We need your help. I need your help. We need money for research. It may not save my life. It may save my children’s lives. It may save someone you love.”
20 years later, Robin Roberts, another beloved individual, stood on a stage and gave a speech accepting that same Arthur Ashe Courage Award at the ESPYs and said these words: “Because of everyone who has responded to his challenge, because of all the donations, research, and support, mine is one of the lives that’s been saved.”
And just last year, Stuart Scott left us after a 7 year battle with cancer less than a year after receiving the Jimmy V Perseverance Award. He remains a very public reminder that we still have work to do. “When you die, that does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live and in the manner in which you live. So, live. Live. Fight like hell. And when you get too tired to fight, then lay down and rest and let somebody else fight for you.”
Together we can save lives.
Network Upfronts were this week, unveiling the fall/winter/spring schedules for the 2016-17 television season. Here We Go, Again seemed like an appropriate title given the number of space-time continuum themed shows in the works. This is what the plan looks like for now (click on the picture for a larger view). The PDF version of the chart includes links to synopses (click on the network call letters) and trailers for all the new shows (click on the name of the show). Enjoy! Happy Fall!
Over the course of his football career and endorsement partnership with Gatorade, Gatorade has released a number of incredible advertisements with Peyton, but the best ones are always the ones not trying to sell you their product or tell you how this new formula will help restore your electrolytes faster after a workout. The ones where they have congratulated him on a major accomplishment like breaking touchdown records or winning super bowls are the best. Here, as he begins his post-football career, Gatorade has released a series of videos with Family, Friends, and Teammates discussing his kindness and thoughtfulness in recognizing them and the impact they had on his life and the game of football. Here is the entire series of YouTube videos for your viewing pleasure. The truest of friends will need a box of tissues next to them as they watch.
This is the main composite video.
This one makes me wonder how many of his Broncos teammates he wrote a note to the night before the Super Bowl, and I do agree. He could work on his handwriting. He’s got some time now.
His dedication to the children’s hospital patients always leaves a lump in my throat. Tyler lost his battle, but Peyton made sure his time here was memorable.
I barely made it through this one. Peyton and I share a similar respect and appreciation for the integrity Mort embodies, and I always knew he called Mort directly to give him the retirement news.
Is there any greater gift to a parent than to say, “thank you for all you did for me”? Or for a sibling to know how much his brother loves and is proud of him?
When Tony says he never knew another more thoughtful person in the NFL than Peyton, it was too much.
He’s always watching. Remember that. He recognizes when someone treats the game with the reverence it deserves. Always do your best. You never know who might be watching.
This was a late addition and might very well be my favorite.
There are no words to describe how I feel about what happened Monday night, so I won’t even try. I’ll simply say, “Congrats, Villanova” and move on.
I do have words to describe how proud I am of this team, from top to bottom, upperclassmen to underclassmen, scholarship players to walk-ons.
I remember 1998 being the first team I really followed and not just because my mom was watching them. I loved that team. I cried the night they lost in the final four in San Antonio, and after tonight, I truly believe the state of Texas is cursed for Carolina teams.
I loved the 2005 team because it was Roy’s first championship and that squad had been through so much.
I loved the 2009 senior class. That group of guys who didn’t even have to speak to each other. They knew what each of them was thinking from a look.
But this team…THIS TEAM…this team knew. They knew what it meant to wear that jersey, to play in that dome, to fight for each other, to BE a Tar Heel. They just made me proud to cheer for them every day. They entered every single game with one thought in mind…win or lose…you gotta take us outta here kicking and screaming. This team didn’t need rings or trophies or hats and shirts or pieces of nets to solidify or determine their worth. They demonstrated it in every way they represented Carolina on and off the court. They did it by doing the unthinkable: they made me love Carolina basketball more than I already did. I didn’t think that was possible.
I am grateful for Marcus and Brice and Joel and Kennedy and Isaiah and Justin and Nate and Joel (II) and Theo (I didn’t forget you, Theo “where’s my chair at” Pinson). I loved this ride they took us on…the ups and downs and twists and turns were worth it…every bit of it. Just like Marcus, I wouldn’t change a thing or give back any of the losses to change tonight. Well, maybe I’d give back that one in Chapel Hill against that team from 8 miles away, but whatever. It’s all part of the story. It’s all part of the journey. It’s all part of what makes Carolina Basketball great. Vince Carter and Phil Ford who don’t have national championship rings are just as important to The Family as Michael Jordan and James Worthy who do. Now, this 2016 team will be folded into that canvas. A lot is said about that Carolina family, but this group made their own family within it. The rest of the Family could be seen in grand display behind the Carolina bench Monday night as I saw all of them stand in unison, unprompted, to cheer for their own. No one has that. No one ever will.
So maybe it didn’t end the way we hoped. So maybe they aren’t hanging a national championship banner in the rafters. Sure, it would’ve been great to win that game, to see Marcus and the rest of the guys cut down the nets. But, do you know how many Carolina teams in my lifetime alone I have watched who flat-out had the talent to win it all and didn’t or the ones who had the heart to win it all and didn’t or the ones who had both and still didn’t win it all? I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count that high. For crying out loud, that 2009 senior class could’ve walked away with 3 instead of 1 easily in their 4 years, but they didn’t. Even Coach Smith used to say to win a championship you have to have a lot of luck.
Luck. It’s a funny word when you look at it, but when I look back on this year and all the years that came before them, I’m reminded just how lucky I am to be a fan of a program that is consistently considered to make a deep tournament run every year. There are four, maybe five programs in the country you can set your watch to for that. So much pressure is placed on the shoulders of 18-22-year-olds to carry not only the expectations of the current season, but the entirety of a historically successful program as well. The comparisons alone are enough to make anyone crack underneath it all, and no one would’ve blamed them. They didn’t. Instead, this team brushed off those expectations, pulled on those jerseys that represent so much, and fought every damn day for a program, for a school, for a coach, for a fan base, but most importantly for each other. Make no mistake, this Carolina team will be remembered for years to come, but the way they came together to create their little family, to scratch and claw for each other, is remarkably unmatched in Carolina basketball’s over 100-year history. So, when I think of Carolina basketball, this 2016 group is one I will remember with great pride and admiration.
And so, I fight for and with them every season…for The Family…for my Heels, with love.
“The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do.”
~ Walter Bagehot ~
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Saturday morning. I was in college, and I set my alarm so I would wake up in time to see it. I went out to the living room so as to not disturb my sleeping roommate, and I turned on the TV. The commissioner of the NFL stepped to the podium and spoke into the microphone, “With the first pick, the Indianapolis Colts select quarterback, University of Tennessee, Peyton Manning.” I had been a Peyton Manning fan for four years by that point, and that morning would define the next eighteen.
On March 7, 2016, that eighteen years came to a close as the man who taught me to love and cherish the game of football decided it was time to hang up his cleats. As I sat there watching quite possibly the best, most gracious retirement speech I’ve ever seen in my lifetime, I wondered how to process it all. Over the course of the last season, I’ve had many moments to accept this was the end, to process the finality of one the greatest experiences of my life, but when faced with the actuality of it, it didn’t feel real at all. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to do anything but accept what was happening before my eyes. It wasn’t until the next morning when my mind began comprehending what the 2016 NFL season would look like. Since 1994, with the exception of 22 games, I could count on Peyton Manning playing football in the fall. That won’t be the case come September. I realized there would be no more live plays to add to the memory bank. All I have now is game film and highlights (God bless NFL Films) and stories I could tell over and over. I want to remember everything because someday someone who is too young now or hasn’t even been born, yet, may ask me, “what was it like to see Peyton Manning play football?” First, I would ask how much time they had, and then this would be my answer.
He could quiet an entire stadium of people with the wave of his hand. He could pick up a blitz faster than a defensive coordinator could order one. Opposing coaches had plays in their playbook specifically named for him that, try as they might, still didn’t work. He could run an 80 yard, 2-minute drill with such pristine efficiency that it was questionable if he was even human. His memory was like a super computer. He could process information so quickly that I’ve said on more than one occasion that he should donate his brain to science research after his death. His passion and love for the game of football and its history is unequaled. His teammates loved him, his fans adored him, and the league was grateful for his professionalism and class. As the son of a Pro-Bowl quarterback, he had every highest expectation possible hanging over his head his entire life, and he lived up to and exceeded all of it. In my heart and soul, there will never be another like him. But that’s just the Cliff’s Notes. Here’s the novel.
Alongside every great football player is his teammates, and Peyton had some of the best in the business. I could attempt to list them all here, but it would take far too long, too much space, and I would surely forget several. It’s easier to talk about it in moments. Let’s start with Peyton’s most frequent target, Marvin Harrison. My favorite Marvin memory isn’t one of his long catches or how he managed to make nearly every corner in the league dive the wrong way on a tackle attempt. It was a two-point conversion in the 2006 AFC Championship game. It’s significant for multiple reasons. It was a pinpoint, accurate pass that only Marvin could catch. It came after a touchdown Peyton threw to defensive tackle Dan Klecko, and it tied the game after a comeback from 18 points down. That game took years off my life. In fact, I very nearly turned it off and went to bed, but I was doing laundry at the time, so I told myself I’d go to bed as soon as the laundry was done. The dryer buzzed on the last load right after that two-point conversion, so I went to bed much later than planned that night. Both teams battled it out, and to this day, these are the final words etched in my brain: “Intercepted by Marlin Jackson. Marlin’s got it. We’re going to the Super Bowl. We’re going to the Super Bowl.” Those are the words of Colts radio announcer Bob Lamey describing Tom Brady throwing an interception to seal the Colts victory, and I will never forget them.
The touchdown catch that runs through my memory like a YouTube video on repeat is touchdown #49 in the 2004 season to Brandon Stokley. I can see that entire play in my head. It was from 21 yards out, and Brandon was lined up in the slot. He took off running as fast as he could, and Peyton threw a pass over the middle to the end zone before Brandon was even there, but by the time the ball sailed through the air, it fell right into Brandon’s hands who had reached the perfect spot at just the right second. It was beautiful, and it broke Dan Marino’s single-season TD record. Tom Brady would eventually break Peyton’s record in 2007 with 50, and Peyton would break Tom’s record with 55 touchdowns in 2013, but that pass to Brandon Stokley might be my favorite touchdown pass Peyton ever threw.
In Peyton’s 14 year career with the Colts, a lot of players came and went, but my absolute favorite player Peyton has ever played with is Dallas Clark, tight end from Iowa. I’m not ashamed to admit, he’s easy on the eyes, but he was also a workhorse who laid his body on the line for that football team. He played the 2006 post season with a partially torn ACL because we needed him to be an acrobat in football pads. I have watched that man make a one-handed catch for a touchdown with the ball high above his head. I have seen him stumble over the grass untouched, correct his balance, and then complete the 80-yard touchdown in a win vs. the Dolphins in which the Colts possessed the ball for less than 15 minutes of game time. It was unheard of for any team in NFL history to win a game while controlling the ball for less than 15 minutes. The Dolphins gambled that keeping Peyton on the bench gave them the best shot at winning the game. Bad idea. Don’t tell Peyton he can’t do something because no one has ever done it before. It will backfire. It was also the night Peyton surpassed Johnny Unitas as the winningest Colts quarterback in team history. But even those touchdowns aren’t my favorite Dallas Clark completion. In fact, it was a bobbled catch vs. the Ravens in the 2006 divisional round playoff game. The defender was in front of Dallas Clark, but Peyton threw that ball anyway. It grazed the defenders fingertips, and Dallas got a hand on it. It then rolled right down his arm, bounced off his thigh, and landed in his hand. First down, move the chains. Peyton got the next play off so quickly that he managed to catch the Ravens in a 12 men on the field penalty, one of his specialties in picking defenses apart. But, that catch kept the Colts’ drive alive and led to a fifth field goal and a secured spot in the AFC championship game the next week. It was so ugly, it was beautiful.
I remember the first time I ever saw Peyton play in person in an NFL game. It was the opening game of the 2004 regular season vs. the Ravens in Baltimore. That’s not the friendliest of stadiums to play especially for the Colts. There’s a bit of history there, none of which is related to anyone on the team now or in 2004 for that matter. Nevertheless, the animosity still exists, but what I remember about that game is seeing the no-huddle audible up close and live for the first time. TV doesn’t even come close to doing it justice. Not even HD can capture its perfection. I sat there mesmerized by his command and efficiency in the short amount of time a play clock allows. Some people get impatient waiting for him to take the snap, but when you really watch, really sit back and take in every second of it, it actually looks more like art than football.
The important part of that process is the snap itself. I’ve watched enough football in my life to know how a snap can make or break the momentum of a team. For the majority of his career, Peyton had one person snapping him the ball: Jeff Saturday, Tar Heel. (That one was for you, Stuart Scott.) Jeff had the difficult task of translating Peyton’s audibles to the rest of the offensive line. He developed an entirely different language for them, so he would hear Peyton’s audible and relay the plan to the rest of the line in the language only they knew. It was a well-oiled machine, but Peyton put Jeff through the ringer. I remember when they were preparing to play the Bears in Super Bowl XLI, there was a report that it might rain on Super Bowl Sunday. In the week leading up to the game, after practice each day, Peyton would have Jeff dunk the football in freezing, cold water and then snap the ball to him over and over just in case the report was correct. It was, by the way. First time in Super Bowl history it rained on game day.
I was honored to be invited to the White House when the Colts came to visit with the President, and I met Dallas Clark, Jeff Saturday, and Adam Vinatieri. I also had the great privilege of finally meeting Peyton Manning and Tony Dungy at the US Capitol. They all could not have been more gracious and kind. Meeting Peyton obviously was the highlight, but words, much like that day as I bumbled through talking to him, fail me in trying to describe that moment. It is frozen in time, but I remember him sticking out his hand and saying, “Hi, I’m Peyton Manning,” kidding me about graduating from Alabama, and graciously agreeing to take a picture with me. Those days remain two of the best days of my life.
I will never forget the first time he beat the Patriots in Foxborough. That stadium had been his kryptonite, but one Monday night in 2005, as I sat in my bedroom floor bawling my eyes out, the final seconds ticked off the clock in a 40-21 win. It was something I never thought I’d get to see, but by golly, he pulled it off. I remember sitting in the floor in front of my parents’ TV on Thanksgiving Day in 2004 wearing my #18 Colts jersey as I watched Peyton throw six touchdown passes against the Lions. I’d never seen anything like it, and I thought I never would, again. Funny thing, though, Peyton always likes to prove me wrong.
The second time I saw Peyton play an NFL game in person was in Indianapolis in a September 2006 game vs. the Jaguars. That was the day I realized how genius it was to play football indoors in a controlled climate. So much more enjoyable for spectators to not have to worry about being too hot or too cold or rained/snowed on. It was heavenly for this girl who grew up sweating to death at Tampa Bay Buccaneers games. The game was even better. Dallas scored, Terrence Wilkins – the little engine that could- scored on an 82-yard punt return, and Peyton Manning scored a rushing touchdown on a naked bootleg. I couldn’t have asked for a better game to see live.
Since I mentioned the Buccaneers, maybe this is the perfect time to talk about that miracle night in 2003. It was Tony Dungy’s second season as the Colts head coach and his first return to Tampa after being fired by them following the 2001 season. Every single member of that Colts team wanted to win that game for him, but things seemed bleak down the stretch with the Colts down 21 points with less than seven minutes remaining in the game. The Bucs wouldn’t score another point while the Colts would score 24 unanswered. It was a Monday night game and my mom had stayed home and sent my father and brother to the game by themselves. I remember talking to her as the Bucs, winning by 7, punted the ball back to the Colts with a little more than 90 seconds left in regulation. I told her, “you have left him too much time on the clock. You will lose this game.” Peyton didn’t need 90 seconds. He needed four to tie the game. A Bucs missed field goal later and the game went into overtime with the Colts eventually winning on a 29-yard field goal. To this day, of all the come from behind victories I have watched Peyton orchestrate over the years, that game remains my absolute favorite one.
Of course, it wasn’t always as easy as it seemed. In fact, sometimes it was downright excruciating to get through a season that didn’t end in a Super Bowl win because the narrative was always that Peyton couldn’t win the Big Game…until he did. Then it became he can’t win another one. The media never stopped. He evicted one monkey from his back and another one was placed there the next day. In total, his teams reached four Super Bowls and won two. The pain of losing in a Super Bowl is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, but mark my words, losing in your first game of the playoffs is more brutal than I can even put into words. I wanted a championship for him so badly, that I physically ached after some of those playoff losses. The problem was always that I knew he was one of the greatest to ever play the game, and no Super Bowl ring was going to change that. He was the same quarterback who walked onto the field against the Bears for XLI as walked off the field after wining the game. He simply had more hardware and jewelry afterward. His skill level and ability didn’t change except to the media…for a split second until they moved the line for him, again.
The game wasn’t always kind to his body, either. Some problems were man-made while others were simply part of the natural aging process, but I remember the exact moment his neck was injured. It was a game against the Redskins in which two defenders, one of whom was fined the next week for the hit, came at him low and high. They bent him backward at the waist like he was Stretch Armstrong, and when they let go, he bounced back to the earth violently. He laid there for a few seconds until the referee told him that if he didn’t call a team timeout, they would have to call an injury time out, which would require Peyton to sit out a play. Peyton called the time out. The defensive coordinator for the Redskins that season was Gregg Williams who would later be found guilty by the NFL for developing an illegal bounty system with the Saints to pay players for injuring opponents. Over the next four years, the nerve damage sustained during that play, though not noticeable at the time, would gradually worsen until the four neck surgeries became necessary along with sitting out the entire 2011 season. Prior to that lost season, Peyton missed one play due to injury when a defender hit him under the chin strap and broke his jaw. He came out, missed one play, and returned to the game with a bloodied and swollen jaw.
The lost season would lead to the end of an era and the end of my loyalty to the Colts. I suppose someday I will have to visit Indianapolis, again, to see the statue they plan to place in front of Lucas Oil Stadium and maybe to see his name in the ring of honor next to Johnny Unitas’s, but March 7, 2012 ended any respect I had for that organization when he was fired by the Colts because of the injuries he was rehabing at the time. The speech and press conference Peyton gave at his public firing was one of the kindest, most dignified, and professional demonstrations I have ever seen in my life by any human being, but it didn’t stop me from sobbing uncontrollably at my desk at work. I, like Peyton, had hoped and dreamed and really believed all those years ago in 1998 that he would be a Colt for life, that he would achieve that rare feat of playing his entire NFL career with one team. His father hadn’t even done that despite his loyalty to the Saints and New Orleans. But, alas, both Peyton and I would be forced to mourn the loss of that dream and search for a new landing spot.
That spot resides a little more than 1000 miles west of Indianapolis in Dove Valley for the Denver Broncos Football Club. For the best behind the scenes story on Peyton’s free agency tour and eventual signing with the Broncos, check out Peter King’s column for Sports Illustrated. I was cautiously optimistic, still emotionally hurt by the firing, and fearful that he wouldn’t be able to play football by the time the 2012 season rolled around. What happened over the next four years was captivating, enthralling, unbelievable, and brilliant. Though the last season and a half the aging process really took its toll on his performance, what I saw in the midst of it was a seasoned veteran who found a way to contribute even when his body was failing. He was never, in eighteen years, going to win a game with his legs or his speed (or lack there of), but he could always, always win with his mind. So, when the body stopped responding the way he needed it to, he put all his eggs in the brain basket, and with the extraordinary help of the greatest defense in the history of the NFL, he won a second Super Bowl to close out his career.
Wait, not so fast. How did we get there? We can’t possibly just skip over four whole years, right?!
Of course not! I wouldn’t leave out the most crucial part of the story. I just needed to wrap up the Indianapolis chapter before moving on. There was a moment at that first game in a Broncos uniform when my heart skipped a beat. I’d spent the previous year thinking I would never get to see him play football, again, so seeing him run out of that tunnel and take his first snaps for Denver truly took my breath away. Obviously, I cried because as the years grew closer to the end of his career, I got significantly more emotional. I didn’t know at that moment the next four years would go by so fast and hold so many incredible achievements and memories.
I don’t remember the first touchdown he threw to Demaryius Thomas, but I do remember pausing to appreciate the irony of finding another #88 to throw to. Like Marvin Harrison before him, DT became a bit of a security blanket for Peyton’s first three years in Denver. Marvin Harrison will remain Peyton’s top receiver of all time in touchdowns, but DT, in only four seasons, comes in at #4 on the list.
I remember the press conference when Emmanuel Sanders was signed by the Broncos. I remember it because he said the magic words every Peyton Manning fan loves to hear:
To play with Peyton Manning is like wide receiver heaven. I feel like he’s one of the greatest quarterbacks to play the game. Definitely I look up to him a lot in terms of his preparation, and I know that he’s going to make me a better player whether it’s mentally and physically. I know that I’m in a great environment.
I have always appreciated a player who wanted to play with Peyton, but also one who wanted to learn from him. Over the years, there have been plenty who thought just being on the same field with him would be enough. That the game would be easy just because Peyton was throwing passes to them, but the truth is he wants you to work for it just as much as he does. He wants you to study and prepare the way he does. But more than anything he wants you to do those things because you want to do them to become a better player and out of respect for the game not because he asks or tells you to. Emmanuel Sanders got that, and he got it by just watching Peyton. He saw the structure and the dedication, and he understood that to be the best football player he could be, he needed to follow that blueprint. E was handsomely rewarded for his hard work on and off the practice field with pass after pass after pass his first season with the Broncos, but it took until game six for him to catch a touchdown pass. I had many an argument with the football gods about why E hadn’t found the end zone, yet, and then they finally threw me and E a bone. He would finish that season with nine touchdown passes and over 1,400 receiving yards. In all his seasons with the Steelers prior to that, he’d never been above 800 yards on the season. In his two years with Denver and Peyton, he amassed over 2,500 yards and quickly became one of my all time favorite Peyton teammates.
For as long as I live, I will never forget the joy of the 2013 season. It started with Peyton proving me wrong like I said earlier he liked to do by throwing seven touchdowns against the Ravens in the opening game, and by the end of the season, it became one of the greatest statistical seasons for any quarterback in the history of the NFL. Peyton broke the single-season touchdown record, again as well as the single-season passing yards record. If there is any one season that I enjoyed watching Peyton play the most, it was that year. He was having so much fun with his teammates, with the game of football. It just seemed like a dream come true. It was during that season I realized the dream of playing for one team for an entire career had to die in order for this to happen. As much as I will always carry with me the pain of seeing Peyton heartbroken over being fired, and rightfully so, I also will always carry with me the memories of watching him prove how much he still had left in him. I would go through all that heartache, again, if that’s what it took to get the last four years of his career.
Don’t get me wrong, that season ended terribly at a Bruno Mars concert also known as Super Bowl XLVIII. From the start, it was clear it was not the Broncos’ night, but try as it might, it could never take away how magnificent the rest of the season was. Peyton’s time with Denver wasn’t without its problems. There were endings in the playoffs that ripped my heart out and stomped on it like the overtime loss to the Ravens in 2012 and excruciatingly painful loss to the Colts in 2014. There would be the season he finished even while playing on a torn right quad muscle, and the final season when a new offensive strategy caused a partially torn plantar fascia in Peyton’s left foot. It was hard sometimes to watch him struggle to run out on the field, but that faded away in February as he lifted the Lombardi Trophy high above his head with his teammates who had struggled and fought through the season with him to bring home a championship to Denver. I loved those teammates because they loved and supported Peyton. No matter how bad it got, they had his back. Perhaps they recognized the man who had carried them for the three years before and realized it was their turn to carry him. Whatever it was, I will forever be grateful to that team and franchise.
There are a million more stories and memories and moments I could tell. There are players and coaches and front office executives I haven’t mentioned who deserve recognition like Pat Bowlen, Tom Moore, Adam Gase, Bill Polian, Jim Mora, Jim Caldwell, John Fox, Gary Kubiak, John Elway, Joe Ellis, Gary Brackett, Bob Sanders, Dwight Freeney, Cato June, Joseph Addai, Tarik Glenn, Ryan Diem, Hunter Smith, Pierre Garcon, Von Miller, DeMarcus Ware, CJ Anderson, Eric Decker, Wes Welker, Jacob Tamme, Chris Harris, Jr., Champ Bailey, Terrance Knighton, Julius Thomas, Montee Ball, Bennie Fowler, etc. All of them…every single player…who ever suited up and battled for 60 (or more) minutes alongside Peyton on either side of the ball has a memory in my bank because they helped write his story. I could talk at length about the gracious man he is outside of football and the millions of big and little wonderful things football has provided him the opportunity to do over the years for those less fortunate than him or those who just needed a positive message of hope and encouragement because they helped write his story, too. I could tell you about the beautiful person he became when his children Marshall and Mosley came into this world, but I will leave that story for them to tell in the years to come.
For my part, all I know is twenty-two years ago, when he committed to Tennessee, I started building my Peyton Manning memory bank, and as I sit here fighting back tears, I find myself immensely overwhelmed and in awe of these years. This is not my story. It is his, but I will cherish every second of it he shared with us, and after all the tears have stopped falling like rain, I will still have these memories to be my sunshine.
Thank you, Peyton. Words can never appropriately express what an honor it was to love the game of football with you.
*If you were looking for a lengthy discussion about the actions of a 19-year-old, you did not and will not find it here. I have known and understood that story for 20 years after extensively reading and researching both sides of the situation. Though some believe this information was not available until recently, they are wrong. A simple Google search or reading of his Wikipedia page is all it would’ve taken. Nothing new has been revealed that hadn’t previously been reported nor changed the fact that no physical contact was made that day between the plaintiff and defendant other than the plaintiff examining the defendant’s foot. But I learned a long time ago that nothing I say or do or Peyton says or does is going to change the opinion someone has already developed about him. If you choose to believe the lies and biased view of a tabloid reporter with an agenda, that is your choice, and you are well within your right to do so. I, on the other hand, prefer to stick with that extensive research I did each time the plaintiff brought this up, again, in order to make money for her livelihood. That research turned up nothing but a childish prank by a 19-year-old whose behavior since has not demonstrated a repeat offense. I’m not going to crucify him for it for the rest of his life because I don’t want to live in a world where forgiveness doesn’t exist.
“Adversity doesn’t build character. It reveals it.”
There was a moment as the Super Bowl 50 halftime show concluded and the players returned to the field when I felt peace fall over me. I realized in that moment there were 30 minutes remaining. Not just 30 minutes left in the game. Not just 30 minutes left in the season. But 30 minutes left on the roller-coaster ride of a lifetime. So, I took a deep breath and reminded myself to enjoy the journey. I was determined for that final 30 minutes to relish every snap, every pass, every hand-off, and even every sack and three and out because these were the last of them…at least I think they are.😉 But, let’s back up because if we’re going to enjoy the journey, we have to know how we got to that moment of peace.
Rewind with me to six months ago and the start of the 2015 NFL season. It was to be Peyton’s 18th season in the league, and from the start, I didn’t feel comfortable. There was a new head coach with a new system that involved Peyton’s 39 year old body being more mobile than any other time in that 18 year career. I wanted nothing to do with a QB roll out involving anyone wearing a #18 Broncos jersey. Those days were over. Those days were for the 22 year old drafted in 1998. That player didn’t exist anymore, if it ever did, and for any coaching staff to expect him to was plain crazy talk. People told me they’d find a way. He’d get used to it. All I imagined was seeing a shell of the player I once knew hobbled and limping off the field from more hits than his body could handle. It wasn’t a lack of faith in Peyton. It was a lack of faith in the execution of the new system, and truthfully, the bulk of my concern lay with the rag-tag team at offensive line after an off-season of selling and trading off guards and tackles right and left. Those five men hadn’t worked together for any length of time, and I wasn’t completely sold on their ability to prevent that 39 year old body from breaking into a million pieces.
Despite my concerns, the NFL decided to go ahead with the season anyway, so the Broncos took the field. It was far from pretty what I saw from a once prolific offense that could strike fear in the hearts of defensive coordinators around the league. And then something strange started to happen. This other set of eleven men trudged out on the field, dug their cleats deep into the ground, and stared down every offense that stood on the other side of the line of scrimmage like they were the only people between them and an all you can eat steak dinner buffet. Sports analysts told me this group of men was called a defense. I was baffled. I had heard of such things, but seeing a defense on the same team as a Peyton Manning-led offense was like seeing Big Foot. After 22 years, I had convinced myself that we couldn’t have nice things like defenses, and yet, here they were in the eleven o’clock hour. Better late than never, gentlemen.
And so it was that the new offensive system would score just enough points to be on the right side of the scoreboard, while the defense would battle through every play, rack up quarterback sacks like the people on those hoarders shows, and get that last stop at the end of the game to seal a victory that would have me shaking my head wondering how in the world we had rolled into week nine of the season undefeated. That week and the next would serve as the turning point of the season as the offense could no longer hold up their end of the bargain, and the unimaginable happened. Peyton took a seat.
That day broke my heart. In some ways, I’ve blocked it out of my memory because that was the unwanted image I had in my head from the beginning of the season, and despite the efforts of all 53 men on the active roster, it was now coming to fruition. In the days and weeks to come, we would learn the new, more mobile system had caused a partial tear in Peyton’s plantar fascia; an injury I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy and one he had been dealing with since training camp. For the next six games, I watched backup quarterback, Brock Osweiler, start in a place Peyton had every season since 1994 except one. It was in that six games when my love for the game was tested; the love Peyton himself had taught me. I knew two things for sure: there was no way on God’s green earth we were winning the Super Bowl, and I would never get to see Peyton Manning play football, again.
Funny thing though, the football gods have a sense of humor and enjoy proving me wrong. The Broncos managed a 4-2 record in those six games and stay in playoff contention even if all phases of the game were playing with a bit of lackluster. One week, they would look unbeatable, and the very next week they’d look like they were just going through the motions. They were missing their fire, and in some cases, they seemed to forget that football games were a full 60 minutes. In others, they needed a few more than 60 minutes and showed me heart and determination. I wasn’t quite sure how the defense had maintained their league leading ranking, but they had, and they limped right into the final game of the season where Peyton took on a role he hadn’t had since he was a freshman in college: backup quarterback. I was convinced Coach Kubiak was simply letting Peyton dress for the game but had no intention of sending him into it. I still watched because even the mere sight of seeing Peyton in a football uniform makes me smile. Then it happened. Things weren’t going well from the start all the way into the middle of the third quarter, and in order to prevent losing not only the division but the #1 seed in the playoffs, Coach Kubiak was forced to pull out all the stops including inserting Peyton into the lineup. I think we know what happened next. Sports Illustrated said he “rode in on a bad foot and led the guys with the white horses on their helmets to a win”…and a 5th straight AFC West Division title, a 3rd #1 playoff seed in 4 years, and a wild card weekend BYE, so we waited.
I’m not gonna lie. When it comes to the playoffs, I’m always hopeful of the easiest route, but truth be told, the harder road pays off in the end. The opponents the Broncos faced in the playoffs seemed like destiny. During the six games Peyton missed, two of those opponents were the Steelers and the Patriots, so when it worked out that those were the two teams the Broncos would face in the playoffs, I thought, “well that makes sense.” It didn’t make things any easier. The Steelers match up was difficult to watch because it was tense the entire time with the Steelers being one really great play away from taking the game despite missing a few players due to injury. Winning that game, though, meant having to play the Patriots…again. I hate playing that team with the heat of a thousand suns, but it has more to do with the media narrative than it does with the actual game. And, so it was, that I had to sit through an entire week of every sports reporter, former player, and tom, dick, or harry explain why the Broncos didn’t have a prayer against the Patriots in the AFC Championship game and that this would likely be Peyton Manning’s final game of his career. By the end of the week, it sounded as if the team shouldn’t even bother dressing out for the game. I was livid. I don’t care who you are or how many sports journalism degrees you have or number of years playing professionally in your record, those are 53 men who are NFL professional football players who worked their tails off all season long, against all odds, to earn the #1 seed in the AFC, and they shouldn’t even bother stepping on the field?! How about we go ahead and play the game anyway?
That narrative had me worked up so much that I was sick as a dog before the game started, and I couldn’t bring myself to watch it live. I recorded it and watched it after I knew what the outcome was and after I had bawled my eyes out watching the trophy presentation. I counted at least eight heart attacks I would’ve had had I watched it live, so at least there was some validity to my decision not to watch. What I saw beyond that was a team just as livid as I was by the media’s rhetoric the previous week. I saw a defense that didn’t care a single second that the Patriots were undefeated in games when Tom Brady had his full slate of receivers and backs healthy and in the game. I saw an offense that found ways to score points little by little. I saw a team that said, ” don’t count us out just, yet. What you expect of us isn’t always the same as what we expect of ourselves.” And when those final seconds ticked off the clock, the Broncos had found one more stop, one more play, one more something to send them to Super Bowl 50.
As a side note, and something no one ever wants to hear because they like the “Peyton can’t beat the Patriots” storyline more so than the truth, Peyton Manning quarterbacked teams in the NFL actually have a 3-2 playoff record vs. the Patriots. There is a lot of historical talk out there about Peyton being horrible against the Patriots and even more to the point him being horrible against them in the playoffs. But consider this truthiness before you fall back on what people want you to think. The first time during Peyton’s career that they met in the playoffs was in the 2003 season AFC championship game, which the Patriots won by 10 points and went on to win the Super Bowl. They met the next year but in the divisional round with the Patriots winning and eventually winning the Super Bowl, again. However, that would be the last time the Patriots would beat a Peyton Manning-led team in the playoffs. In fact, the next two times the Patriots won the Super Bowl, they didn’t even have to play a Peyton Manning quarterbacked team; however, three of the 4 times Peyton has been to the Super Bowl, it required beating the Patriots in the AFC championship game. For all the stories about how Peyton is a great regular season quarterback and not great in the playoffs, while I concede his 14-13 playoff record isn’t great, his teams are actually better in the playoffs against his one, media created arch-nemesis than in the regular season. Ok…back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Two weeks. That’s what the NFL schedules between the conference championships and the Super Bowl to sit and stew and think about the final 60 minutes of play of the NFL season. For my psyche, it’s about 13 days too long. For the media, it was a field day of opportunities to do exactly what they’d done in the week leading up to the AFC Championship Game: trash the Broncos and heap praise upon the Panthers. By the middle of the second week, I was out of fingernails to bite, was nauseous all the time, and wanted to cry every five minutes. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought I was pregnant, but 22 years of loving the game because I was watching it through Peyton’s eyes had come to what I believe is its fruitful conclusion, and I was scared. Not of him getting hurt. Not of him losing the game. But of what that moment would feel like when I had to watch him walk off the field for quite possibly the last time. I didn’t want to know that feeling though I’ve always known eventually I’d have to, but just like the regular season, despite my concerns, the NFL decided to go ahead and play the Super Bowl anyway.
Though it didn’t calm my nerves or stop me from yelling at the TV, from the opening kick, it was clear to me at least that the Broncos were settled. There were no nerves to shake off, no surprises they weren’t ready for, no set back they couldn’t handle. This was a team that had spent those two weeks understanding their opponent, honing their already fully developed skills, and building confidence from the adversity they’d faced all season long. I saw a defense that was so stifling, that even I couldn’t catch my breath before the next play was run. I’m not old enough to have seen or remember the Steel Curtain or the Orange Crush or really even the 85 Bears, but of the great defenses in NFL history that I have seen and remember, this is by far the best one I know. They turned the tables. It was no longer the Panthers offense trying to read the Broncos defense. The Broncos were reading the Panthers like a book. And, while some might believe a defensive game is boring, look, again. The skill and determination involved in what the Broncos defense accomplished for those 60 minutes, or 120 minutes when you count the AFC championship, is something so outstanding and remarkable that it deserves admiration and appreciation.
By the time we got to halftime, I was stunned. Still nervous. Still scared. But blissfully stunned. And then the peace came. I looked across the room at my TV and realized this is where I was going to be, where I was going to be sitting, when the final seconds ticked off the clock and the roller-coaster ride came to a screeching halt. I took a deep breath, and I smiled. In the middle of this intense football game, I found the calm, and suddenly I thought, win or lose, I want to remember every single second of these last 30 minutes. Someday someone might ask me what it was like to see Peyton Manning pass the ball to Emmanuel Sanders or CJ Anderson work his horse right into the endzone one more time or a much maligned offensive line finally find their footing or the Broncos defense play lights out against the best offense in the league or a kicker and a punter and a kick returner prove that special teams players are people, too. And I wanted to be able to tell them exactly what it was like. To tell their stories. To share their memories. That’s when I saw it.
When I’m watching a game, I can’t always see the strategy in the midst of all the stress and worry, but when I finally allowed myself to breathe and take the game no matter what, I was able to see just exactly what was going on here. For the entirety of his career, Peyton has finished a drive and gone to the sidelines to review printouts of photos from each play they ran. He’s looking for what the defense is showing him, so he knows what to do the next time he sees that formation. He’s looking for what went wrong and what went right, so he can adjust. I kept saying throughout the game that he needed to see something…that surely he had seen something by now. Why so many three and outs?! And then I took that breath.
For all the negative connotation surrounding the title of “game manager,” there is something incredibly cunning about it. It means he can beat a team with his brain, and playing 18 years in the NFL provides a lot of data to sort through and use during games. Being a game manager also allowed him to play 18 years in the NFL. In those final 30 minutes I saw the entirety of Peyton’s career: the young gunslinger who could toss the ball 60 yards down field perfectly, the veteran who could beat a blitz with his eyes closed, and the journeyman who was the smartest person on the field. He had figured out the Panthers weren’t giving him much. There were a few holes here and there, but he would have to settle for field goals when he could get them and depend on the defense that had gotten them there.
The three and outs, which appeared as negative drives, were actually eating clock four plays at a time. It was, in my opinion, genius. He could’ve forced throws potentially causing more turnovers, but he knew that choice wouldn’t be the best way to help the team. It dawned on me in that moment, that those six games he didn’t play were the best thing that could’ve happened to him. It forced him to evaluate his role, not on the team, but at this point in his career. If a player wants to play for any length of time, he has to adjust as time goes by to the game and to his body. Playing the game at 29 is different than playing it at 39 because abilities have to transform to be successful at each stage. That time away gave him an opportunity to get his mind and body on the right track, to find the way he could contribute to the success of this team at this moment.
I could not have been prouder as I watched Von Miller and DeMarcus Ware pour the Gatorade down Coach Kubiak’s back and Peyton find his way over to the fourth coach he’d taken to a Super Bowl while the final seconds disappeared off the clock. It had taken all 53 of them, a defensive coordinator who was unemployed just last year, and a melding of the minds between a coach and a quarterback with two very different yet successful ways of doing things. This team had proven me wrong in the best possible way, and they are welcome to do so any time they want.
Nine years ago, another team proved me wrong, and the world champion smile appeared for the first time. That game required Peyton to be an offensive juggernaut in the pouring rain. Nine years later, in a very different way in a very different game, the world champion smile appeared, again. There is a bit of symmetry if it is the end of this wild ride to win a Super Bowl half way through a storied career and then to win one to close it all out.
Dear Family and Friends,
This year seems to be the year of blink and you missed it. I turned around one day and it was December when it felt like it was just January the day before. I don’t know about y’all, but the years seem to move faster as I get older. Nevertheless, I still try to pack as much into those fast moving years as I can. This year was no exception.
Sadly, at the beginning of the year, two of my heroes from the sports world shuffled off this mortal coil. First, in January, sportscaster Stuart Scott finished his battle with cancer and left behind a legacy of courage and determination as well as a completely different vocabulary of how we talk about sports. Then, in February, the world lost one of the kindest gentlemen it ever knew when Coach Dean Smith passed away. This one hit mom the hardest as a lifelong Tar Heel fan. He changed the way we play the game of basketball far and wide, and his contributions to our country’s civil rights movement remind us we should never be proud of doing the right thing. We should just do it.
In April, Dad’s chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL), which he’s had for years but never needed to treat it, decided it wanted some attention. He completed six chemotherapy treatments between April and September, and at the beginning of November, he officially received the remission stamp. He will go back every three months for new scans to make sure he remains in remission, but at this point, it’s safe to say, dad kicked cancer’s butt with the help of mom and his wonderful doctors and nurses.
In May, I traveled to Rochester, Minnesota to visit some college friends, Robert and Erin Jackson and meet their sweet little guy, Beckett, who handled my stockpiled smooches and squeezes like a champ. The weather was beautiful as they showed me around their city where the Mayo Clinic is located, and I tried every form of fried cheese curd I could get my hands on. Also, having been a Twins fan since high school, I managed to talk them into taking me to the Twins game on Memorial Day, which they won because I was there, obviously. Booyah!
After seeing the Broadway cast of Something Rotten! perform on The Tonight Show, I was so entertained that I had to see this show, so I took a trip to NYC in July to see it. The cast is amazing, and over several trips back to NYC this fall for various reasons, I have seen the show a total of six times. The lovely people who work the front of house for Jujamcyn Theaters treated me like family and reminded me just how much I enjoyed being a part of live theatre back in my high school days, so if you find yourself in NYC anytime soon and you can’t get tickets to see Hamilton walk on over to the St. James Theatre on 44th and see Something Rotten! to laugh so hard you’ll cry. While I was there, I caught up with my high school friend John Cosenza. He and I grew up together, and while we have kept in touch with each other through the years, we hadn’t seen each other in far too long. He went to the show with me one night and showed me some of NYC from the perspective of an actual resident. It’s a beautiful thing to fall in love with a city through someone else’s eyes. He tells me that since the congestion in Times Square now drives me batty, I am officially a New Yorker!
In July, we lost my great Aunt Virginia. She was one of my favorite people in the world. She had a sweet smile, a rambunctious personality, and an insatiable hunger for all life had to give her. She was what they used to call a classy broad, and I miss her every day.
In August, I returned to Colorado to spend my birthday with my friends Vanessa and Brad Leonard and Tim and Cristi Schwamb and their kids and to attend Broncos Training Camp, again. There were to be two days of training camp while I was there, but the first day got cancelled due to rain the day before flooding the practice field. At least it wasn’t snow. Never fear, Vanessa and I filled the day with visits to Red Rocks Amphitheatre, the historic town of Morrison, the Broncos training facility team store, and every Walmart, Target, Kohls, and King Soopers between Denver and Colorado Springs that we could find
making sure I had all the Broncos gear I needed for the coming season. Vanessa, Cristi, and I even found time for a girl’s night out. It was refreshing to my soul. My sister-in-law Janet has taken a few of those soul rejuvenating girl’s weekends this year, too. There really is no substitute for them. Also this summer, my brother Andy finished his master’s of education in educational leadership with straight A’s throughout and is working towards a position as an assistant principal hopefully in the next school year.
Lincoln turned 8 in September, and we had an Ant-Man themed birthday party at Hooters after a day at Busch Gardens. Ant-Man was his choice of costume for Halloween, too. He continues to excel in school with his perfect report cards, and he can tell you anything you want to know about Minecraft. Mostly, I just nod my head and say, “uh huh” because I have no clue what he’s talking about. This September marked the start of the 40th season of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, which mom, dad, and Andy have thoroughly enjoyed celebrating as inaugural season ticket holders still going strong. God love ‘em.
Also in September, one of my trips to NYC was for a 5K charity walk benefiting the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF). My college friend Ti Keshia lost her sweet niece this year to Type 1 Diabetes and asked her friends to contribute to and/or join her on this walk, so I jumped right in and had the wonderful opportunity to meet and walk with her and her NYC friends across the Brooklyn Bridge. The views from up there are spectacular, and it was a beautiful day to celebrate Princess Victoria. Speaking of diabetes, my doctor has reduced my medication to one dose per day instead of two, so I am one step closer to managing the disease on my own without pharmaceuticals. While I was there that time, I managed to squeeze in a trip to see Les Misérables. This was especially exciting because my high school friend Joseph Spieldenner is currently performing in the show as Grantaire and occasionally goes on as Javert or Thénardier. He’s just brilliant in it and was so kind to give me a backstage tour after the show, and I got to stand on a Broadway stage.
In October, I was so excited to get a visit from another high school friend, Adrienne. Her husband was here for a conference, so she tagged along, and spent the better part of one day with me. I got to show her around the Capitol and take her to some fun little places that are not on the tour like lunch in the Senator’s Dining Room. I’ve come to truly understand the importance of keeping in touch with the people in our lives who make us smile and remind us of the dreamers we used to be before the world became jaded and routine.
In November, my sweet friend Annie from Australia came over to the states for what she calls holiday. We call it vacation. While she was here, we went to a John Lloyd Young concert at the Kennedy Center. He’s a Tony winner for originating the role of Frankie Valli in Jersey Boys. She also wanted to see the Washington Monument and the ruby red slippers from The Wizard of Oz, and I took her to the larger Air and Space Museum out by Dulles Airport because she’s a flight attendant. It made perfect sense to me. And I got her to try a fried pickle, which will likely never touch her lips, again. Pickles are apparently not a thing in Australia.
When I was home for Thanksgiving, I got to meet my new four-legged nephew Coco, Lincoln’s new cocker spaniel puppy. He’s adorable and loves to cuddle. We became fast friends, and that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I kept giving him treats. I swear. Mom and dad have loved spoiling their puppy grandchild, too. Mom and I shopped til we dropped the week of Thanksgiving, and I helped them decorate the house for Christmas before I left.
And, that brings us to December. After fourteen years of living in the DC area, I finally made it to the White House at Christmastime to see the decorations. Everything is breathtakingly beautiful and intricately detailed to fit each room’s theme and purpose. Next weekend, I’m traveling to Pittsburgh to see the Broncos play the Steelers where I may or may not get to see Peyton Manning. I was afraid of this when I saw how late in the season this game was, but hopefully, he’ll at least be there even if he doesn’t play. At the end of the month, my Alabama Crimson Tide will try, again, to add to the National Championship total. They’re #2 in the college football playoff rankings, but they’ve certainly got their work cut out for them vs. Michigan State with a potential championship game vs. either Clemson or Oklahoma on the line. Roll Tide and Go Broncos!
Whew! Are you still with me? I would understand if you weren’t. I’m exhausted myself. I hope y’all managed to pack just as much into your fast moving 2015s as I did. Here’s to a slower 2016 with a little more peace and love around the world. Let’s never forget that “hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Coming this fall to a television, computer, tablet, smartphone, etc. near you…
*Inside the PDF, each network’s call letters will link you to show descriptions and each new show will link you to a video trailer.
There’s two dates in time that they’ll carve on your stone And everyone knows what they mean, what’s more important Is the time that is known in that little dash there in between
I learned many lessons from my mother that informed the person I am today. Compassion and love should be offered unconditionally. Thank you notes should be handwritten and prompt. There is no substitute for proper grammar. Willie Mays is the greatest baseball player to ever play the game. Elvis Presley will always be the king of rock and roll.
And Dean Smith might very well be the greatest man who ever lived.
So, it was Sunday morning that I found myself looking at my phone to find a breaking news text from ESPN reporting the passing of the greatest man in the world. My heart fell to my stomach. The blood drained from my face. I felt my blood pressure skyrocket. Yet, my first thought was “call mom,” which I did. I made a call I never wanted to make…EVER. Then, my own sadness bubbled to the surface because there isn’t a single second of my life when Coach Smith wasn’t a part of it. As I watched and read the stories flood in over the last several days, I found myself nodding my head. Some stories I hadn’t ever heard, but none surprised me because I’d heard a million other ones just like it. Stories that are unfathomable but nevertheless completely true because Coach Smith was one of a kind.
I could tell you all about the 879 wins, the 27 straight 20 win seasons, the one losing season in all 36 years of his head coaching career, the four national players of the year he coached, the Olympic gold medal, the four national coach of the year awards, the ACC regular season titles and tournament championships, the Final Four appearances, and the four college basketball national championships. Wait…what? Yep, I said four. Sure you’ve heard about 1982 and 1993, but maybe you missed that he won a national championship as a player at Kansas in 1952 and coached the Tar Heels to the 1971 NIT championship.
I could tell you the story about how his teams executed the four corners offense so consistently and with such suffocating perfection that the shot clock was implemented in college basketball to level the playing field.
I could tell you about the time he managed to win a game down 8 points with 17 seconds left and no three-point line.
Or maybe you’ve noticed players who just made a basket point to the teammate who passed them the ball. It’s called “thank the passer,” and it belongs to Coach Smith, but you’ll see it everywhere from AAU to high school to college to the pros. He believed no one player was more important than the whole. The name on the front of the jersey was what you played for, not the name on the back. He believed in teams, not stars even though he coached the biggest one of them all.
Oh sure, I could tell you all about how Michael Jordan had to do the same menial tasks every freshman who ever played at Carolina had to do, but through it all, Coach Smith taught him to respect the game. Coach Smith taught His Airness to be a leader in the 1982 National Championship game with 17 seconds to go. I could tell you how Michael, as Coach Smith simply called him, wore Carolina shorts under his NBA uniform every.single.game of his career because he was so dedicated to the Carolina Family. These two men became the state of North Carolina’s favorite sons: one adopted, one native.
You see, Coach Smith didn’t just coach basketball. He changed the way we play it, and he didn’t just coach his players in basketball. He coached them in life.
I can’t name every man who ever played Carolina Basketball, but Coach Smith could. Not only could he name them all, he could tell you the names of their family members, too because he kept in touch with them even after their sons finished their college careers. His secretary could walk into his office and say, “Michael is on the phone,” and he’d know instantly who it was just as instantly as if she’d said Larry or George or James or Phil or Antawn. These men…his men…counted on him for advice, for friendship, for guidance, and he never hesitated to help every one of them in any way he could.
The respect Coach Smith garnered throughout his life is evident in every player he taught. I’ve heard it multiple times over the last several days. Not once have I heard one of his former players refer to him as Dean or even Dean Smith. Every single time, they have called him Coach Smith or Coach. Even if the person asking the question refers to him as Dean Smith, the former player would respond with “Coach Smith…” every…time.
More than 96% of his players graduated even if it meant they had to come back to school during the NBA off season because they’d left school early for the pros. That’s practically unheard of in today’s world where student athletes jump to the NBA after their required one year of college is completed and never look back, but Coach Smith created a family that is recognized the world over not just because of its rich history and influence on the game, but because of the men it produced and the camaraderie they shared.
Yet, for as great a coach he was, Coach Smith was an even better person.
You may have heard that this man…this white man…walked into a well-known Chapel Hill restaurant with a local pastor and a black North Carolina theology student at the height of the Civil Rights Movement. It was 1964. Coach Smith had been the Carolina head coach for just three years. He was not yet revered the way he is now, but he walked into that restaurant and quietly sat down. They were asked to leave, and he said, “no,” thus integrating that restaurant and eventually Chapel Hill.
Maybe you’ve even heard about the time he helped a black UNC grad student purchase a home in an all-white neighborhood, but did you know the grad student, Howard Lee, later became the mayor of Chapel Hill, a North Carolina state Senator, and chairman of the state Board of Education? Was Coach Smith responsible for those accomplishments? Probably not, but perhaps knowing Coach Smith was behind him, gave Howard Lee just a little more courage than he already had.
In 1966, Coach Smith signed Charlie Scott as the first black scholarship athlete at UNC helping to spearhead the integration of the ACC. All my life, I thought Charlie Scott’s name was “Charlie Scott First Black Player in the ACC” because the action was so significant in the south that it became his legacy. But, he’s also a high school valedictorian, an Olympic gold medalist, a NBA champion, and a successful businessman, and whether you want to believe it or not, when he and Coach Smith took that step together they paved the way for Bob McAdoo, Walter Davis, Phil Ford, James Worthy, Sam Perkins, Michael Jordan, and every African-American basketball player who has played at Carolina or in the ACC after Charlie.
But understand, Coach Smith didn’t do these things with great fanfare. He wanted no recognition. He didn’t spend his time at post game press conferences telling the media what social injustice he was angered about that day. Coach Smith simply believed in decency and fairness and humanity, and he treated people as such because he believed “you should never be proud of doing the right thing. You should just do the right thing.” I saw multiple former Duke players say Coach Smith was the greatest man they ever met, but that sentiment didn’t stop with them. Members of the media, former players of other schools, NBA stars, and the President of the United States, who awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2013, all had the same thoughts. Absolutely anyone whoever came into contact with him came away with a story they’ll never forget.
Now, Coach Smith wasn’t perfect, and he’d have been the first person to tell you that. In fact, he’d have hated all the commotion over him this week. But in the simple act of being himself and standing up for what he believed in, he became extraordinary while never compromising his convictions. And so I found myself in the last few days trying to figure out how to honor Coach Smith appropriately. What could I do? What could we all do? How could we make sure he’s never forgotten?
And then, it occurred to me. I never met this gracious man, but not a day of my life has gone by when I felt like I didn’t know him. Then, I realized the only reason for that is because his legacy lives in my mother. I heard it in Antawn Jamison. I heard it in King Rice. I heard it in Charlie Scott, and I read it from Charlie Scott’s children. His legacy lives in all of us, and it is our responsibility to carry it forward and share it. So, tell Coach Smith’s story. He certainly left us with enough material. Tell your Coach Smith story. Shout it from the rooftops. Tell it every day if you have to because Coach Dean Edwards Smith, born in Kansas to public school teachers, died in Chapel Hill Saturday night surrounded by his wife of almost 39 years, his five children, his seven grandchildren, and his great-granddaughter, changed basketball, changed lives, changed the world, and left it a better place than how he found it. He has tossed the ball to us, now. We have to make the shot and thank the passer.
Rest in peace, Coach.