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Archive for the tag “Peyton Manning”

Domino Theory

As every red-blooded American football fan is acutely aware, Peyton Manning is deciding whether to retire, the Broncos are deciding whether to cut him if he does not retire (in order to save $19million), and depending on how that turns out, the Broncos are deciding what to do about Brock Osweiler, who becomes a free agent on Tuesday if not sooner signed.

You see where I am going with this.  If Peyton retires or is cut and then Brock does not make a deal with the Broncos, they will need a quarterback.

In my previous post, I explained scientifically why I am the man for the job.

If the Broncos sign me on Wednesday, you can read about it right here or simply watch ESPN

Top Bronco Fan Status

My wife, Miss Sugar, is a generous and creative person.

But now let’s talk about me, me, me.  I might have mentioned in other posts that I am an avid Bronco fan (and unsigned NFL free agent to be signed by the Broncos at a future date which has not yet been disclosed).  I have an official NFL jersey identical to that worn by Peyton Manning.  I have a Broncos T shirt.  I have an NFL Players Association shirt obtained in connection with service on the NFLPA Workers Compensation Panel.  I am, as you should have discerned, a pretty big deal.

Sugar is an enabler.  She contributes to my delusions.  Last week she gave me an early Valentine present — a unique silver cuff made by a Navajo artist.  Sugar commissioned the piece of jewelry pictured below.  It was made for me, me, me.  No one else has one like it.  It features the Bronco logo of a horse head.  It is beautiful.  By wearing it, I am automatically the coolest Bronco fan, thanks to Sugar.

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When I am ultimately signed by the Broncos, I will show it to my teammates.  They will be envious.  But I am used to that.

Wait until they see my hot trophy wife.

Now the problem is — what can I get Sugar for Valentine’s Day?

Go Broncos!

The NFL deadline for teams to sign free agents has passed and I remain an unsigned free agent.  Therefore, I will not be playing in SuperBowl 50.  Nevertheless, I will be watching intently, wearing my Peyton Manning #18 jersey, which I was wearing while I watched the Broncos defeat the New England Patriots for the AFC Championship.  I am glad to help in that way.

The NFC champs, the Carolina Panthers, are favored by the Las Vegas oddsmakers.  Peyton and I do not worry about that.  We will just do what we have to do to win.

Despite being unsigned by the Broncos, I do not hold a grudge.  There is always next year to make the roster.  In the meantime, I have explained to my supportive wife that it is important for me to keep my weight up.  I am married to the right woman for that.  This weekend Sugar made a wonderful Italian dinner for thirty people.  As usual, she overdid it.  We have leftovers.  I love her lasagna.  Therefore, I ate lasagna for breakfast the next day.  Breakfast of Champions!  And for dinner?  The dinner of champions — ziti and bread and a canoli for  dessert.  Don’t worry Coach Kubiak, I am the perfect weight for an NFL linebacker.  Give me a call sometime after the SuperBowl victory.  I will be ready for next season.

Monday Morning Quarterbacking

As everyone in the civilized world is aware from watching the game yesterday, the Colts knocked the Broncos out of the playoffs. Unless you live in Indianapolis, you are severely depressed by the outcome of that game. And you are concerned about the future of Peyton Manning. So am I.

Of the millions of you who watched the game and noticed that I was not playing in the game, few have contacted me directly, yet I have a feeling that everyone is wondering why I was not out there on the field. Two words: bum knees. Those bum knees prevented me from turning the tide, as all of you were waiting for me to do. I apologize to each and every one of you on this very public forum. I was not at the stadium. I was 75 miles away, on a couch, eating snacks. The snacks were delicious, provided by our host and hostess who invited us to watch the game at their home, knowing about our house fire and consequential lack of a TV.

I do not know whether I will be in the NFL next year. Like Peyton Manning, I am considering retiring from professional football. I want to be able to contribute 100%. It is frustrating for me to be on injured reserve status.

My most loyal fan, Miss Sugar, is not pushing me to decide immediately. She is willing to let me work out in the off-season before making a press announcement. If I have the recommended double knee replacement surgery, I might, after physical therapy, regain my pre-injury speed. But don’t count on it. It is a day to day decision.

If you spot Peyton and me playing checkers in the park, you will read into that the answer to all this speculation about our potential respective retirements. I will likely decide that if Peyton will not be playing, then I will not play either.

I Got It Wrong

The following won’t make sense unless you read yesterday’s post.

Sugar told me that it is not being the best Mark you can be; it is being the Mark that you want to be.  The Mark that Mark wants to be is thinner than the Mark he was. 

“Oh,” I said, “the Mark you want to be might not be the best Mark you can be.  You might want to be a more relaxed Mark.”

“It is not about Mark.  You are supposed to substitute your own name,” Sugar said with that instructional tone she uses as a teacher.

“Okay.  Well, the Al I want to be plays with Peyton Manning.”

“That is delusional.  Pick another Al you want to be.”

This is too confusing.  I will give Peyton a call and ask whether he is being the best Peyton that he can be or simply the Peyton that he wants to be. I think they are the same. 

The Morning After

Yesterday was, as every real American knows, the Super Bowl.

This morning I awoke in a cold, dark place.  I was still wearing my Bronco jersey.  It was dripping with sweat.  I was curled in a fetal position. 

“Al, don’t you have to be in court today?” Sugar disturbed my focus on my deep depression.

“Sugar, I am sure the courthouse will be closed and the flags at half mast on this sad day.  Remember, the Broncos lost the game.  I am in mourning.”

“Well, maybe the judge and your client and opposing counsel did not take it as hard as you have.”

“How dare you, woman!  Of course they feel as sad as I do.  I am in no condition to be in court.  I have to watch the game films.  I have to talk to Coach Fox about my role on next year’s team.  Peyton and Champ won’t retire and neither will I.  We are a team.”

“Well, they probably got out of bed and in case the judge did too, maybe you should swing by the courthouse on your way to Bronco headquarters at Dove Valley.  You know, to verify that the courthouse is closed.”

So I went to the courthouse wearing my official NFL-licensed Peyton Manning Bronco jersey — #18.  To my surprise, it was open.  I went to the courtroom where my case was to be heard.  The judge was in his robes.  Opposing counsel was wearing a suit and tie.

“Judge, I need a brief continuance so I can go home to get a tie, unless you will waive that silly rule about courtroom attire.”

“Normally, as you know, I enforce that rule, but for you, Mr. Manning, I will make an exception.”

“Thank you, your Honor.  I am on my way to Dove Valley, so if you don’t mind, I waive my right to present evidence and would like to proceed to my closing argument.”

“Actually, I am ready to rule.  You win!”

The other lawyer objected.  The judge over-ruled the objection. 

Sure, there might be an appeal.  Go ahead, make my day!  Who do they think they are dealing with? 

Twins

Peyton Manning and I like to dress alike in our Bronco gear.  I don’t mind when he does that.  Imitation is the highest form of flattery, they say.

 

jersey
jersey

Smell of Sweet Success

So I have written recently about my official NFL licensed #18 Peyton Manning Bronco jersey. Remember?  All season, I would wear it, like many other fans with Bronco jerseys, on game days, and maybe even on the Friday before a Sunday game. In the playoffs, it became time to step it up.

Last week, in preparation for the AFC Championship last Sunday, I started wearing my jersey on Thursday and continued on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.  Then, in celebration, it was appropriate to wear it on Monday.  Similarly, Tuesday and thereafter, I felt it my duty to keep up the team spirit by wearing my jersey each and every day.   I have followed that course of duty each and every day.  That statement is not fully descriptive.  I meant day and night, for luck is a fickle thing and night loyalty might be even more important than day loyalty. 

With the Super Bowl approaching, and only one more week before the game, it has seemed important to me to stay the course.  I imagine that there is a Seahawk fan out there, wearing a Seahawk jersey relentlessly.  It is between him and me.  Which of us is the stronger of spirit?

My wife, Miss Sugar, is, as I have often observed, just a girl.  She does not understand manly things.  She sees no harm in washing my lucky jersey.  That is just what my Seahawk counterpart is waiting for.  And I am waiting for his wife to wash his jersey.  That is when I will have him.  At that moment, the Bronco Super Bowl victory will be sealed and they will have little old me to thank for it. Coach, I can beat this guy!

Oh, sure, Sports Illustrated, ESPN, CBS Sports and all the commentators won’t give me credit, but I won’t mind.  I don’t need credit for the victory.  I just want to do my part for the team. 

It is only crazy if it does not work. 

Name Game

My mother-in-law is a pretty nice lady, but today I am ashamed of her.  I am so ashamed that I hesitate to publish on the internet the gravity of her sin.  Grave sin!  (What other kind is there? Oh, venial and mortal.  Well, this is clearly not venial, so there you have it.)

Now that I have your attention, I will explain my shame and put to an end further speculation.  What is so unpardonable?  I will tell you and you will be equally repulsed if you are a true American.  If you are not a true American, you might not be repulsed.  Or, you might just be a girl.

My wife Sugar is just a girl, yet she handled her mother’s sinful remark (which I am about to get to) in a manner that validated my involvement with the National Football League.  At least some of my investment of time has rubbed off on Sugar.

Ginger, who claims to be Sugar’s mother, learned from Sugar the Facebook news that a cousin of Sugar had a baby and that these parents named the baby Peyton.  So far so good.  Then Ginger said what caused me to lose all respect for her.

Ginger said, “I have never heard of naming a little boy Peyton.”

Thankfully, Sugar informed her that Archie Manning and his wife named one of their sons Peyton.  You can look it up!  It is true!

I hasten to speculate that in Indianapolis, in every classroom of thirty kids, at least five of them are named Peyton.  In Colorado, every boy born in the past two years has been named Peyton, with very few exceptions.

I am thinking of changing my name to Peyton.  I am trying to convince my brother, Johnny Unitas, to change his name to Eli.

An Invitation to Justin Bieber

I was in my study, at my computer, doing something very important, when Miss Sugar called out, “Al, a cow got through the fence, crossed the river, and the dogs are chasing her back across the river again, but in the wrong place.”

So I jumped up immediately, without finishing the internet article about Justin Bieber visiting the Great Wall of China by having two bodyguards carry him on their shoulders up the steps.

Still wearing my lawyer clothes, for I had been in meetings in Fort Collins and Cheyenne earlier in the day,  I shed my suit coat and substituted rubber boots for my dress boots.  Then I walked to the bridge, crossed it, and opened the gate into the area where the cow was anxiously trying to discern a route back to her herd.  (By the way, cows are not known for their discernment.)

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The dogs were glad to have my help.  Sugar, however, intervened.  She called them back home, which required them to swim across the river again.  For Labs, that is fun.  They are great swimmers.  As Sugar realized, they are not great herders.  They tend to chase cows further and further away.

I used my discernment and experience to quietly go past the cow before moving her, so as to direct her back towards the gate I had opened rather than using the dogs’ plan of chasing her away.  My plan worked very slick — for awhile.

I got her heading the correct direction along the fence toward the gate, when she decided that she did not need a gate.   She awkwardly achieved her goal of getting through the fence and back to the herd.  It amazes me that large cows can somehow get through a four strand barbed wire fence without breaking the fence or hurting themselves.  Horses can’t do that and they are much more graceful creatures.  They get hung up.  They cut themselves.  Cows are superior escape artists.

Walking back, I thought of Justin Bieber.  It might do him some good to work on a ranch.  Out here we don’t carry other guys on our shoulders unless they are football coaches or star players who just won an important game, and even that is rarely seen.  We don’t carry musicians on our shoulders.  That is where we draw the line.

I invite Justin to come visit Cross Creek Ranch and we will put him to work.  We will supply the rubber boots and work gloves.

Peyton Manning is also invited.  I would gladly carry him around on my shoulders.  He deserves it!

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