Sunday night was agonizing for me. It took me a while to figure out why.
Throughout the two-week period leading up to Super Bowl XLI, I tried at all costs to avoid discussing football - I was still reeling from the Patriots' loss in the AFC title game. So whenever anyone dragged me into a conversation about the Super Bowl, my standard line was "I want the Bears to win, because I can't stand Peyton Manning," followed by a swift changing of the subject.
Meanwhile, deep down inside, I was desperately trying to figure out why I hate the man. I just couldn't put my finger on it.
Was I jealous of something? It couldn't be his on-the-field accomplishments - my favorite quarterback has three Super Bowl rings, and it took Peyton a decade to win his first. His acting skills? Doubtful - he's absolutely horrendous in that Sprint commercial where he wears that weird black wig. His good looks? No way - just look at that hideous huge forehead.
So I watched Sunday night's game, both praying for a Bears upset and searching for a reason for my hatred. Things started off well, thanks to the efforts of one Devin Hester, but it was all downhill from there. Slowly but surely, Reggie Wayne, Dominic Rhodes and Adam Vinatieri shattered my hopes and dreams.
After Kelvin Hayden's interception return in the fourth quarter, I pretty much gave up all hope. But I couldn't stop watching - only card-carrying communists change the channel from the Super Bowl - so I managed to make it through the final quarter. And so I watched as the Bears' drive finally gave out, the Colts dumped the Gatorade cooler on Tony Dungy, and the final seconds ticked off the clock.
For most people, the final seconds of a football game are meaningless. Play has ended, players and coaches alike are rushing the field, and the game is effectively over. But it was in those last seconds that I had an epiphany.
As time expired Sunday night, the one image seen on hundreds of millions of televisions across the globe was none other than Peyton Manning, walking across the field surrounded by throngs of rejoicing teammates. And that's when it hit me.
He's just like Derek Jeter.
Peyton and Derek have a lot of things in common - they're both in their 30s and still in their prime, they're both seven-time All-Stars (or Pro Bowlers, as it were), and they both appear in enough commercials to make the ghost of Dave Thomas jealous.
But here's the biggest similarity between the two superstars: regardless of their individual performances, whenever their teams win, they get the attention. Just as Fox assigns approximately 5,927 cameramen to follow Jeter every single Yankee game, CBS just can't keep its eyes off of Manning. Is this really fair?
I'm not knocking Peyton Manning. I think he's a superb quarterback - a certain Hall of Famer, and maybe even the best ever once all's said and done. But I'm getting to that point where I'm just about sick of his star power.
Contrary to popular belief, this was not one of Manning's better postseasons. It wasn't his worst, as that distinction will forever belong to the Colts' 41-0 first-round loss to the Jets five years ago, but 2007 was pretty mediocre for Manning as an individual. In four games, he threw for three touchdown passes and seven interceptions, and was rewarded with a Lombardi Trophy, more media attention in one day than any of us will see in our entire lives, and of course, a Super Bowl MVP award.
Are you kidding me?
It's as if everyone in the media, from the panel of MVP voters, to the CBS cameras who followed his every move, to the columnists who sang his praises across the world on Monday morning, is a trained robot, its soul sold long ago to the devil, or in this case, The Almighty Dollar.
Stardom sells, and it's much easier to make Peyton Manning the image of the Colts' success than to confess that it was really Rhodes and Joseph Addai who won that game.
So here's the main reason I'm writing this column: I'm here to stick up for the little guy. Rhodes ran for 113 yards and a touchdown, statistically his best game in five years, and Addai came out of nowhere to lead all players on both teams in catches and receiving yards, piling up 10 and 66, respectively.
In an ugly game marred by sloppy play on both sides, one could easily argue that Rhodes and Addai were the only two consistent players on the field that night. But in the end, no one will remember that. Super Bowl XLI will forever be known as the game that finally brought Peyton Manning to February glory, and nothing more.
It's not that Peyton Manning isn't a great quarterback. As a dark-haired, mustachioed wise man once told me, "the guy's pretty good, if you like 6-foot-5, 230-pound quarterbacks with a laser, rocket arm."
But sometimes, we should all just admit that Manning is human, and he has mediocre games. But just like Jeter has A-Rod, Giambi, Damon and Rivera, Manning has great teammates too. They deserve respect, and sometimes, they deserve more of it than the superstars do.
So what I realized Sunday night was that even though I sometimes think I hate Peyton Manning, it's not really his fault. In reality, I'm just tired of seeing stars.
