Time for Manning to kick the Colts

First appeared on November 6th, 2015
in The Lebanon Reporter

So your Colts are 3-5 and one person lighter on the payroll. They are a listing ship that has strayed far, far from course. A storm is brewing on the horizon, skies of dark blue and orange threaten as a power struggle has erupted at the helm.

Suddenly Jim Irsay, Chuck Pagano and Ryan Grigson are busy trying to elbow each other out of the way. Of course the bad news for Colts fans is, at this point it really doesn’t matter who grabs the wheel because nobody seems to know where they’re going anyway.

Pep Hamilton was forced off the plank, but don’t worry he didn’t see it coming. His face was buried in his poster-sized play chart hunting up another long pass play and he simply sunk like a stone. And now Rob Chudzinski has been handed the Scotch Tape and Superglue, so as to piece together what’s left of Andrew Luck’s ego. Meanwhile Luck, the once promising and unquestioned Captain, has been relegated to the hold, where he huddles in a dark corner, shell-shocked and shivering, mumbling to himself like a half-wit.

And the storm closes in as the ship rolls uncontrollably. An undefeated team, a tremendously talented defense and the future Hall of Famer the Colts gave up on four years ago are about to swamp what’s left of Indy’s half-submerged deck.

But he was done, his arm a noodle, no feeling in his hands. He can’t throw the deep ball anymore, look at his numbers. Manning isn’t what he used to be, Bob from Quality Control says, which is true, but he has a world class defense behind him you counter, one that has led him to an undefeated start. This is a point Bob is quick to shrug off as if he was the one who invented the Jet Sweep or Nickel Defense, which of course means conceding anything football to you is therefore forever beneath him.

Still, tired as he may appear, Manning’s Broncos are not the defenseless gazelle that has strayed from the herd, the one the Colts so desperately need to pounce on right now. Instead, they are a rabid she-wolf with superhuman strength and play every down as if you just kicked one of their pups in the teeth.

And so the greatest mind ever to play the sport sails in to town at the same time one of the games brightest young minds appears to have lost his. In the world of the NFL, the quarterback discussion will begin and end with Peyton until we are all dust in the wind, or Brett Favre attempts yet another comeback, whichever happens first.

So come on in Denver, everything else has gone wrong. Colts nation should embrace their impending beat down. They should open their arms and welcome the absolute skull-rattling thrashing their team will take Sunday. Here’s hoping the skies open up and it rains touchdowns. After all, the storybook years Peyton gave us deserve a Hollywood ending. One that includes his vanquishing the team that quit on him. And we all know a good vanquishing is not a true vanquishing without complete and utter domination.

Somehow it seems fitting that, for once, we should realize the fate so many suffered at the hands of Manning’s Colts for lo those many years. Don’t let the firing of Pep Hamilton fool you, this season is lost. With that in mind, let’s go out and set a new NFL record for points allowed. Let’s send Peyton out with more than a bang. Let’s send him out with an eruption of Krakatoan proportions.

© 2015 Eric Walker Williams

An open letter to the Indianapolis Colts

First appeared on September 30th, 2015
in The Lebanon Reporter

Dear Indianapolis Colts,

I just wanted to drop you a line to say thanks. Thank you Jim Irsay for not coming out of the stands at halftime Sunday in Nashville to fire Chuck Pagano, despite the fact every single Colt Fan, and probably a few who’ve spent time at a Pagano family reunion, fully expected you to do so.

Thank you Andrew Luck for deciding at some point in the Fourth Quarter that "spreading the ball around" doesn't mean sharing it with the other team. And while I’ve got your ear, rumor has it you were one pick away from Fans starting a movement to sign Out of Control Beard Andrew Luck to the roster. This means I’ll need you to keep hitting your targets, because Out of Control Beard Andrew Luck is so creepy a cheesy commercial is the only place I ever want to see him.

Thank you coaches for drafting Phillip Dorsett to electrify the return game only to make the decision to play Griff Whalen in front of him. I understand it’s common practice for rookies to learn from vets, but I’m fairly certain taking a knee and fair catching a football are both things Phillip learned at a very young age.

Thank you front office, coaches and players for not squelching the talk of dysfunction within the brass of the franchise. For, if you were in fact planning to go 0-16 before Sunday, at least those lonely, tortured and completely inadequate souls in the part-time-pretend sports media would have something interesting to write about.

Thank you offensive line for mixing up your strategies of drawing a holding penalty on any play that garners more than five yards with blocking absolutely no one. We understand this is a delicate balance and hats off to you for maintaining it for a full 60 minutes.

Thank you Pat McAfee for both being Pat McAfee as well as taking a chance on Sunday when everything was going completely wrong. And while your converted fake punt was almost immediately rendered irrelevant by another Luck interception, we still applaud anyone willing to stick their neck out while everyone around is busy shoving their heads in the sand.

Thank you Robert Mathis for enduring 10 surgeries and a grueling rehab schedule just to get back on the field. For even when all I had hoped for was crumbling down around me in a fury of turnovers, missed tackles and holding penalties, just seeing 98 getting after the quarterback again was enough to give me a spark of hope.

Thank you Dwight Lowery for being the only defensive player to actually get off the bus before the Fourth Quarter on Sunday. Your Pick six fooled me into believing my old team was back and then, upon returning to the belief my old team was in fact still enjoying quiet time in a lounge chair on a private Mexican beach, you intercepted another pass and saved me.

Finally, thank you to all the Colts. Despite waiting until the fourth quarter to do so, thank you for finally showing the fight, toughness, grit, execution and emotion I’d been expecting to see from you in the first two games. And while it remains unclear how people will remember me, one thing’s for sure, because of your efforts Sunday nobody has given up on me yet.

Thanks Again

Your Season


© 2015 Eric Walker Williams

Welcome Home Peyton?

First appeared on October 25th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Welcome Home Peyton, it’s good to see you again. We’ve missed you so much we decided to give you a 39-33 beat down on national television. OK, so maybe “beat down” goes too far when describing Sunday night, but surely it wasn’t the coming home party Manning envisioned.

The guys “coming home” after all. When was the last time you went home and got punched in the face? (all apologies to Anthony Weiner, this isn’t about you). This was supposed to be a smile for the cameras before tossing ten touchdowns and making Jim Irsay eat the biggest plate of crow since Skip Bayless ridiculed the Colts for letting Manning go to draft Andrew Luck kind of night.

But it wasn’t. Instead it became the Colts making Manning look ordinary despite the fact he was on pace to have the greatest season in NFL history. There was no moment Manning looked comfortable. From the video tribute where he made the Spartan-like gesture of removing his helmet to acknowledge the fans, to the first drive, to Robert Mathis and his sack-fumble-safety, Manning looked rattled from start to finish.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Colts fans longed to see Manning light the scoreboard up, if only to come up short in the end. They didn’t want to see four sacks, countless wobbly ducks and Britton Colquitt taking the field seven times.

They wanted a shootout at the OK Corrall between Andrew “The Kid” Luck and “The Sheriff”. What they got instead was a dominating Colt defense and a victory that somehow left them feeling sorry for the greatest quarterback in NFL history.

The hype machine had us drooling with anticipation. To welcome him home, we envisioned the city of Indianapolis replacing Lady Victory with a bust of Manning while the State legislature would lobby Washington to make Indiana the 18th state. Jim Irsay would cough up enough coin to commission a statue of Manning while Roger Goodell would make an appearance to knight “the Sheriff” beforehand.

Manning would take the field on a litter toted by the Broncos Offensive Line while the London Symphony Orchestra (accompanied by a nattily clad Jim Nabors) cranked out their own rendition of “Back Home Again in Indiana”. From the stands wives would faint into the arms of their husbands, thrusting them once again into the eternal struggle of woman vs. beer.

Meanwhile children in Manning Colt jerseys their parents are too cheap to replace, would sob uncontrollably as if the jumbo-tron had just revealed Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny are both fictionalized products of an unstable economic model based upon consumerism.
This was the welcome home Manning was to have, the welcome home he deserved.

What the Colts gave him Sunday night flies in the face of everything ‘Hoosier Hospitality’ stands for. And so we’re left to ponder just how much of Manning’s ineffectiveness was a product of the Colt pass rush and secondary play, and how much of it was his inability to move past the fact he was playing in Indianapolis again.

Is it possible the man who tried for so long to mask his emotions, was so overcome with them that it actually impacted his play? All these years Defensive Coordinators charged with stopping Manning have lost time pounding their heads against the wall while chain smoking cheap cigarettes when the answer was right there in front of their faces.

The best way to attack Manning is not with an exotic blitz package or Nickel coverage, rather it’s to strike straight for the heart. For after Sunday night, this appears to be his lone vulnerability.

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© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Don't Feel Sorry for Captain Comeback

First appeared on September 25th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

The San Francisco 49ers have gone from their SuperBowl appearance to preseason favorites to win the NFC West to a team racked with desperation after a 1-2 start. In the throes of Sunday’s 27-7 win, euphoric Colts fans became strangely conflicted over images of a lonely man on the sidelines. The one sporting the black turtleneck, sharpie clipped to his neck hole. A laconic face forced to look on helplessly, anguishing over every play, staring at his team in disbelief. That’s not the Jim Harbaugh we remember.

Sunday Indy was flawless. The defense reacting from perfect position, tackling with textbook precision. And in a league fawning over the pass, the Colts jettisoned one of the best defenses in the NFL by promptly running the ball down their throat in the Fourth Quarter. So with four minutes remaining and their team leading, a long forgotten part of every Colts fan began thinking comeback.
For, Colin Kaepernick voodoo doll or not, the tide simply had to turn at some point. This is completely understandable considering Captain Comeback himself was at the helm of the enemy ship.
But in the end Harbaugh came up short again.

Alas, don’t feel sorry for the man and don’t offer a hand up. The sons of football coaches line their bird cages with “Get Well Soon” cards. Besides, Harbaugh’s Midas touch from last year only meant his clipper ship was bound to hit rough waters some time. That’s Murphy’s Law and nobody’s exempt from it except apparently Bashar Al-Assad and the Chicago Cubs.

And while they exchanged a quick handshake at midfield, perhaps Chuck Pagano owed his opponent more. After all Harbaugh’s prints are all over Pagano’s team and the franchise. From his Captain Comeback days to the grooming of Andrew Luck at Stanford to helping Colts Offensive Coordinator Pep Hamilton author a ball control running style that, at least on Sunday, looks very promising, this latest incarnation of the Indianapolis Colts were built following a blueprint Harbaugh authored.

To Colts Fans Harbaugh remains a hero whose fate is tied to one play. One that again saw their quarterback scrambling for his life trying to avoid one of the 36 sacks he survived that season. One play from David, clutching a well worn copy of Football for Dummies, the chapter on ‘Winning Football’ still bookmarked with a Mayflower packing slip, versus the Goliath that was the Pittsburgh Steelers defense.

One play, one Hail Mary that would determine the AFC representative in the SuperBowl. One wobbly pass that seemed to hang in the frigid Pittsburgh air for an entire season, pulling Colts fans one and all from their couches in unison only to watch as it ricocheted off players like Oswald’s magic bullet before falling to the cold, hard, Three Rivers turf.

We recognized Harbaugh’s steely stare, his fiery bravado. But by Sunday’s Fourth Quarter, the stare was blank and the Colts had doused the bravado, if only temporarily. There was no better time for Indianapolis to play their best game. Falling to 1-2 after a disappointing home loss the week before and the earth-shaking trade it prompted would have been bad. And by bad, we’re talking a “Jim Irsay lobbying Twitter for more than 140 characters” kind of bad.

So many are quick to credit Peyton Manning with creating a football culture in Indiana. But history tells us it was more likely the run the Colts made in 1995, primarily under Harbaugh’s guidance, that first planted the seed. A magical season that saw Captain Comeback, and a once hapless franchise, come one play away from the SuperBowl.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Goodbye 18, it's been real

First appeared on March 14th, 2011
in The Lebanon Reporter

So you’re the biggest Colts fan ever. Yet somehow the national search missed you and settled on some 12 year old freckle faced dork from Fort Wayne. So it was understandably troubling when you, like everyone on Earth including the Bushmen of the Kalahari and Inuits of Nunavut, heard there was a strong chance the Indianapolis Colts were going to release Peyton Manning. In fact the first time you heard the news you became so startled you dropped your autographed copy of his biography into a steaming bowl of Spaghettios splattering orange globs all over your 2010 AFC Pro-Bowl Jersey.

Your High School coach told you “never say never” when Floyd County had you down by 35 at halftime, but in Manning’s case you know you’ll never see anything like him again. That was five days ago and for four straight mornings now you’ve awaken to check the Colts roster online only to discover again that he really is gone. You knew this day was coming, you just hoped you’d have won the lottery and bought your own private island in the Caribbean first; maybe the one next door to Michael Jordan’s.

Here you’d read every Doc Savage book ever written as a cabana boy keeps your bottomless cup filled and it would be enough to help you forget how much professional football, and Manning more importantly, meant to you.

You know there’ll be other quarterbacks. Some with laser arms and some with rocket arms. But one with a laser-rocket arm is rare indeed, as rare as the Yeti or someone playing defense in the first quarter of an NBA game.

But now he’s gone and you don’t know what to do. Crying seems a bit extreme, especially since you were noticeably devoid of emotion when burying your child’s gerbil in the back yard last November. And yet that’s just what Jim Irsay seemed to be doing during his joint press conference with Manning-something as insignificant as planting a domesticated rat amongst a bed of Petunias.

You took note of how nonchalant Irsay was while showing the door to the man who sparked your enjoyment of football and so you decide it’s time to move on. You pack up your Colt replica helmet popcorn caddy and #18 wristbands and head off to the place everyone goes to say goodbye to old friends. And when you get to Goodwill you find a line out the door of former season ticket holders toting their Colts memorabilia off as well.

You’ve seen the grainy video of Manning throwing and heard every sportswriter with a functioning voice box weigh in on what the Colts should do and still you, along with Mick Jagger, have mixed emotions. But you’re powerless to stop it now; maybe the freckle faced dork, but not you.

You don’t know what the future holds and who could expect you to? You gave your Tarot Cards, Crystal Ball and Ouija Board to Goodwill three years ago. But as you survey the line of people waiting to dump their Colts gear it becomes clear just how much Jim Irsay has stolen from them. And then comes the epiphany.

There’s one thing Fast Jimmy can’t take away from you. So you return to your car; which is somewhat hard to find considering half of them in the parking lot have horseshoes painted on their hoods, and as you pull away you do so knowing full well that, while Irsay may have gashed your soul with that Samurai Sword he called a “business decision”, try as he may he cannot take away your memoires.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams