January 16, 2006
The Indianapolis Star
Suddenly, it was like the entire football season never really happened. Like those 13 straight victories, a stretch of excellence nearly unrivaled in history, never happened. Like the chase for the Perfect Season never happened.
It was over just when it was supposed to have started, leaving the Indianapolis Colts, the city and, really, all of the NFL in a state of utter incredulity. As Mike Vanderjagt's field-goal attempt wobbled pitifully off into the blue ether, the scope of the Colts' 21-18 playoff loss came into grim focus, and a daylong out-of-body experience gave way to anger and resignation.
It had happened.
Again.
Another big game. Another big stage. Another spectacular flameout, a meltdown of epic proportions.
Seen this movie before? There was 41-0 to the Jets in 2003. There was 24-14 in 2004 and 21-3 in 2005, both in New England. And then there was this, the worst of them all, a game Peyton Manning, in particular, may never live down.
Even now, the clouds of doubt are gathering around Manning, and the whispers are so loud, they seemed to be artificially enhanced. He can't win the big one. Didn't win them in college. Hasn't won them in the pros. Not the biggest ones.
"I cannot argue with the truth," Manning said later. "I'm not going to try and counter any points. That's the fact. It's certainly not from a lack of effort on my part. I can honestly say that. . . . I'm just going to keep trying. That's all I can say."
This was, without any question, the most devastating loss in the Indianapolis portion of the Colts' history. And the case could be made that this was the most horrific loss in the history of professional sports in this area.
This one will hurt more than all the others, though, because this was the year. All the planets were aligned. Home-field advantage. A bye month, never mind a bye week. A chance to stay indoors all the way through the Super Bowl.
What happened Sunday defies description and proper analysis. Suffice to say, the Colts got their heads handed to them. They were embarrassed. They were revealed, again, as paper tigers. And they even made Steelers linebacker Joey Porter, who ripped their offense as soft earlier in the week, sound like a graduate of Oxford.
The quick and simple evaluation goes like this (and please don't play the "they-were-rested-too-early" card, which is a copout): They got outplayed, out-hit and thoroughly outcoached, especially on the offensive side of the ball.
All day, the Steelers penetrated the gap between the Colts' center and guard. All day, blitzes crashed upon Manning like a giant wave. And the Colts never found answers. How about screen passes? Something. Anything to slow the rush. There was nothing. No adjustment. No Plan B.
Maybe the Colts were right, after all. It wasn't the bad weather in New England. They could play just as poorly in perfect conditions.
"I can't explain what happened," said Edgerrin James. "I really don't know what to say."
How many chances can one team blow in a single game?
They benefited from the Steelers' decision to go conservative in the fourth quarter. They benefited from the Immaculate Deception, an inexplicable overturned call that should have resulted in a Troy Polamalu interception. And they got the mother of all breaks when Jerome Bettis, who never fumbles, lost the ball as he was heading in for the game-ending touchdown.
"The football gods weren't smiling on us," team president Bill Polian said as his team's locker room emptied. "The one guy with two bad legs (Nick Harper) picks up the fumble. Anybody else, maybe he goes all the way."
Who would have thought Ben Roethlisberger would make the biggest tackle of the day?
This cannot continue to happen to a team built around its offense. Manning has every conceivable weapon at his disposal. A Hall of Fame receiver. A possible Hall of Fame running back. These last four playoff losses, though, that group has scored 0, 14, 3 and 18 points.
Sure, there was enormous pressure on Manning, the first time the blitz has hurt this offense all season. But even when he was given protection, he failed to produce. His throws were scattered. His feet were happy. And even the strongest part of his game, his mental strength, was lacking. He mismanaged the clock late, throwing away a chance to take advantage of the two-minute warning. When the Colts simply needed a first down and some yards to bring Vanderjagt closer, Manning was going downfield, looking for the home run.
"I thought they'd go for the first down on third down," said Vanderjagt, still sitting in full uniform long after the game. "But I've got to make the kick. It wasn't even close."
Nobody wants to rip Manning, because he's been The Franchise since 1998, because he's meant so much to this community, and because his desire to bring a championship here is absolutely undeniable. Maybe, just maybe, he wants it too much. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks too much in these situations and doesn't let his talent carry him. It's not a lack of heart, or a lack of any other notable body parts, but something is missing.
Until he finds whatever it is that separates him from Tom Brady or any of the great quarterbacks, the cloud of doubt will hover over him.
There is the same reservation about dropping the hammer on Tony Dungy. He is the most decent man most of us have ever met in professional sports. And he has just come through the worst sort of family tragedy.
Still, it must be said: His teams have an undeniable history of pulling up lame in the playoffs. It happened in Tampa Bay. And in his five years here, it has happened four times. Not just losses, but virtual no-shows, marked by slow starts and a failure to make adjustments on the run.
This was why some of us -- OK, one of us -- had the temerity to wonder why the Colts were so anxious to drop a five-year extension in his lap earlier this season. How many times does this have to happen before the Colts reach the same conclusion as the Buccaneers? That for all he accomplishes, he might not be the man to take a team to the top.
The window of opportunity does not now close, not as long as Manning and this nucleus (sans James) remains. But every lost year brings them closer to never getting it done. This was the year. And then, just like that, it was not.
"I don't want to be saying this every single press conference after a playoff loss," Manning said. "Sooner or later, you run out of years, and there is no next year."
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