Other than that Peyton is Peyton, still as straight as a row of Indiana corn. Mostly he is the exact same maniacal preparation nut he was when he was 22 and had a league to learn. He mostly hangs out in the film room or on the practice field taking extra snaps.
“You can’t get him off the field, other than for commercials,” cracked defensive end Robert Mathis.
Seasons come and seasons go. Championships are won and games lost, and here is Manning and his Colts. This year the 32-year-old enters with concerns over his surgically-repaired knee, his lack of preseason snaps and his facing the most unforgiving division in football.
Yet the expectations are the same.
He is no longer the Manning brother dominating conversation; is a bit under the radar (if you can believe it); and, whether anyone here wants to admit it or not, is facing a season where Indianapolis’ championship window may slowly be closing.
Tony Dungy calls it “death by inches” and it refers to the self-induced fade that can affect individuals and teams. A Super Bowl can satisfy, a fat bank account can marginalize and all of a sudden the little details that win football games can be, unknowingly, glossed over.
“You don’t think you are (being complacent),” Dungy said. “You think you’re doing the exact same thing. You think you’re working hard, but there is something subconsciously that says, ‘I’ve done this before, I don’t need to watch three rolls of tape. I’ll watch one.’ ”
So he turns to No. 18, who watches five rolls. This summer Manning couldn’t practice on the field, so he spent time watching film, got even more excited about meetings and wore out his teammates’ cell phones with calls to discuss details.
“You can’t get him off the field, other than for commercials,” cracked defensive end Robert Mathis.
Seasons come and seasons go. Championships are won and games lost, and here is Manning and his Colts. This year the 32-year-old enters with concerns over his surgically-repaired knee, his lack of preseason snaps and his facing the most unforgiving division in football.
Yet the expectations are the same.
He is no longer the Manning brother dominating conversation; is a bit under the radar (if you can believe it); and, whether anyone here wants to admit it or not, is facing a season where Indianapolis’ championship window may slowly be closing.
Tony Dungy calls it “death by inches” and it refers to the self-induced fade that can affect individuals and teams. A Super Bowl can satisfy, a fat bank account can marginalize and all of a sudden the little details that win football games can be, unknowingly, glossed over.
“You don’t think you are (being complacent),” Dungy said. “You think you’re doing the exact same thing. You think you’re working hard, but there is something subconsciously that says, ‘I’ve done this before, I don’t need to watch three rolls of tape. I’ll watch one.’ ”
So he turns to No. 18, who watches five rolls. This summer Manning couldn’t practice on the field, so he spent time watching film, got even more excited about meetings and wore out his teammates’ cell phones with calls to discuss details.
You’ll see a right turn at the Indy 500 before Manning relaxes.
“I’ve really prepared every single season, every single week as if I was vying for a job,” said the guy who has started all 160 games of his career. “As if I was competing, as if I had to be sure I was doing my part to go out there and win the job or keep the job.
“I’ve really prepared every single season, every single week as if I was vying for a job,” said the guy who has started all 160 games of his career. “As if I was competing, as if I had to be sure I was doing my part to go out there and win the job or keep the job.
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