Dear Mr. Manning

I came across this on

Denver Post By Laurie



Denver Broncos quarterback Peyton Manning’s character sets him apart from so many of his peers. (Craig Walker, The Denver Post)

I am not a sports reporter, not an NFL analyst, not a former player.

I’ve never studied film, and I’ve not catalogued all the best and worst moments in football history.

I know the game of football well, though I still can’t figure out why you can challenge a first-down spot but not a pass interference call.

What I have done is played some seriously rugged flag football games, donned blue and orange every Sunday from August to January for the past 43 years, sat through some unbelievably frigid games at Mile High (once while 7 months pregnant) and cheered for the Denver Broncos since before I can remember … even during the heart-crushing games.

I even named my beloved Black Lab after John Mobley (who I still believe is responsible for saving the Broncos’ victory in Super Bowl XXXII against the Packers).

And most proudly, I am a mom of two little boys who adore their No.18 jerseys and can’t wait to find out “how Peyton Manning’s team did?” every Monday morning.

So I am undeniably biased.

And it is because of my bias — and lack of NFL analysis experience — that makes me far more qualified to talk about your legacy than any of those analysts, former players, coaches and commentators (I’m looking at you, Mike Greenberg and Cris Carter).

They operate in a world where urgency dictates everything, and controversy and sensationalism make the headlines.

No, I am more qualified because I am a mom.

I actually understand — on the most basic level — what legacy truly means.

Legacy is something handed down that matters. It is something that matters to young players and athletes and kids looking for mentors to help them find their way.

You don’t hand down Super Bowl trophies. You don’t hand down NFL MVPs or franchise records. And you don’t hand down touchdowns, statistics or win-loss records.

You hand down an example of work ethic, of courage to come back after a career-threatening injury, of humility in victory and graciousness in defeat, and of perspective on one’s own accomplishments. That legacy matters, and that’s why yours is untarnished even — and especially — after Sunday’s loss.

It matters that you’re professional in the way you talk to reporters.

It matters that you give credit to others — coaches, teammates, mentors.

It matters that you don’t give up in a bad game and keep fighting no matter the odds.

It matters that you take time to write hand-written notes to fans and sign autographs — even after crushing defeat.

It matters that you know the difference between being embarrassed by your team’s performance and just not being the best team on the field that day.

And it matters that you meticulously prepare to play the game … and encourage everyone around you to do the same.

I doubt you take stock in what those analysts say about your legacy (no doubt a trait your father has clearly bestowed upon you and your brothers), but I want you to know that this mom of two young boys who already recognize you’re different from the others, believes your legacy has never been stronger.

And I’m confident thousands of others agree with me.

Whether you win another game, your accomplishments in football are nothing short of remarkable — alongside many other outstanding players. But it’s your character that sets you apart from so many of your predecessors and peers.

And that’s a legacy that matters.

This is a fabulous article written by her and what it truly means to be a Legend. Thank you Laurie! 


Pound that Rock

A  father who had two young sons and he wanted to build a swing-set for them, but there was a huge rock right in the middle in the space that they had prepared for it.  So he gave the one son a sledgehammer and the other son a pick axe and said, ‘Go to work on that.  When you get it cracked, we’ll smooth it out and get it out of the way, because it’s too big for us to move or carry.’  They didn’t have the money to spend to have a truck come in and move it, so the two young guys went to work. The oldest one, at some point in time, got a little tired, but the youngest one goes back out with the pick axe and hits it one more time and it cracks and crumbles.  To make a long story short, the older one gave up on it.  He thought, ‘Hey this is a lot of work, and I don’t necessarily have to have a swing-set.  I’ll go to the ballpark and play, or do something else.’  The younger one still wanted that swing-set, so he just kept swinging at it.  The moral of the story is, ‘Keep pounding that rock.’