And the winner is …
All the essential questions of the age beg to be answered. Cash or credit, paper or plastic, boxers or briefs, Beyonce or Lady Gaga?
And so it is with Peyton Manning or Tom Brady, quarterbacks of their time and of our time, maybe of all time, depending on whether Joe Montana still is taking calls.
For this young century at least, with occasional competition from Drew Brees and the looming notice of Aaron Rodgers and Cam Newton, they are the legends of the game, as tightly tied together as the laces of a legally inflated football.
Still, any list of the greatest tends to begin with Montana, or at least has Joe Cool sandwiched between Manning and Brady, geography determining which is the top slice.
Maybe papa Archie Manning was better than all three of them, “the best dad-burned quarterback to ever play the game,” according to his own ballad. Archie Who is at least the greatest sire of quarterbacks, nothing to be dismissed.
The search will continue beyond this generation, and maybe Newton will stake his claim before Russell Wilson does, but it does seem unlikely that another pair will be along soon to stir up Sundays as Brady and Manning have done.
One more game between Manning and Brady will settle only who gets another tomorrow, maybe the last for Manning, who knows for Brady.
The urgency to rank quarterbacks may not have been an obligation until Bill Walsh invented the long handoff, Montana’s signature play. Dink, dink and then Jerry Rice. Four Super Bowls and applause, applause. Argument over.
That’s how things are measured, apparently, being there at the end, which certainly gives Brady the edge. But then there’s Terry Bradshaw, too, Fran Tarkenton and Jim Kelly, and John Elway, who lost as many Super Bowls as he won.
There were quarterbacks before Montana and Elway and Dan Marino and Brett Favre, before Manning and Brady as well, but the film is fuzzy and John Unitas’ high tops are funny. Geez, Otto Graham didn’t even wear a quarterback’s number until new rules made him do it.
And now we have drones, face stubble, the Frappuccino and the 17th edition of Manning v. Brady to define the time we live in, not necessarily progress.
Here is what we know. Manning got old before Brady, though he had more than a year’s head start. In football years they are roughly the same, except that Brady is playing like he is 10 years younger and Manning is playing as if he is someone else.
Manning is a caretaker now, a famous figurehead, while it is the Broncos defense that thumps heads. Brady is no less than what he always has been. But you can’t make a magazine cover out of that, or fill pregame hours or get a free column from the obvious.
So Manning and Brady it is and thanks again for staying significant for one more reunion, nothing less than the Super Bowl at stake.
If ever there was a case of an aging idol getting a last bow, this is it for Manning. Not that sentiment or even habit is the entire motivation for the Broncos because to them Manning is a found coat that will be tossed when the weather changes.
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The Broncos have no other choice, save the raw and uneven Brock Osweiler, who became notable when he beat the Bears and followed that with a whipping of these same Patriots, all while Manning nursed a sore foot. Osweiler is forgettable, just a thumb in the dike.
Brady is New England’s darling, a sports immortal there with Teddy Ballgame and Yaz and Bobby Orr and all those Celtics. He came, he stayed, he triumphed. He never will fade for age cannot wither him nor custom stale his infinite variety. Something like that.
The numbers favor Brady, the calendar, this season, 11-5 all time, but the weight of good will falls on Manning, who is like Kristofferson’s weary warrior, tired and in trouble, fighting to finish.
It matters not where Manning lands on the final list, nor Brady either. All questions do not need answers.
Bernie Lincicome is a special contributor to the baiduhai.