Has Maria Peaked?

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Today, while most of the rest of the sports world was anticipating the NCAA Tournament's Final Four, I was doing something I did a year ago in what was a true deja vu moment.

I watched the women's final of the Sony Ericsson tennis tournament in Key Biscayne, Fla. And, just like last year, Maria Sharapova lost in straight sets.

Last year, Sharapova lost to Victoria Azarenka, an up–and–comer who had been attracting some attention for awhile (and continued to do so through the end of the year). This time she lost to Agnieszka Radwanska of Poland. Radwanska has been a professional for several years, but she has kept such a low profile that most people who consider themselves tennis fans probably never heard of her until just recently.

This title was the biggest of Radwanska's brief career, and I don't wish to take anything away from her, but I can't help wondering if Sharapova has peaked.

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I asked a friend of mine who used to write about tennis for the Arkansas Gazette when I was there if he thought Sharapova has peaked. He replied that he hadn't seen the match, but he thinks her shoulder injury may still be bothering her.

That's a plausible argument, based on what I saw today. But it doesn't explain everything.

As Good As It Gets

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Ask any college basketball fan to list the greatest games of all time, and there are certain games that any such list is bound to include:

• The 1966 NCAA Tournament title game, in which all–black Texas Western upset favored powerhouse Kentucky.


• The 1979 title game, in which Larry Bird of Indiana State and Magic Johnson of Michigan State gave NBA fans a preview of coming attractions.


• The 1983 title game, in which Jim Valvano's North Carolina State team upset the heavily favored Houston Cougars of Phi Slamma Jamma fame.


• The 1985 title game, in which lightly regarded Villanova shocked Georgetown.

Clearly, many of the memorable games have been the ones in which championships were on the line, although there have been some truly great games played when a title was not at stake ...

... Such as the night in January 1968 when second–ranked Houston defeated top–ranked and defending national champion UCLA in the first college game ever televised nationally in prime time. Prior to that game, UCLA had won 47 consecutive games.

It was called the Game of the Century, and it is widely remembered as the precursor to the March Madness that millions celebrate every year.

And every college basketball fan will tell you that he has certain memories that are special to him — but not necessarily to others.

One of my most cherished memories from my college days was the afternoon when my alma mater, the University of Arkansas, turned back defending champion Louisville with a half–court buzzer shot.

There were so many incredible finishes on that day, wrote Tim Layden of Sports Illustrated recently, that March 14, 1981, was the day that transformed the NCAA Tournament to March Madness.

Or, at least, it was the day when that transformation began.

That may be so.

But, if there was a game that really cemented the tournament's popular image of March Madness, I think it had to be the East Regional final that was played between Duke and Kentucky on this day 20 years ago.

Kentucky, of course, is one of college basketball's elite programs, along with UCLA, North Carolina, Indiana, Kansas, Michigan State, Louisville ...

... and Duke, which may or may not have qualified as an elite program in 1992. Mike Krzyzewski had led the Blue Devils to the national title the year before, but that was Duke's first.

Duke was, however, making its fifth straight appearance in the Elite Eight when it faced Kentucky 20 years ago today so Coach K clearly had established a pattern of success — but he had not yet won the four national titles that currently have him tied with the legendary Adolph Rupp for second place in that category.

Coach K won't get to add to that tally this year, but on this day 20 years ago, he was about to return to the Final Four for the fifth straight year.

Both Duke and Kentucky cruised to their rendezvous in Philadelphia. Only once — in Kentucky's second–round clash with Iowa State — was victory achieved by fewer than 10 points.

In other words, nothing that had happened in the earlier rounds could have prepared the partisans from either side for what they were about to witness.

Duke and Kentucky had to play an overtime period to decide their duel — and, even then, it came down to a last–second shot by Christian Laettner.

There were five lead changes in the final 30 seconds. The teams combined to make nearly two–thirds of their shots in the second half and the overtime period. And Laettner's shot still makes every important college basketball highlight reel, just as Kirk Gibson's World Series homer and Dwight Clark's end zone catch always make the highlight reels in their sports.

Duke went on to successfully defend its national title against Michigan after a nail–biter of a semifinal against Indiana.

Kentucky would scale the championship heights again, but, as Alex Wolff writes in Sports Illustrated, the wound is still raw.

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"Even today, 20 years after what's widely considered the greatest college game ever played, Kentucky loyalists regard the Blue Devils' 104–103 overtime victory ... as having touched off a collective psychotic break."

Alex Wolff

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I almost missed it.

It was a Saturday. The game, as I recall, was scheduled to begin in mid–afternoon, and it so happened that a family friend was getting married that day, too.

The wedding was to take place here in Dallas. I lived in Denton, which is roughly 40 miles north of here. Through the ceremony and the reception, I kept an eye on the clock — and I finally managed to leave just before tipoff.

I listened to the first half on the radio and was home in time to see most of the second half.

Most, if not all, of the Kentucky fans who watched probably wish they hadn't seen it. But, if you are a fan of a team, you are going to feel compelled to watch its games, especially the ones in the postseason.

Fans of most teams know there is always the possibility that the game they watch will end in defeat, but fans of certain teams have been conditioned by past success to expect to win, even if the oddsmakers disagree.

For such fans, any defeat — but especially one like the one that was handed to Kentucky 20 years ago today — is awfully difficult to choke down.

And, in spite of subsequent successes, Wildcat fans still struggle with it, wincing at the bitter aftertaste.

Wolff observes that the author of a new book about the game has been told by Kentucky fans that they won't buy the book because Laettner's image is on the cover.

And even the passage of two decades has not been enough time to permit them to see that picture on their coffee tables without remembering in vivid detail the pain his fallaway jumper brought them.

Bert Sugar Dies

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Unless you follow boxing, you may not know who Bert Sugar was.

Bert Sugar was a sports journalist. I prefer that term to sports writer because sports writer sounds like the writer in question could have written about anything but settled for sports — or was forced to do so by circumstances.

Sugar may have chosen to write about sports, but he didn't settle, and he wasn't forced into it. I always felt he was born to write about sports, particularly boxing. It was his passion, the way it is some sports journalists' passion to write about horse racing.

How ironic it was that he should die a couple of days after the 50th anniversary of the fight that, reportedly, led to boxing's first televised fatality.

I'm tempted to compare him to Red Smith, but Smith was a true sports journalist, writing about every sport with equal enthusiasm — whereas Sugar really was more of a specialist.

Sugar wrote more than 80 books, but most of them dealt with boxing. He was a boxing historian. Some of his books were about baseball — one was even about early 20th century escape artist Harry Houdini — but most were about boxing — the great fights, the great fighters — filled with nuggets that most casual observers would never know otherwise.

I read some of his books. I saw him on TV more frequently, commenting on the sport, offering insights no one else could. He was always easy to spot with his tradmark fedora hat. He was kind of an amiable, informal version of Tom Landry, I suppose.

He was afflicted with lung cancer — no doubt an outcome of his long cigar habit — and that, apparently, was what finally took his life.

He will be missed, especially whenever a significant fight comes along.

The Tragic Tale of Benny Paret

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"Sure there have been injuries and deaths in boxing — but none of them serious."

Alan Minter
Former middleweight champion

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I don't know when Minter made that comment — perhaps it was before a fellow named Angelo Jacopucci died from injuries suffered in a 1978 fight with Minter. Perhaps not.

Whenever it was, though, I doubt that it was prior to this day in 1962. Minter was only 10 years old.

Neither do I know if Minter's family owned a TV in 1962. TV ownership was still something of a novelty in those days. But if the Minters did have a TV in their home, it may have been set to ABC on this night 50 years ago — when Benny Paret and Emile Griffith met in a fight for the welterweight crown.

Paret and Griffith, who were both in their mid–20s, had fought twice before. Griffith won the first by a knockout, and Paret won the second in a split decision. The bout in New York's Madison Square Garden, scheduled for 15 rounds, was to be their rubber match.

In the 12th round, TV viewers had just heard the announcer say it had been a "slow round" when Griffith unleashed a furious flurry of blows to his opponent while he was pinned against the ropes. Referee Ruby Goldstein stepped in to stop the fight — somewhat belatedly, some thought — and Paret lapsed into a coma.

He died on April 3.

Many reasons have been suggested as contributing to Paret's death; all may have played roles.

New York's boxing authorities, for example, were criticized for clearing Paret to fight again four months after he was knocked out by Gene Fullmer.

Goldstein, it was said, should have stopped the fight earlier. Goldstein, who died in 1984, never refereed a professional bout again.

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"Prodded by fear or maybe by conscience, Manny Alfaro, Paret's manager, gave a disgraceful performance trying to pin the blame on Ruby Goldstein, the referee. Nobody involved has any right to blame anybody else for a tragic accident, least of all a manager who gets his boy cruelly beaten by Gene Fullmer, then sends him back against a man who has already knocked him out."

Red Smith

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Paret himself was blamed. At the weigh–in, Paret reportedly used a Spanish slang word for faggot in reference to Griffith — with the implication being that Griffith was homosexual. At the time, the suggestion that any athlete was homosexual would wreck his career, and it was especially egregious in the Spanish culture from which they both came.

Paret's death is often said to have been boxing's first televised fatality. And, although the cause of death was clearly the brain injury he suffered, there are many theories that attempt to explain why it happened at all. Some are plausible, some are not.

Deaths do occur in the ring, but they have not been as frequent as you might expect.

It is worth noting, though, that, after Paret's death, and the death of featherweight Davey Moore in 1963, commercial television did not carry fights regularly again until the 1970s.

Feeling Good

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It's spring break at the community college where I teach so I find myself with time on my hands this week.

Ordinarily, I would have spent yesterday doing chores like laundry or whatnot, but I didn't feel a sense of urgency about that sort of thing so I did something yesterday afternoon that I almost never do.

I watched TV, a lot of it, but it was an aimless kind of TV watching. There was nothing in particular that I wanted to watch so I did some channel surfing — and happened upon a movie that was in the theaters a little more than a year ago. It was a movie I wanted to see at the time, but I never saw it at the theater.

It was the Walt Disney film "Secretariat," a dramatization of the story of the legendary Triple Crown winner of 1973. It had only been on for about 10 minutes so I was able to catch most of it — and that's exactly what I did.

I was a boy at the time that Secretariat won the Triple Crown, and there are many things about that time that I don't remember, but I definitely remember watching Secretariat's astonishing triumph.

I never knew, though, until I watched that movie just how remarkable that story really was. I've done some research since watching the movie (well, I told you I have time on my hands this week!), and it really was an inspiring tale, a genuine feel–good story.

Ordinarily, I tend to avoid the feel–good stories, I suppose. Most of them are a little too shameless in their pursuit of unbridled emotion — and far too shy on facts.

But the story of Secretariat was a true feel–good story. It felt good to watch him win those races and do something no horse had done for a quarter of a century.

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It especially felt good to watch the re–creation of his amazing run at the Belmont in June of 1973.

That was a truly memorable time in my life. I was sick with mononucleosis (the so–called "kissing disease," although I don't recall kissing anyone at the time), and I remember stretching out on the couch to watch the race.

I didn't know much about Mrs. Tweedy and the loss of her parents — except what they said about her on TV. But I gathered that she, like her father, had been down and, also like her father, had bounced back.

She was an underdog. But she was a determined underdog.

Secretariat's success was her reward for the hard times she had been through — and what greater reward could there have been than to see that magnificent animal running away from the Belmont pretenders as if they were standing still?

After about the midway point of the race, Secretariat's eventual triumph was no longer in doubt — but his solitary run down the Belmont stretch remains one of the most thrilling and inspiring sights I have ever seen.

The re–creation was great. The moment itself was transcendent.

Sometimes the underdog wins. And there is no denying that it really does feel good when that happens.

Where Is Peyton's Place?

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Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts announced this week that they were parting ways ...

... which launched a mad scramble among all but a handful of the NFL teams for his services.

Some teams are more serious contenders than others, but there is no doubt that most of the teams in the NFL could use a quarterback. He wouldn't have to be a surefire Hall of Famer ... but, hey, as long as Peyton Manning isn't doing anything, anyway ...

ESPN reports that sources are saying Manning will make up his mind in the next few days. A dozen teams have made overtures to Manning's representatives — of those, ESPN says Arizona, Seattle, Washington, Miami, Kansas City, Denver and the New York Jets have been in direct contact with them.

But Vinnie Iyer of The Sporting News writes that Manning isn't interested in playing for the Redskins.

And, even though he admits Manning in a Broncos uniform is "difficult to envision," I get the feeling that Mark Kiszla of the Denver Post would like to see it happen.

But he says there are at least three reasons why it isn't likely:

1. "Broncos coach John Fox plus Manning equals a bad mix."


2. "Pat Bowlen would rather let some other franchise owner bet millions on Manning's health."


3. "Deep down, [John] Elway realizes Denver is closer to being a 6–10 team than a 10–6 team."
   
   Kiszla doesn't argue that Manning is not one of the greatest quarterbacks ever to play in the NFL. He just points out there are more pressing needs for a franchise that apparently wants to rebuild the foundation that took it to five Super Bowls when Elway was the field general.

At this point, I suppose, it really is anyone's guess where Manning will wind up.

Common sense says some teams are more likely than others — Green Bay and New Orleans, for instance, are surely out of the running — but there are still some intriguing possibilities out there.

For example, it would be very interesting if Manning signed with the Jets. Then he would be in competition with his multiple Super Bowl–winning brother Eli for the affections of the Big Apple's football fans.

I have a good friend who would undoubtedly like to see Manning in a Kansas City uniform. Don't be too quick to dismiss the notion, either. The Chiefs do have something of a history of signing castoff quarterbacks — remember when Joe Montana took them to the AFC championship after being let go by San Francisco?

The Cardinals have been even more successful. They signed Kurt Warner after he left the Rams — and Warner took the Cardinals to the Super Bowl.

The only thing I'm sure of, at this point, is that someone will sign Manning. I just don't know who.

Stay tuned.

A Hundred Points The Hard Way

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I don't ordinarily write about basketball.

It was never my sport when I was growing up. I had more interest in baseball and football.

And, in the hierarchy of basketball, pro basketball is the low man on the totem pole for me. I like college and high school basketball much better.

Even in my teen years, I preferred college basketball — my alma mater, the University of Arkansas, was always in the national tournament so I could usually count on being able to watch them play during spring break.

My high school team was pretty good — went undefeated and won the state title when I was a sophomore.

But, for awhile, when I was about 12 or 13, I was a bit of an NBA fan.

One of the stars at that time was Wilt Chamberlain. Actually, he was nearing the end of his career by that time; a young Lew Alcindor (soon to be known as Kareem Abdul–Jabbar) was emerging as his successor as the league's superstar.

But many years earlier, Chamberlain had chiseled his name into the NBA record books with an achievement that I think is not likely to be matched.

I'm talking about the day 50 years ago today when Chamberlain scored 100 points in a single game.

Basketball fans are accustomed to games in which one, if not both, of the teams scores 100 points or more. But the scoring usually is spread out. Even Michael Jordan — who made many of the most amazing shots anyone will ever see — didn't score 100 points in a single game.

And Jordan had the advantage of being able to shoot for three points. The three–point shot was still several years in the future when Chamberlain retired.

So has Kobe Bryant, who scored 81 points in a game in 2006, and, as Ryan Rothschild observes in Sports Illustrated, Bryant scored seven three–pointers — and he still came up 19 points short of Chamberlain.

Rothschild writes that it is "a record that seems all but unbreakable." I'm inclined to agree.

Because of his height (7'1"), Chamberlain was known as "Wilt the Stilt" and "Goliath" by many, but his favorite nickname was "The Big Dipper," and that is the name that always comes to mind for me when I think of Chamberlain because, in my mind's eye, I can see him dunking the ball repeatedly as he towered over nearly everyone he faced.

Alcindor was really the first player he encountered in his NBA career who could look him in the eye, you might say — and that was one of the reasons why Chamberlain scored so many points in that game and others. Seven–footers are commonplace in the NBA today, but they were rare in 1962.

Chamberlain also scored so many points because his team, the then–Philadelphia Warriors, permitted him to keep going to the basket long after the issue had been decided, in large part to see if he could score 100 points.

It also seems likely to me that a 21st century coach, faced with the same situation, probably would not allow his star player(s) to continue playing once the game was out of reach for the opposition — even if he wanted to see if his star could surpass Chamberlain.

But I think that record will remain on the books for a long, long time.

Gary Carter Dies

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I had mixed feelings today when I heard that Hall of Fame catcher Gary Carter had died.

I wasn't one of Carter's fans. Just the opposite, as a matter of fact. He played most of his career for teams other than the Dodgers — who have been my personal favorites since I was a kid.

Twenty years ago, as his 19–year career was nearing its end, he spent a season with the Dodgers. But he spent most of his career being a thorn in their sides.

In 1981, when a strike wiped out about one–third of the season, Montreal faced Los Angeles in the National League Championship Series (which the Dodgers won, three games to two). Carter hit a blistering .438 for the Expos in that series.

Then, in 1988, as a member of the New York Mets, he came up a game short against the Dodgers again.

But, while there were many highlights in his career (which included 11 All–Star Game appearances and three Gold Gloves), Carter probably will be remembered most for the role he played in his only World Series, the 1986 Fall Classic against the Boston Red Sox.

It was the sixth game, and the Mets trailed, three games to two. In the 10th inning, the Mets trailed by two runs and there were two outs when Carter stepped to the plate. Boston got two strikes on Carter and was only one strike away from ending a title drought that was, at that time, nearly 70 years old — but then Carter got a hit and sparked a come–from–behind victory that is — justifiably — regarded by many as the greatest World Series game ever played.

The Mets went on to win the seventh game — and the Series — but that 10th–inning rally in the sixth game shifted the momentum irreversibly in New York's direction, and Carter was responsible for that.

There are still some Red Sox fans who will complain — loudly and at length — about Bill Buckner's infamous error, But if Boston had gotten Carter out, that error never would have happened, and Red Sox fans would not have been forced to endure 18 more seasons without a World Series title.

Any ballplayer can catch lightning in a bottle, of course, even on a stage as big and in a spotlight as bright as the World Series, and I would never suggest that Carter was the best player — or even the best catcher — I ever saw play the game.

But in just a few hours since I heard of his death, the thing I have heard mentioned the most about Carter — more often than the '86 Series or his All–Star selections or anything else — by sports writers and athletes alike was his infectious, ever–present smile.

"I cannot conjure a single image of Gary Carter with anything but a smile on his face," writes Tom Verducci for Sports Illustrated, and I must agree.

I did a little informal research and looked back at all the photos I could find of Gary Carter, both on the baseball field and off, and that smile was always there. It was contagious, in a way, capable of bringing a smile to the sternest of visages.

I think that was because Carter never came across as being insincere. He had been known as "The Kid" since, well, since he was a kid, and he always seemed to have that youthful zeal and exuberance.

"He was as genuine a person and as tough a ballplayer as you would ever want to come across," Verducci writes, and that certainly is true. He was a competitor. You don't spend nearly two decades playing catcher in the majors if you aren't.

They're remembering Carter with great fondness in New York, as you might expect. Mike Lupica writes in the New York Daily News that Carter is "dead much too young, the old Met they knew and we knew as Kid, the one who played the game with talent and joy and a smile."

And the New York Times, which has raised obituary writing to an art form, observes that "Carter's exuberance complemented his prowess at the plate." Considering that the Times is also mourning the loss of Anthony Shadid, its Pulitzer Prize–winning foreign correspondent, I think that's pretty generous.

In what may be the most impressive tribute paid to Carter, though, the writers in Red Sox country are being generous, too.

Ben Walker writes in the Boston Globe that "[h]is smile, bubbly personality and eagerness to excel on a ballfield made him a joy to watch at the plate and behind it."

In seven weeks, the 2012 major league baseball season will begin, and baseball fans will see every player who takes the field showing the kind of excitement that Carter showed every day of his playing career, even when his legs began to slow and his bat lost its pop. The enthusiasm fades for most ballplayers as the season progresses, but, for Carter, it never did.

Every day was like Opening Day for Carter. It was his default position.

Eli's Coming

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When I was a boy, Three Dog Night was one of the most popular bands around, and one of its earliest hits was a tune called "Eli's Coming."

That song wasn't related in any way to football, but, nevertheless, the title sprang to mind as I watched, for the second time in the last five years, Eli Manning lead his New York Giants to a come–from–behind victory over Tom Brady and the New England Patriots in the Super Bowl.

On Saturday, I observed that it was the fifth anniversary of Eli's brother's one and only Super Bowl triumph — and I also noted that, with another win over the Patriots, Eli would notch his second title "and, in the process, probably secur[e] his spot in the NFL's Hall of Fame."

That's how it tends to be with multiple Super Bowl–winning quarterbacks, I wrote, and, in the aftermath of Sunday's game, I see I'm not alone.

Don Banks of Sports Illustrated wrote of the "pretty select club" Eli joined with his victory.

"Quarterbacks with multiple Super Bowl wins have a cache all their own in NFL history," Banks wrote, "and we best start wrapping our minds around the reality that Peyton Manning's little brother is in the fraternity, and the Colts' long–time great isn't. That last shall be first stuff really does come to pass sometimes."

Banks reeled off the names of the multiple winners and observed that nearly all of them are enshrined in the Hall of Fame. That certainly improves the odds that Eli will wind up in Canton as well.

Lord knows he wouldn't get in on the strength of his regular–season numbers. For that matter, his numbers on Sunday were good but not great. He completed 30 of 40 passes for just under 300 yards and one touchdown.

Good enough to get the job done, but not eye popping.

Of course, unlike his older brother, Eli's life is hardly at a crossroads. He's a hot property, having won not only his second Super Bowl but his second Super Bowl MVP award as well. And that makes up for a lot of things.

Success is fleeting in the NFL — just ask the last three quarterbacks who won the Super Bowl — and someone else may well be on the mountaintop in the space of another year.

But today it is Eli who stands astride that mountaintop, surveying the NFL's terrain below and basking in the praise that comes his way for his achievements.

That praise is certainly deserved, but I can't help thinking of how slender the gap between winning and losing a Super Bowl can be. After Manning's Giants opened the game with an impressive and workmanlike — but ultimately futile — possession, they had to punt and succeeded in pinning the Patriots deep in their own territory.

On the first play from scrimmage, Brady threw a pass that went 45 or 50 yards in the air easily — but the officials ruled that no eligible receivers were in the vicinity of the pass, which is the definition of intentional grounding, and threw a flag.

Ordinarily, the penalty for intentional grounding is loss of both yardage and down. Since Brady was in the end zone when he threw the pass, it resulted in a safety and a 2–0 Giants lead.

It has been my experience that some people believe that, for intentional grounding to have occurred, a quarterback must be in the grasp of a defender — and clearly in danger of being tackled for a loss — and throws the ball away to avoid the lost yardage and/or to preserve time on the clock.

But it is not essential for the quarterback to be under duress. It is only necessary for no eligible receiver to be in the vicinity of the pass — whether that pass is short or long.

An old friend (a colleague from my sports desk days) observed on Facebook that it was "the longest intentional grounding play I've ever seen," and I had to agree.

It also seemed to me that, given the fact that Brady's pass covered about half the length of the football field, it was unreasonable for anyone to expect him to be precise about his target — or whether the receiver would stay in the vicinity of the pass in the time it took for the ball to reach its destination.

But that is how the rule is written — currently. I think it would be wise to revisit that rule during the offseason.

Anyway, the game proceeded with the usual scoring — touchdowns and field goals — until late in the game, when the Patriots led, 17–15, and the Giants scored what proved to be the winning touchdown. They went for two on the conversion and came up short, making the final score 21–17.

Now, imagine if the Patriots had not been penalized for intentional grounding but failed to put together a scoring drive on their first possession and wound up punting.

And everything else unfolded as it did (which you really can't assume because everything that happened after the penalty was predicated, to some degree, on the fact that it did, in fact, happen).

That would have made the score 17–13 when the Giants began their game–winning drive.

As it was, the Giants were under no pressure to score a touchdown. All that was needed to take the lead was a field goal, and perhaps that made a difference in the way they played in those final minutes.

But, in the alternate scenario, a touchdown would have been necessary. Under the additional pressure, would the Giants have crumbled? Would they have called different plays? Would the Patriots have followed a different strategy on defense? We'll never know.

If we assume, however, that the Giants would have scored the touchdown, as, of course, they did, it would have made the score 19–17, and my guess is the Giants would have settled for one point on the conversion instead of going for two.

Extra–point kicks are almost always successful, and this one would have given the Giants a 20–17 lead — nearly the actual final score but with a crucial difference. That one–point variation could have made all the difference for New England.

The Patriots' strategy would have been to get within field goal range and try to force the game into overtime, not to get into the end zone, and their play calling would have reflected that.

But the game turned out the way it did — and that first–quarter safety made it possible for the Giants to gamble on a two–point conversion. Whether it was successful or not, they knew the Patriots would have to score a touchdown, they didn't have much time and they were almost out of timeouts.

Eli Manning certainly contributed to the victory, but so did everyone on the team — and, indirectly, Brady did, too. I'm not sure if he deserved to be named MVP.

But he got his second title, and that may be what matters most. Eli is in his prime and could still win another title or two before time catches up to him as it has his brother. He might not, though. You never know.

Eli's coming? He's here. But he might not be back.

Time will tell.

Peyton's Place

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At this writing, there is considerable uncertainty about Peyton Manning's future as the quarterback of the Indianapolis Colts.

It certainly wasn't that way five years ago today.

In Super Bowl XLI, played in Miami, Manning led the Colts to a come–from–behind 29–17 victory over the Chicago Bears, throwing for a touchdown and giving up only one interception. He received the MVP award for his trouble.

No, sir, there was no doubt that Manning was the Colts' quarterback in 2007. He was the toast of the town.

But times can change quickly for an NFL quarterback. Manning brought the Colts back to the Super Bowl three years later (which they lost to New Orleans) — but, given the nature of the injury that sidelined him in the season just past and the growing doubt that he can come back from it, that may prove to be the last Super Bowl appearance of his career.

At least, as a player.

At some future date, Peyton Manning may be invited back to a Super Bowl. Sometimes, past MVPs have been guests at Super Bowls. Sometimes they have participated in the coin toss. And who knows? When his playing career is over, Manning could join the pantheon of former players who have gone on to broadcasting or coaching careers — and possibly return to the Super Bowl as more than a mere observer.

But, on this day five years ago, no one was thinking about when Peyton Manning would hang it up. People were thinking about how many Super Bowls he might win. It seemed all but certain that he would win more than one before his career was over.

Ironically, if his younger brother Eli and the New York Giants beat New England tomorrow, Eli will earn his second Super Bowl ring, eclipsing his brother — and, in the process, probably securing his spot in the NFL's Hall of Fame.

Quarterbacks with multiple Super Bowl victories almost always wind up in the Hall of Fame when their playing careers are over (a noteworthy exception is Jim Plunkett). One–time winners — like Peyton Manning and Brett Favre — need glittering numbers to make up for the absence of glittering jewelry on their hands.

Peyton's got the numbers. His credentials for the Hall of Fame are beyond dispute. He's in the top five in pass attempts, completions, passing yardage and touchdown passes — and each of the guys who are ahead of him are either in the Hall of Fame or will be as soon as they are eligible.

When Peyton does retire, it will only be a matter of time before he is enshrined with the rest of pro football's best.

What Manning did in February 2007 wasn't remarkable — at least not when one looks at the numbers in the box score. It was steady, disciplined, workmanlike, the kind of performance fans had come to expect after watching Manning play for several years.

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In the immediate aftermath of the victory, Manning spoke not of his individual performance but of the team accomplishment and how hard all the Colts had worked that season to achieve it.

Manning's numbers that day probably made it easy to be generous. So, too, I suppose, would the certainty that he would be back in the winner's circle again.

But when all is said and done, Manning may well look back on what he accomplished five years ago today and see it as his finest hour in football.