Look, everyone has heard the stories of Peyton Manning being a good guy, a regular guy, or at least as good and regular as you can be when you are this rich and famous and successful. Everyone’s read and heard the saccharine tributes to him, so much so that it’s become trendy to root against him in a way, to celebrate his comeuppance, to laugh at the way his face contorts in certain ways when he’s frustrated.
Someone asked that “embarrassed” question with a hint of enjoyment, after all.
Everyone understands, or should understand, that so many NFL players are humble and appreciative and respectful as Manning is – that he is one of many.
At some point, though, at some level, what really matters about a man is how he treats people who hold no leverage over him, let alone how he treats those people in moments of tumult when it would be quite understandable if he just ignored the request.
How many times through the years had Peyton Manning signed for people, stopped for photos for people, been gracious to people. Now? Here? In the harried moments after this painful and thorough loss, after a chance at a championship was lost and might never come again, in the cramped walkways of a football stadium – not some charity meet-and-greet – isn’t he allowed to be, well, selfishly human?
Manning didn’t think so. He didn’t ignore Steve Lopez. He didn’t ignore, later after he did return from that locker room, others who made the same request. Here was Cheyenne Wiseman, asking if he could sign a T-shirt. Here was Michael Weisman of Philadelphia, looking for an autograph for his 10-year-old son, Alex.