Nov. 21--The obligation to join the line of Peyton Manning eulogists bears down upon those of us who do that sort of thing. Sports is one of the few places where you get to die twice, or more if you just count Michael Jordan's farewells.
And this being the weekend when the Bears are scheduled to contribute several more sighs for what Manning once was the duty cannot be avoided.
Manning has had it all, except for the frosting, the final smear of glory that would have made him what we thought he was, what he promised to be. Manning was always just short, except for the one time, and he was always not Tom Brady.
Still, all in all, Manning is most likely the Quarterback of the 21st Century, a distinction that would be more of an honor if the century were longer.
Debate would not exist at all if Manning had had a Bill Belichick for a coach or a Bill Walsh, a Bill Parcells, some sort of strong mind to meld with his own.
As much as Manning needs help now, when time is his assassin, his legend could have used it earlier. Manning was always on his own, by choice, needing to show he was smarter than everyone else, molding others to him rather than he to them.
If even one coach had been able to make Manning stop his showy histrionics before the ball snap, his feints and fakes and phony folderol and just play football, who knows? All that commotion was designed not so much to confuse a defense as to concentrate attention on Manning himself. He was the man in charge. Whatever happened next was because of him.
And yet you have to give it to Manning, the smiling, facile face of the NFL for many years even as he now fades and the light dims.
If Manning ever plays again, this will be true: His playing gives the other team a better chance of winning. Manning's teams always won because of Manning. It was his signature.
It may be over. It should be over. It should have been over last season when Manning so obviously declined at the end, an indignity familiar to all the greats, the Tiger Woods effect, so to speak.
Or maybe that is too cruel. To Woods I mean. Manning has not nearly the baggage of Woods, but he does not have the international prominence either. Manning plays a game no more significant to the rest of the world than cricket or kick boxing is to us.
Manning can fail in relative privacy compared to Woods or to Martina Navratilova or Muhammad Ali or even Michael Jordan. Hanging on too long is forgivable.
If we winced when Ali staggered out at the hands of a cipher named Trevor Berbick or Navratilova was reduced to mixed doubles in order to win or Jordan dribbled the ball off his own foot, all of those agonizing endings were still harder on them than they were on us.
And Manning's successes at the end have been enough to justify his hanging on, as they were for Joe Montana and to a lesser extent, Brett Favre.
Montana and Favre shopped their services to places that wanted them and who does not want to be wanted? Who does not want to defy age and inevitability?
Manning will not get to leave as did John Elway, the man who gave him his last gig, on his teammates' shoulders with the Lombardi Trophy in one hand.
The last memory of Manning will not be his stunning incompetence a week ago, blamed on injury, maybe honestly, maybe conveniently, any more than the last recollection of Dan Marino is being on the wrong side of a 62-7 loss to Jacksonville.
The greats should have the choice of when to leave and some have done it well. Rocky Marciano. Wayne Gretzky. Annika Sorenstam. Jim Brown. Others, too, who do not come to mind.
Warriors want to be carried off on their shields. That is the culture they have existed in. But that does not happen either.
Most, like Manning, simply wear out until they are no longer wanted, until memories become lies.
Bernie Lincicome is a special contributor to the Chicago Tribune.
