The Colts Lost the Super Bowl

Back when I was updating this blog on a very regular basis, one of the storylines I followed oh-so-closely was the Indianapolis Colts' championship season. Seeing Dungy and Manning finally win "the big one" in Super Bowl XLI was truly a wonderful experience. As a fan, I could feel the monkey slide off the collective back of the Colts players, execs, and fans. I relished that victory for weeks. I saved tons of clippings from the Indianapolis Star, I watched the parade live on television, and I even watched a couple quarters of the Pro Bowl just so I could watch Peyton, Reggie, and Dwight play just a few more downs (even if they were meaningless ones). I wanted to soak it all in as much as possible. I didn't know if this sort of thing would ever happen in my life as a sports fan again.

My favorite moment of this championship run, however, came two weeks prior to the Super Bowl in the AFC Championship game. The Colts were going up against the New England Patriots for the third time in the last four post-seasons. Only this time, the game was taking place in the RCA Dome, far from the winter Foxboro conditions that had hampered the Colts high-powered offense in '03 and '04. Leading up to that game, I had the sense that, "This is finally our time, and it's only appropriate that we beat Tom Brady on our path to glory." My excitement level was so high that I even bought my first official jersey: Marvin Harrison's #88. All that enthusiasm turned to disgust in the game's 2nd quarter when Asante Samuel's Pick-6 gave New England a 21-3 lead. Peyton and the boys dramatically changed their posture in the second half, and the final score was 38-34 in favor of the Colts. The exhiliration I felt over that game ranks up in the Top 10 most joyous moments of my life. Definitely the biggest sports high I'd ever exprienced.

In a manifestation of karmic symmetry, the Colts loss in Super Bowl XLIV produced one of the lowest feelings I've ever experienced. Tracy Porter's Pick-6 late in the 4th quarter (pictured above) was not a mistake my team would overcome. Leading up to that game, I had so much personally invested in an Indy victory. The nation had sided with the Saints because of their feel good story, and I had grown sick of johnny-come-lately's and casual viewers of the NFL rooting against my team for two straight weeks. I kept telling myself that my team would show them what's what when the big game finally rolled around. In short, my pride was on the line. Sporting a brand new #18 jersey, I attended a Super Bowl party where only one other voice among dozens cheered on the Colts, and total strangers talked smack to me for 4 hours. In the end, a Purdue quarterback and a Hoosier corner put the dagger between the shoulder blades of our title hopes. My only consolation is that, given how the game actually played out, the better team won that night.

Two weeks later, the sting has transformed into a dull ache. But for over a week there, I felt ill and depressed. Maybe I'm too much of a fan. Whatever the case may be, I'm still equally aware of how difficult it is to reach the Super Bowl. Of how good the chances are Peyton's team may never reach the grandest stage again. And that, my friends, is what truly bums me out still...14 days after the last second of the season ticked off the clock.

Here's to next year.