Colts came a long way for barriers to be broken
By late Sunday night, with a warm, cleansing rain continuing to fall at Dolphin Stadium, Tony Dungy became the first black coach ever to raise the Lombardi Trophy in victory. As it was once written of Joe Louis, Dungy is a credit to his race -- the human race.
He not only shattered a racial barrier, but he proved that yes, Hallelujah, yes, good guys can still finish first, even in a sport as tough and brutal as professional football.
Even as Dungy stood as the very height of his profession, there was his son, Eric, joining him on a podium. Eric gestured, noting the disparity in stature.
(Jon Sall/Sun-Times)
On this day, though, nobody stood taller than Dungy, who, like his team, traveled a long and often painful road to this monumental day.
As Dungy spoke, Peyton Manning was across the way addressing the media. And no, there was no monkey being extracted from his back, a la Steve Young. No talk of ''The Albatross.'' Reporters tried to roll out that question about validation, confirmation, whatever, and Manning was having none of it.
''I don't play that card,'' he said. ''I don't play that game.''
Good for him, anyway.
That's for the rest of us to consider. Right now, he's in the middle of a Hall of Fame career, one that had its exclamatory moment Sunday.
After all those close calls at the University of Tennessee, all those near-misses with the Colts, there is only one question for Manning, and it won't be asked until long after this team has properly basked in this wonderful result:
''How many will Manning and the Colts win before his career is over?''
The ''buts'' have been expunged from the Manning lexicon. He is a Super Bowl champion. And an MVP, even if Manning quickly acknowledged almost anybody on that team warranted the honor.
Joseph Addai? Dominic Rhodes? Take your pick.
''Now it's time to party,'' safety Bob Sanders said boldly. ''It's time to let loose.''
You think?
Manning wasn't the typically dominant Manning -- he really couldn't have been with an insistent rain falling. But he didn't have to be.
That was what was so tremendous about this whole championship run. The way this team, which was only supposed to go as far as Manning took them, won over and over again as a team. They didn't just win this championship; they reinvented themselves. They blew away every long-held stereotype that has attended their ascent into the NFL's elite. Soft? Hardly. Incapable of winning in the elements? No, sir.
When it counted most, there was greatness, a champion's mettle. ''We imposed our will,'' Rhodes said.
Bob Kravitz is a columnist for the Indianapolis Star.