Will Elway Return? Author Reads His Mind

Don’t think my ears didn’t perk up when Mike said, “In his younger days, he’d have been able to backpedal in there.”

Mike laughed about that quarterback draw because I barely got it into the end zone, diving the last yard or so under a couple linemen.

But it put us up, 30-6, and it might be my favorite touchdown. And maybe my last.

I say that because I haven’t thought this out yet. Should I play another year? After the Super Bowl against the Packers, I put that question to a family vote. Janet and the kids sent me back to work, 5-1.

Well, the days of democracy in the Elway household are over. The kids would have me playing until I’m older than Steve DeBerg. This time my vote will be the only one that counts.

Sportswriters probably think I’m being coy, but I just don’t know what to do. The day after we beat the Falcons, I wanted to shout, “King of the world, I’m gonna play forever!” Just being in the Miami sun for a week made my old bones feel young again.

But I’m working in Denver, and Denver’s never going to be Miami. A season’s last couple months, it’s freezing every day. So I know the way I felt after the Super Bowl is only an illusion, happy and fleeting.

I also know what’s happening with my body. This year my injuries were minor things--ribs, a hamstring, a groin. Still, I sat down for five games after missing 10 in 15 years. I can say publicly that anybody can get hurt at any age. But I can’t lie to myself. Repeated injuries happen because football years are like dog years; they count for more than one. Let’s say I’m 38 turning 48. My body can’t handle this much longer.

That makes my decision different from Michael Jordan’s. If Michael has lost half a step, he’s still the best. He said, “Mentally, I’m exhausted.” Can you imagine being Michael Jordan every night of an NBA season? How do you reach that standard 100 nights a year when you’ve already done it a thousand times?

We play 16 games a season with maybe three playoff games. In 16 seasons, I’ve played 256 games. Michael plays that many in 2 1/2 seasons. He doesn’t take football’s physical pounding, but the mental grind is relentless.

So while Michael’s body was willing, his mind wasn’t. He decided to quit the game he loved rather than fake it. Of everything there is to admire about Michael, that might be No. 1. I’d do the same thing because to keep playing when the passion is gone demeans both the game and yourself.

The difference is, football gives us a week between games to recover in both body and mind. I still have the passion to play. The way it went against the Falcons, I’ve never been happier or more satisfied.

Being the MVP was nice, but here’s what I really liked about that game: The Falcons decided they’d load up to stop Terrell Davis. They said, “If you’re going to beat us, Elway has to do it.” They challenged me, I answered it. Nothing’s more fun than that.

Some people have told me that’s the perfect way to go out, winning a second straight Super Bowl, winning it the way we did. Maybe so. I’m not Michael Jordan, not the best ever. But, like Michael, I really have nothing more to prove. Sportswriters tell me that for a long time now I’ve had Hall of Fame statistics. And that 800-pound Super Bowl gorilla is off my back for good.

It sounds great. “Go out on top. Do it the way Jim Brown did, the way Michael did. Don’t wait until they force you to quit, the way Muhammad Ali did.” All that makes sense to me.

It also makes sense when people encourage me to keep playing. The Broncos could be the first team to win three straight Super Bowls. I have to admit, it’d be neat to be the only quarterback to win three in a row. Take that, Terry Bradshaw. See ya later, Joe Montana.

All those are valid arguments. They just won’t have much to do with my decision. They’re external things, icing on the cake, nice but truly not necessary. I’ll do what most of us do when it comes to major decisions in our lives. I’ll make a list of the pros and cons, check it twice--and then do what makes me feel best about myself.

I keep hearing Mike’s crack about there being a time when I would have backpedaled into the end zone. Funny line from the coach. Funny and true because I’m not the John Elway of 1989. For that matter, it’ll take hard work to be the John Elway of 1999--three or four hours a day, four days a week, 10 weeks, then into camp for another season that with exhibitions and playoffs might come to 23 games.

Staying in the spotlight another year, trying for a three-peat, trying to do something nobody’s ever done, is that pure ego talking? Of course it is. Ego says, “I got you here, I’ll keep you going.”

But at 38, can I physically do it? Of course I can. Maybe I can’t backpedal into the end zone, but the arm is there, the legs are good enough, the mind is better than ever, the team is a juggernaut. The only hesitation comes when I hear Common Sense whispering, “It’s risky. Never a major injury in 16 seasons, you’d be daring the devil.”

In the end, then, it comes down to this: What makes me feel the best? The answer is football. It’s what I’ve done for 30 years. It’s who I am. So do I keep playing? Of course.