There are things you can’t script. Moments you can’t manufacture. Tricky intersections between level head and heavy heart, where the true core of a person is laid bare for all to see.

In just 3 minutes, 45 seconds Thursday during the Salute to Champions dinner at the La Jolla Marriott, Philip Rivers did what the Chargers’ front office couldn’t do. Maddeningly, what it didn’t and stubbornly wouldn’t do.

Rivers said thanks, through halting sentences, through moist eyes, through an honest and genuine connection. Lumps in the throats of Breitbard Hall of Famers stretched from one side of the ballroom to the other.


“Myself and my team certainly understand the mixed feelings and emotions many here in San Diego have,” said a quieting Rivers, after receiving an award as one of the professional stars of the year. “I personally want to express my gratitude for all the love and support that I’ve always felt.”

There was more.

“I really didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity to once again say thanks to this community,” Rivers said.


And more, about how important the connection to the city he loves remains, despite his franchise rushing north to drown in front-office ineptitude and irrelevance. When the final words left Rivers’ lips, he lost the fight to hold it together — caving to a crumbling pocket of his own emotional making.

“I hope there are some of you still here in San Diego that can still say, ‘That’s our quarterback,’ ” he said, the room rising in ovation.

This wasn’t some hokey ticket-selling two-step after the Chargers raised a pair of middle fingers to fans who supported the franchise for 56 years. This was a guy who reminds us over and over that you say thank you until the air drains from your lungs. This was a guy who shows up, at events like this, to face the questioning, injured eyes.


The wounds run deep, still. Rivers, though, seizes every opportunity to thank San Diego and its fans. The last time Chargers owner Dean Spanos did that, genuinely and from the cold thing beating in middle of his chest? Oh, yeah. Never. Not once.

Both of those decisions, the measure of men.

Rivers produced more heartfelt PR in a handful of words than Spanos and the organization did in years. He stayed after, when cornered by the cameras. He lingered for every picture and autograph and handshake.


Aztecs basketball magician Steve Fisher, mile-gobbling Meb Keflezighi and hard-punching Terry Norris — the newest Breitbard inductees — were billed as the rightful stars of the evening.

Rivers, though, stole the show.

“He won every heart in the room tonight,” Fisher said.


The more you admired what Rivers said and how he said it, the more infuriating the Chargers’ disappearing act felt. The more the scabs felt ripped. The more the pain bubbled to the surface.

You couldn’t help but think: If Spanos had shown a fraction of his quarterback’s authentic caring for a place that paid his family’s football bills for more than three decades, he would have left San Diego with at least a shred of dignity.

If you hold firm that while Rivers plays for the Chargers — no matter all those seasons in San Diego, no matter the mess not of his making, no matter his decision to remain here and begrudgingly commute to a place that never will feel like home, no matter his insistence to thank and include and consider San Diego at every turn — he’s not a guy you can root for, that’s understandable.


If you were in that room Thursday night, though, it’s so much harder to feel that way. Trust me.

“I just thought it was important not to just go, ‘OK, I don’t think I can get over there,’ ” said Rivers, when asked why he attended the event for an award parked in the middle of the program. “Just to be able to express that (appreciation), at least one more time.”

The personal water works surprised some in the room. Not Rivers, though.


“I knew about noon today I was going to get emotional,” he said. “I usually kind of just go off the cuff. I was like, ‘I don’t want to go off the cuff.’ As I got it all jotted down, I was like, ‘I got no chance making it through that one.’ ”

Forget the wins, 97 of the 118 in his career coming in San Diego. Forget the touchdown passes, 314 of the 374 coming in the shadow of Friars Road — not an embarrassing, bleakly-attended soccer stadium in Carson.

Forget those talented hands. Look at his faces. Lock on those eyes.


“That was straight from the heart,” said NFL Hall of Famer and former Charger Charlie Joiner.

Or, as former NFL offensive lineman and San Diego High graduate Stephen Neal put it: “That was awesome.”

Rivers saw a chance to thank San Diego and took it.


Too bad the thick-headed, cowardly guy signing his paychecks never saw the wisdom and humanity in that.


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bryce.miller@sduniontribune.com; Twitter: @Bryce_A_Miller