My favorite writer, Bill Simmons, is quite famous for his creation of “The Levels of Losing.” As a Boston fan, he has seen his fair share of heartbreak (even though one could argue that the Celtics have dominated his favorite sport more than any other team and no matter how many times the Sox blew it, he didn’t have it that bad), and he is more than qualified enough to comment on it.

However, he’s left a level out.

Somewhere between the “Stomach Punch,” the “Guillotine,” and the “Broken Axle,” belongs a level that even the most hard core Red Sox supporter can’t understand: THE CAR ON ICE.

We have all been there. It snowed heavily the night before, so you get up an extra 30 minutes early just to drive to work early. The roads are bad, and you are driving 20 mph MAX. You come upon a stop light, or a 4-way-stop, or maybe just a simple driveway, and all of the sudden, you have no control.

It doesn’t matter how carefully you are driving, or how well-prepared you are for that moment…in fact, you might even SEE it coming…but you still slide helplessly, right through the intersection, as you brace the steering wheel and pray that nobody T-Bones you.

As a Colts fan, this one hurts a little extra.

I thought I was ready for it. I thought I had prepared.

You see, I knew it wasn’t the Colts’ year. I had been telling myself and my friends that for weeks. Dallas, Collie, and Gonzo all on IR. Every single one of our RBs missed significant time. Our defense put an astounding TEN defensive backs on IR. (Seriously…think about that one…Take Troy Polamalu off the Steelers after week one. Then take out his backup, and his backup’s backup. Then, in the playoff game, take out his backup’s backup’s backup. The Steelers go nowhere, right? Because that’s what happened to the Colts this year.)

No, it really WASN’T the Colts’ year. And you could say I should be happy that they got as far as they did.

But then, Peyton Manning sucked me in…again.

For everyone out there who thinks that Peyton has slipped at all, just remind yourself of what he had to work with this year. After an incredibly bad (and much unluckier than you probably thought) stretch midway through this year, Peyton turned on the jets and literally willed the Colts into the playoffs.

Once he got there, all he did was figure out one of the best defenses in the league, score on his last 3 meaningful possessions, and seemingly pull out an improbable victory in a game in which the rest of his team was manhandled all over the field. And yet, as I watched Adam Vinatieri’s kick sail through with 53 seconds left, I still had a sick feeling in my stomach.

There are two parts of the CAR ON ICE game that are equally debilitating.

Words really can’t describe the sick feeling in your stomach that you get the second your car hits that patch of ice. You can literally turn the steering will in a complete 360-degree rotation and nothing will happen. You just sit there, completely, and utterly, helpless.

I listen to Bob Costas casually remark that “At this point, Mark Sanchez is 3-1 while Peyton Manning is 9-10 in the playoffs.” Of course he fails to mention that in no less than 3 of those losses, Peyton’s teammates completely let him down.

It’s the best and worst part about football. You can’t win with just 11 great offensive players. Sometimes, you can’t even win with 22 great offensive and defensive players (ask the San Diego Chargers, whose special teams single-handedly destroyed their season). For over half of every single game, Peyton Manning is on the sidelines.

December 30th, 2000. Peyton’s second trip to the playoffs. Peyton caps a game icing drive with a FG midway through the 4th Quarter to put the Colts up by 7. All the defense has to do is keep the Dolphins out of the end zone. They can’t do it. No matter, here comes Peyton leading the Colts on a game-winning drive in OT. The most accurate field goal kicker in NFL History (at that point), Mike Vanderjagt, steps up for a 49-yarder. Wide right. Colts lose. Manning, on the sideline, helpless.

January 15th, 2006. The Colts have been outplayed most of the day, but a huge turnover by Jerome Bettis gives them life again. Here comes Peyton, leading the Colts on a game-tying drive at home. The most accurate field goal kicker in NFL history (still at that point), Mike Vanderjagt, steps up for a 46-yarder. Wide right can’t even do justice to how badly he missed. Colts lose. I’ll never forget watching Manning, helpless on the sideline, mutter the words, “Missed it…”

January 3rd, 2009. Otherwise known as “The single greatest performance by a punter in NFL History.” On the road in San Diego, Peyton Manning passes for 310 yards and a TD. But Mike Scifres has punts of 51 yards to pin the Colts at the 10-yard-line, 58 yards to the 15, 50 yards to the 3, SIXTY-SEVEN YARDS to the 5, 38 yards to the 9, and 52 yards to the 1 with less than three minutes. It doesn’t matter. All the Colts have to do is keep the Chargers from getting a FG at the end of regulation, OR overtime. But each time, as the ball sailed through the uprights, Peyton watched, from the sidelines, completely helpless. The League MVP didn’t even get to touch the ball in OT.

So yes, I’ve been here before. But it doesn’t matter how many times your car has slid on the ice. Each time it happens, your heart instantly jumps into your throat as you hold on for the scary ride.

As soon as Vinatieri made that FG, I felt that same terrible feeling of helplessness. I hope we can finally cover a kickoff. I hope we can get a sack. I hope we can get a turnover. I hope we can get a stop. I hope Mark Sanchez chokes.

And yet, there I was, sitting on the couch as I was really able to do nothing. Just like Peyton.

I watch as Cromartie returns it to the 47. Then the Jets get some nice chunks. Then, Jim Caldwell stupidly calls a timeout as Chris Collinsworth tells us, “I bet the Jets throw one up top to Braylon Edwards.” I watch Braylon shove off of our 11th string CB worse than Jordan on Russell. I watch it not get called. I watch him come down inbounds. I watch the FG sail through the uprights.

I don’t even know why I bother hanging onto the steering wheel anymore. Next time, I should just bail out of the car.

But I said there were two parts of the CAR ON ICE game that were equally as debilitating. The second part is the aftermath.

As soon as you get out of your car to assess the damage, you start second guessing yourself. “Maybe I could have stopped. Maybe I should have been going slower. Maybe I shouldn’t have come this way. Maybe I…” But the truth is, you know in your heart of hearts that you couldn’t have done anything different. You were driving carefully and you did see the ice…it just didn’t matter.

In this case, I did have my guard up: I knew it wasn’t the Colts’ year. I was watching carefully: I knew the Colts got dominated and really didn’t deserve to win. I saw THE WHOLE THING coming…and yet here I am, sitting helplessly on the couch, completely numb.

My friend Zach blames himself. “I shouldn’t have jinxed it by saying that we had notoriously bad kick coverage.”

My dad feels incredulous. “There is no way that just happened.”

My other friend Eric just feels angry and sad. “Bob Costas is an idiot. Of the Colts 10 wins, Peyton was the sole reason for ALL of them.” (Which by the way, at this point, I have to agree with Bill Simmons…Adam Vinatieri is the GOAT. How many rings do Tom Brady and Peyton Manning have in their careers without him? Zero. Just another reason you should never ever EVER decide who the better football player is just by looking at rings.)

But then I get some calls from a few friends up North. Let’s put it this way. When Cleveland fans call you to tell you that they are sorry…it’s safe to say you have nearly hit rock bottom.

Look, there have been worse losses in sports. Buckner, Byner, and Bartman to name three.

But there’s something about the CAR ON ICE game that just stays with you. As sports fans, we understand the basic idea that life isn’t fair. As much as we throw ourselves into our teams, and as hard as we take certain losses, most of the time, we can still remain rational about them. Losing takes more out of you than winning could ever put back into you. These are the terms of choosing a team and cheering for it. Again, we know this going in.

Sometimes, you get beat by a great player. Just ask 11-year-old me after I watched a Pacers team with 6 All-Stars and 3 Hall of Famers lose to Michael Jordan in 1998. He would have told you, “It’s not fair that Michael Jordan’s so good, but he just is.”

Sometimes, you get beaten by incredibly bad luck. That would be 16-year-old me screaming at the idiot in the Left Field stands at Wrigley Field. He would have told you, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen…but I have to say, it could have happened to me.”

But then we get to the Indianapolis Colts and Peyton Manning.

What does 23-year-old me have to say about them? Nothing. A whole lot of it.

I’m just, sort of sliding across the ice, helpless.

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* – Peyton Manning photo credit: AP Photo/Nam Y. Huh via ESPN.com