Paying Tribute to My Customized Indianapolis Colts Jersey: RIP, My Friend

I received a customized Colts jersey from my parents for Christmas in 2004. With a heavy heart, I have chosen to lay my good friend to rest today, Sunday, July 27, 2008.

I remember opening the jersey on Christmas Day. It was the new, darker shade of blue the Colts had adopted at the beginning of the season. A bright, white 12 adorned the front of the jersey. When I flipped it over, the back displayed another large 12 and ADAMS spelled out in caps for all the world to see. It immediately became my favorite article of clothing.

I find it appropriate that I put my jersey to rest on a Sunday, for it was his favorite day of the week.

For almost four years, we were inseparable friends. I generally met with him at least once a week, sometimes twice a week or more during the fall. However, he served notice to my fanhood throughout the year.

I first officially donned the jersey on Dec. 27, 2004, the day Peyton Manning broke Dan Marino’s single-season TD record. I proceeded to wear the jersey for every single Colts game thereafter.

We witnessed the 49-24 dismantling of Denver in the playoffs a couple of weeks later.

We witnessed the 20-3 dismantling by New England the following week.

The next season, we watched and rooted as the Colts amassed a 14-2 record and clinched home-field advantage throughout the AFC Playoffs. The most significant of all the impressive regular-season victories was a 40-21 rout of the Pats in Foxboro. The team won its first 13 games and was the talk of the nation.

Our hearts subsequently broke when Pittsburgh totally outplayed us (and got screwed out of a clear interception in the process) in the Dome, en route to a 21-18 win and their own incredible Super Bowl run.

We sat with arms folded and teeth gnashed during the following 2006 season as the most porous run defense I’d ever seen allowed team after team to run roughshod over us, finally leading up to the embarrassing 44-17 debacle in Jacksonville.

We sat, stunned, as Asante Samuel returned a Peyton Manning interception 39 yards to give the Pats a 21-3 first half lead.

We stood, ecstatic, as Joseph Addai bolted into the end zone two quarters later to give the Colts an improbable 38-34 lead. A lead that stood and gave Indy the AFC Conference Title.

Two weeks later, Peyton & Co. toppled the Bears and we witnessed our first and only Super Bowl title together. It was beautiful.

We followed a frustrating and injury-filled title defense that saw a young, but much-improved, defensive unit betrayed by injuries and a depleted offense—ultimately ending in another mind-boggling home-field playoff defeat, this time to a determined group of San Diego Chargers.

We made it to the Dome twice. Once against the Jags and once again the Texans.

We were 2-0 live.

However, sports fans all know that our jerseys are worn more often than gameday. We proudly display them after a sweet victory. And in them, we accept derision from friends and rivals after a bitter defeat.

That jersey took a lot. It withstood stains from Clara’s barbecue pizza sauce, B-Dubs and Fricker’s wings, steaks, steaks, and more steaks. A spilled Coke here and there. For goodness sake, I should have worn a bib most of the time! Hundreds of washes. I attended music rehearsals, family gatherings, and Blue Fridays with my loyal friend.

And while these moments were truly incredible to experience, my jersey was witness to even greater life events that I’ll never get back and will never forget.

The day my daughter was born, for example. I “coached” my wife through delivery wearing the ADAMS 12. I held the life I helped create for the first time. My heart melted beneath that jersey. One of the two proudest moments we ever shared.

The second was when my infant son was born only 22 months later.

I taught my little girl to walk while wearing that jersey. Watched my son crawl for the first time. It bore the brunt of being a new daddy, taking on an ocean of spit-up and drool. It never complained once.

I cheered my dad on through his recovery from and eventual victory over cancer. And celebrated the announcement of my brother’s engagement.

But sadly, he’s nearing the end. The 12 on the back has practically faded from sight. The D in ADAMS has been peeling off for a good six months now, and while I have no problem with the last name A AMS—as it is indeed a fine name—certainly, it is not mine.

No longer is it fit to wear to home games, family nights, or Blue Fridays.

Disgracefully, it recently even suffered the shame and humiliation of being demoted to a workout shirt.

I looked at him in the mirror one morning after coming home from the gym. He was damp and stained with sweat. An image I now regret having to see.

However, instead of subjecting him to eventual disposal, I decided it was time to show a little respect. For someone who’s helped me stand by my team and celebrate some of the greatest moments in my life.

In a fitting tribute to my trusted friend, I shall frame it and save it for mounting in the sports-themed sports bar I hope to build in my home someday.

And I shall sign my name in silver on the front of the jersey.

For crying out loud, I’d hate for anyone think I’d saved a Jim Sorgi jersey.

But, all joking aside, I shall truly miss wearing my old, trusted friend.

To the old ADAMS 12: you were the best.

Rest in peace, pal.

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