It’s official. I’m a Broncos fan.
That crosswind you feel tickling your neck isn’t the shrill first breath of winter, it’s an exhale of exaltation from a man who was taken from his career depths up to a mile-high-and-beyond season of possibility. That man’s name is Vernon Davis.
As a former 49er faithful, I can’t wait for Vernon Davis to maul the Lombardi trophy with his paws and kisses in February. I want to see him doused in orange and blue confetti as he rocks with Peyton Manning back and forth on the dais beside some new Chevy truck nobody wants in some kind of end-of-career embrace/slow dance whose tune only they know.
I want to see VD get that ring.
And why shouldn’t I? To me, Vernon Davis personifies the ultimate journey of the modern athlete. From physical specimen who was too-imposing-to-be-a-sure-thing yet too tantalizing not to take, to problem child…
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