After I discovered football as a boy, I wanted to be what you eventually became.

I was a fan of your dad when I was growing up. I ached for him every time he got pounded into the Superdome turf. I hated the Saints for trading him to Houston.

I was a huge Tennessee Vols fan when you were choosing schools and was ecstatic when you signed there. I ached every time your teams couldn't beat the Gators while you were there.

I prayed you'd get drafted by an NFL team close to me, but that didn't happen.

I nearly freaked out when I got a glimpse of you coming out of the back of St. Elmo's Steakhouse in Indianapolis in 2006. I almost jumped up and chased after you.

I probably made enemies at the Super Bowl party I attended when you won your first Super Bowl. But I didn't care.

I was elated when I heard you'd fathered a son, and I hope he can keep the legacy alive.

I couldn't speak when you walked one foot away from me at the Manning Passing Academy in 2012. I did well just to breathe and not squeal like a middle school girl.

I thought I'd pass out the next night after I shook your hand and talked to you for a while.

I never got to watch you play live during your career, and I'll always regret it.

As you finished your last rodeo tonight most deservedly and only fittingly as a champion, I had to shed a tear, because I don't want to imagine football without you. I'm just not ready for you to go.

Why?

Because I got to live my dream of being an NFL quarterback by watching you. You were an elite athletic version of me in a helmet and pads.

I never cared who did or didn't like you, because you were the living embodiment of the football player I always dreamed of being, and you always did it with passion, skill, and class.

So thank you, Number 18. I will always cherish your memory.

No one else will ever eclipse you as my favorite football player of all time.