Calling it quits.

• Author: Schley, Stewart
• Position: SPORTS biz - Viewpoint essay

There won't be a teary press conference. No jersey will be retired. You won't see a new name unveiled on the Ring of Fame this fall. But yes, the rumors are true. I have retired as a Denver Broncos season ticket holder.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

It was a great run, but I probably should have gone out years ago, when I was at the top of my game. Hollering like a madman on third-and-long. Exhorting the crowd around me to cause, by sheer collective psychic force, an opponent's fumble or an interception late in the game, when it mattered most. Dressing in four layers on a 6-degree winter afternoon so that my orange sweatshirt would still show on the outside. I am reasonably certain the intimidating look I affected accounted for at least one win over my 23-year career. Probably more.

You'll remember me, of course, by certain plays. John Elway had the heroic helicopter spin against Green Bay in the first, glorious Super Bowl victory. I had Boomer Esiason, Cincinnati, week 1 3 of the 1986 season. The Bengals were good that year.

We were up 34-28, but Esiason and the Bengals were driving into our territory late in the fourth quarter. I was one of the three guys you saw up on their feet in section 3 1 3 of the old, wonderful stadium, an aisle seat situated three rows down from a portal flanked by the dual requisites of an ideal stadium outpost: a beer stand and a men's room. My mates, Rick and Rob, making up the triumvirate. Yelling, waving arms, pumping fists.

Then it followed: everybody else on their feet, too, a mad crescendo of collective will, rising up from the third deck and rippling across the old iron building, until the entire place was vibrating, too loud to even hear the guy next to you, whose name you didn't even know but who you'd high-fived for years, bellowing through his cupped, gloved hands, white fog rising from his mouth in the cold, promising air. It was third down and Esiason was in the shotgun, and you could sense it before it even happened.

The crowd was too much. The Cincinnati quarterback tried to bark out a snap count, but the center got it wrong and the ball soared--beautifully, in slow-motion--over his head. The place-went mad. The opposing quarterback scrambled 10 yards backward for the ball and a wall of orange collapsed over him and the crowd let...