The Mannings (clockwise from top left) -- Archie, Eli, Peyton and Cooper -- huddle up. Bill Frakes/Sports Illustrated

As a former Ole Miss homecoming queen, the wife of a former NFL star quarterback and the mother of two second-generation slinging studs, Olivia Manning has experienced some serious euphoria in her exhilarating life as the first lady of southern football. Yet last Sunday at the RCA Dome, 20 minutes after the Indianapolis Colts had completed a 41-10 horse-whipping of the Denver Broncos in a wildcard playoff game, Peyton Manning's mom had no problem placing her afternoon in its proper context.

"That," she said, "was the most fun I've ever had."

The most fun you've ever had in a football stadium?

"No," she clarified, "pretty much the most fun, period."

Hey, it was a day for bold statements, none more emphatic than the one Olivia's middle child made on the not-so-retro-chic AstroTurf in Indy. Peyton completed 22 of 26 passes for 377 yards, with five touchdowns and no interceptions, obliterating his reputation as a quarterback who plays small in big games.

(Quick aside: This would be the point in the column where, as a means of impressing you, I'd point out that Manning had a "perfect" 158.3 passer rating for the day. This is a disturbing trend among writers who cover the NFL, and not just because any numerical system that attempts to quantify perfection is inherently fraudulent. Here's my beef: Passer ratings for a quarterback's body of work over an entire season are hard enough to understand; does saying that Joe Throw had a 58.9 rating against the Bills really tell you anything that his statistics --12 of 26, 138 yards, one touchdown, three interceptions -- don't? Sometimes writers even provide you with someone's passer rating for a QUARTER. Next thing you know, you'll be reading that Marshall Faulk, after carrying 22 times for 121 yards and three TDs, had a single-game runner rating of 98.6. Enough!)

Now back to Mrs. Manning: Her elation, after witnessing Peyton's performance from her seat behind the Colts' bench, was a direct result of the frustration that preceded it. Despite a 14-year NFL career that provided New Orleans Saints fans with so many stirring moments, Archie Manning, Olivia's husband, never reached the postseason as a pro. Peyton, with an 0-3 playoff mark -- and an 0-4 record against rival Florida when he starred in college at Tennessee -- was frequently depicted as some sort of second-generation failure, both in media circles and among his peers.

Far more tightly wound than either of his siblings -- big bro Cooper, who trades oil and gas stocks for an energy investment company in New Orleans, and outgoing Ole Miss star Eli, coming soon to a savior-challenged NFL franchise near you -- Peyton at times seemed strangled by the seriousness of his ambitions.

Last Saturday, at the Broncos' team hotel in downtown Indianapolis, I discussed this phenomenon with Trevor Pryce, Denver's All-Pro defensive end. "The key for us is to get Peyton out of his rhythm, because if you rattle him into throwing a few incompletions, it all comes unraveled," Pryce said. "If things go bad, he feels so much pressure. It's like the pressure of being Peyton Manning kicks in, and he falls apart."

This, Pryce felt, had occurred two weeks earlier in the Broncos' 31-17 regular-season victory in Indy, though he certainly wasn't counting on it happening a second time. "I see this game coming right down to the wire," Pryce said.

He was a little off, it turned out: The game came right down to the coin toss. The Colts won and elected to receive, and then Manning got in rhythm like the Funky Meters and turned a highly anticipated playoff matchup into a prime nap opportunity. Unless, of course, you happened to be a Manning, in which case you reveled in every delicious minute of Peyton's image-makeover.

"I'm just so glad that 'can't-win-in-the-playoffs' crap is over," Archie Manning said while standing outside the Colts' locker room after the game. "Gosh, I know how hard it is to succeed on that level, and trust me, it's just the worst thing to have to deal with. It's much worse as a father. I mean, find something else to put on him -- and trust me, people will -- but at least make it something that doesn't take a year to get rid of."

During my conversations with the Mannings, I've come to understand how protective they are of Peyton. "With him, it's always something," Manning's wife, Ashley, said Saturday night when I ran into her at a downtown Indianapolis steakhouse. "It can never be, 'He's a great quarterback'; it's always, 'He's a great quarterback, BUT...'"

After Sunday's game, Cooper Manning elaborated on the sentiment. "It'll be something else now," he said. "I guess it's because people like the underdog, and Peyton's always been anything but that. Maybe I'll just throw something out there for people to seize upon -- that instead of drinking tap water, he drinks toilet water."

Ouch. There goes that Evian endorsement.

Long after most of his teammates had left the locker room, Peyton stood around in his grey Colts sweats talking about his breakthrough day. Repeating a cautionary refrain he had enunciated during a lengthy interview for a Sports Illustrated story I wrote in December, Manning noted that the six-year contract he signed as a rookie expires after this season, leaving his future uncertain.

"Dude," I said, "I hate to break it to you, but there's no way the Colts are letting you get away." The franchise-player loophole in the NFL's free-agency system will see to that.

"Hey, it's a strange business," he said. "You never know what might happen."

Of more immediate concern is what will happen in Sunday's anticipated shootout between the Colts and Kansas City Chiefs at Arrowhead Stadium. Having liberated himself from the big-game-loser's stockade, will Manning continue his eerie excellence and give his mother an even greater thrill?

He'll probably have to, in order to beat the high-scoring Chiefs, and when the subject came up, he referred back to another comment he made in our December interview.

"Believe me," he said then, "I want nothing more than to win a playoff game. But if we win our first-round game and get blown out in the second round, it's not like I'm going to put that high on my resume."

For effect, Manning raised his arms to the heavens and let out a sarcastic, "Whoopee." The subsequent steely glare that followed said everything.

HEARTY APPETITE: As weekly magazine writers, my colleagues and I must prepare for more than one outcome of the games we cover, and that inevitably leads to some memorable interactions that never make it into print. (Hey, Jeff Chadiha, how was that riveting conversation with Bill Parcells before the Cowboys-Panthers game?) Last week, when I visited Denver, I was lucky enough to have dinner at an Aurora, Colo., barbecue joint with Broncos running back Clinton Portis and a couple of his homies, Deiric Jackson and Coty Martin -- and one of my own. (Dan Pedone, who lives a couple of miles from the restaurant, has been watching me embarrass myself in front of athletes since our tee-ball days in Los Angeles 34 years ago.)

Had Portis led the Broncos to victory in Indy, this is what you would have read in the pages of SI this week: Portis, arguably the NFL's most explosive every-down halfback, habitually chows down like Yogi Bear after a ride in Dr. Dre's limo.

Portis ordered a large porterhouse steak and fried catfish -- and those were just the entrees. Throw in a loaded baked potato, an order of fries and two other sides, as well as an appetizer plate of baby-back ribs ("These are what Dino had in the Flintsones," Portis noted), and you have one open-mouthed sportswriter.

"I can't eat just one meal," said Portis, whose playing weight is 205 pounds. "This is what I did all offseason, which is why I showed up for training camp weighing 218."

Coming off a monster sophomore season, Portis, the NFL's offensive rookie of the year, might get even fatter this summer. After slipping to the middle of the second round (51st pick overall) of the 2002 draft, Portis signed a four-year deal that is now dramatically below market-value. Without a reworked contract, he's unlikely to report to training camp on time, if at all.

"Two years in a row I've led the league in yards per carry, and I'm supposedly a guy who was too small to take the punishment," said Portis, who carried 290 times for 1,591 yards (5.5 average) and 14 touchdowns in 2003. "I'd like to think they'll get something done."

Colts halfback Edgerrin James, Portis' friend and University of Miami predecessor, is already doing a bit of campaigning: "The only thing I want to see him do is get that big paycheck," James says. "As a running back, you never know when that day will come that you can't run anymore, and you've got to be able to take care of your family. I remind C.P. all the time, 'You left school early. Remember, you ain't got not degree.' Neither do I, but the difference is this: I was the fourth pick (in the '99 draft), so I've got a little something tucked away. He doesn't.'"

The smart money says that Portis will be taken care of, because Broncos coach and general manager Mike Shanahan -- despite recent suggestions to the contrary by certain members of the Denver media -- is no dummy. Yes, Shanahan hasn't won a playoff game since John Elway retired, and no, Sunday's defeat was not his finest hour, but cut the man some slack. His innovative game plan so thoroughly embarrassed the Colts in the regular season victory that clinched Denver's playoff berth that Indianapolis coach Tony Dungy, and his players, were bound to strike back. In the end, Sunday's game was destined to be decided by quarterback play. Elway might've matched Manning score for score, but Jake Plummer was completely overwhelmed.

Indy's fast start essentially negated Portis, who finished with 68 yards on 17 carries, but I'm betting he'll carve some postseason masterpieces before all is said and done. After all, he's just a kid. As if I needed any reminder of that, toward the end of our meal Jackson got up to use the restroom, and Portis immediately grabbed a salt shaker and spent several seconds emptying it into his buddy's lemonade.

HO, HO, HO: Of all the images from last weekend's action, will any be more enduring than Eddie George's facemask-to-facemask shouting match with Ray Lewis during Tennessee's 20-17 victory over the Ravens in Baltimore? George, disrespected by the Ravens three years ago when cornerback Chris McAlister said the Titans' halfback "folded up like a baby" following a hit from Lewis -- I remember wincing even as McAlister gave me the quote in the Baltimore locker room -- gained 88 exceptionally tough yards despite separating his shoulder during the first half.

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After the game George told SI's Josh Elliott that he and Lewis were "exchanging Christmas greetings." A microphone would have revealed the truth, but alas, we'll just have to use our imaginations. Suffice it to say, however, that no one on the Ravens' defense will be questioning George's toughness anytime soon.

EXPERT WITNESSES: Cheapskate Cardinals owner Bill Bidwill overachieved by hiring Dennis Green, an excellent coach and accomplished talent evaluator who, in his 1997 autobiography, threatened to sue his Minnesota Vikings bosses for control of the team. Rest assured that if Green resorts to similar tactics in Arizona, Cardinals fans -- all 2,000 of them, anyway -- will be lining up to testify on his behalf.

AND FOR HIS NEXT STUNT ...: Look for Redskins owner Daniel Snyder to to show up at the next NFL owners meeting in a burgundy dress and matching stiletto heels, while sporting a rubber hog nose.

FIRST ESTELLA AND BACHELOR BOB, NOW TOM AND JEREMY? Mr. Shockey, say hello to Coach Coughlin.

Sports Illustrated senior writer Michael Silver sounds off weekly on SI.com.