A night with the ‘ManningCast’: Voice memos, legendary cameos help redefine NFL broadcast

“He’s in charge of that right butt cheek,” Eli Manning says.

It’s Sunday afternoon of Week 2, a little more than 24 hours before the Manning brothers are on the air, and a flurry of voice memos lights up Peyton’s phone.

“The RPOs all look bad, Peyt.”

“I don’t think Kirk was under center for one play, which is strange.”

The voice memos have a backstory: A few years ago, while he was watching a Broncos game, Peyton had to sneak into a bathroom at Empower Field in Denver after a coach called him later than expected. He found himself scribbling notes on a pad of paper, barely able to make out the answers. He decided that day: voice memos from here on out. So this is what the prep looks like — er, sounds like — for a broadcast that’ll earn 1.34 million viewers Monday night: two brothers sending a dozen memos back and forth, sharing every bit of intel they gather during the week.

Like, in this instance, which of Eagles quarterback Jalen Hurts’ assets running back Saquon Barkley is responsible for shoving during the Tush Push.

“Got your message, E, and I agree, using the silent count at home is just demoralizing,” Peyton says in another voice memo addressing Kirk Cousins and the Falcons’ offense. “My first playoff game with the Colts we had to use the silent count at home … it was a body blow.”

“Play 51,” he says in another, sighing as he watches a replay of Hurts throwing an interception. “Just a total force. Check it down!”

It’s Year 4 of the “ManningCast,” ESPN’s alternative “Monday Night Football” broadcast that features three hours of brotherly banter with A-list guests and high-level scheme talk spliced in between. As the Eagles hosted the Atlanta Falcons, Peyton and Eli gave The Athletic access to a full week behind the scenes, starting with the voice memos and ending with live broadcasts from inside the basement of Eli’s suburban New Jersey home and the garage-turned-studio Peyton shoots from in Denver.

In a lot of ways, both former quarterbacks prepare like they’re still playing. “If you don’t study, it’s gonna show,” Peyton says. He still uses the same beat-up spiral notebooks he did as a player.

Late in his career, he’d have his backup watch a few extra games of film for him — Peyton could never watch enough film — then make a presentation the day before the game. The only difference now is he has his little brother doing it.

Eli spent the afternoon in the backyard playing football and wiffleball with his four children. The satellite truck parked in the driveway is the only indication that his house will be the site of a national broadcast later that evening. By 7 p.m. ET, he settles into his seat on the oversized blue couch in his basement.

Roughly 1,700 miles away, Peyton’s SUV pulls into a nondescript commercial garage on a nondescript street in Denver. He parks inside so no one sees him, then walks purposely to his seat, breezing past a row of collector cars, and plops his notebook down.

Both are already in their game-day attire: khakis and a quarter-zip. Peyton looks up.

“Bill, so formal!”

Bill Belichick has appeared on a screen to his left. The legendary former New England Patriots coach and longtime Manning foil is joining the broadcast during the first half of games. Belichick is in Philadelphia for this one, dressed in a full suit, and he cracks a joke about the warm reception he earned from Eagles fans. “The site of unbrotherly love,” he says with a laugh. “I mentioned I was with the ‘ManningCast’ and got booed.”

“Did you get the finger?” Peyton asks.

“A tradition unlike any other,” Belichick says.

Finally, it’s go-time. But first …

“Peyt, your zipper,” Eli says. “No, not your sweater zipper. The other one.”

Peyton laughs. “Good call. That would’ve been bad.”

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Peyton stumbled into the idea a few years ago after meeting with most of the major networks — CBS, Fox, ESPN — about analyst jobs that would’ve paid him ridiculously well. Each spring, they’d fly out to Denver and make their pitches. Each time, he’d turn them down.

Manning kept going back to what his old Indianapolis Colts coach, Tony Dungy, told him after he retired in 2016: “Don’t do anything for a year, then decide what you don’t wanna do first.”

Manning didn’t want to spend every fall weekend on the road, hustling to stadiums. He’d been doing that since he was a freshman at Tennessee in 1994. He wanted to be home. He wanted to coach his son’s flag football team and watch his daughter play volleyball. He wanted to catch more than one Volunteers game a year.

The pull to run or coach an NFL team was never quite there. Colts owner Jim Irsay chased him hard in the winter of 2017, offering any executive role he wanted. Talks grew “serious,” Irsay later said, but Manning knew if he took the job it would consume him the same way being a starting quarterback had consumed him.

“That’s a don’t-do-anything-else job,” he says now.

And coaching? He didn’t think he’d be any good at it.

“A lot of people just assumed I’d be a good coach, and I’m like, ‘Why? Because I can call some plays at the line of scrimmage?’ I used to call them when our other QBs were in. We’d go three-and-out, three-and-out, punt, punt. I’m like, ‘I’m no good at this.’”

Eli pre-empted any courting from networks. “I just told my agent, ‘I’m not traveling around to do that, and I just don’t think I’d be very good at it,’” he says. “‘Don’t even pursue it.’

“We knew our dad had opportunities to do (broadcasting) and didn’t do it because he wanted to be around us and coach us in our youth sports teams. We kind of had the same approach.”

In 2020 Peyton founded Omaha Productions, making him, in all likelihood, the first person in history to name a media company after an audible. When co-founder Jamie Horowitz, a longtime media exec with stops at Fox Sports and ESPN, gauged his interest in calling games in a different way — from his own home, without any travel, perhaps even with his brother — he was in. Peyton sold it to Eli in the simplest of terms: “It’s like we’re watching a game on our couch.”

Still, the premise needed to be fleshed out. How would this work? How would they keep it interesting? “Just have the conversations on the air that you’d normally have off the air,” Horowitz told them. He wanted viewers of the “ManningCast” to feel like they were watching the game next to two Super Bowl MVPs at the bar.

It’s working. ESPN just signed Omaha to a nine-year extension that will run through 2034.

“The show finds a way to provide both expert analysis and lots of fun in every telecast,” ESPN chairman Jimmy Pitaro said in a statement provided to The Athletic. “It really has redefined what an alternate telecast can be.”

At first, they thought they needed a host. So Kyle Brandt of “Good Morning Football” was summoned to the Hamptons to meet Eli for lunch. He walked in nervous, thinking the opportunity to host a show with the Manning brothers might change the arc of his career. Then he saw Eli and couldn’t help but laugh.

“He’s sitting there surrounded by a hive of kids eating nachos in a golf polo and shorts,” Brandt remembers. “Exactly like you’d expect.”

They hit it off. The three called a Cleveland Browns–Baltimore Ravens game over Zoom. Brandt aced it. He moved things along, set the brothers up, got them laughing. But in the back of his mind, he knew the show didn’t need him.

“The second I stopped talking, Peyton was like Mozart picking up the baton,” Brandt says now.

He called Horowitz. “Don’t hire me,” Brandt told him. “Don’t hire anyone. They’re incredible at this.”

ESPN’s Mina Kimes also auditioned, but the brothers decided Brandt was right. The first episode of the “ManningCast” aired in Week 1 of the 2021 season. By Week 2 almost 2 million viewers were tuning in.

“It could’ve been David Letterman, Ed Sullivan, Johnny Carson, it didn’t matter,” Brandt says. “The show didn’t need a host.”

On game day, a nine-person crew arrives at Eli’s house at 11 a.m. and won’t leave until after midnight. Some work in a storage space in his basement that has been transformed into a control room, with a bank of cables and wires installed next to boxes of holiday decorations and football memorabilia. Other crew members work down the hall in his laundry room.

“I don’t think (my wife) realized how much production would go into it,” Eli says.

Peyton thought about using his basement as well, but renovations made it tricky. Then he had an idea: a close friend of his, Scott, owned a garage close to downtown. What about building a studio and shooting it there?

Scott owed him a favor anyway. Back in 2014, during his second-to-last year with the Broncos, Peyton threw four interceptions in a loss to the Bengals, then saw a text — “Do you think Peyton has money on this game?” — flash across his phone later that night.

It was from Scott, who thought he was texting someone else. “I’ve been holding that against him ever since,” Peyton says, laughing. “I basically told him, after all the pain and anguish that text caused me, ‘I need to borrow your garage.’”

Inside the garage, 10 crew members work behind a wall a few feet from the leather chair from which Peyton watches the game. Over the next three hours, he grows antsy, animated, even angry — especially when he’s watching bad offensive football.

He’s a homer for whichever quarterback is on the field, often referring to that team as “we.” “Eli gives me a hard time for that,” he says. He’s on the edge of his seat the whole time, eyes locked on the screen, mouth open, processing, predicting, reacting in real time. He can’t even watch football without giving 100 percent effort.

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“They miss too many tackles,” Belichick grumbles on the air. “They’re light. They don’t do a good job of wrapping up.”

“Bill, how does that happen?” Peyton asks.

“Honestly, it was the same issue last week. They didn’t tackle very well against Pittsburgh.”

We’re into the first quarter, and Belichick is trashing the Falcons’ defense eight months after he interviewed for the team’s head coaching job. Peyton loves the honesty. “Bill is all ball,” he says off the air, “and we need the defensive perspective.”

Who would have thought 15 years ago: Peyton Manning and Bill Belichick teaming up to call games?

“I know, right?” Peyton says.

Beneath their bitter rivalry during Manning’s playing days, the two shared a healthy relationship. Each recognized in the other a mind as sharp as his own, a rare football peer. They relished trying to outwit one another, often with a trip to the Super Bowl on the line. Once, at the Pro Bowl in Hawaii, the two sat at a bar for hours, Manning sipping Budweisers, Belichick drinking Coronas, talking scheme and moving salt and pepper shakers around like receivers running routes.

Asked later if they gave anything away, each shook his head. “Hell no,” they snapped.

Belichick didn’t know what the “ManningCast” was until he was asked about joining the show this spring. Finally, he watched a few clips. “Oh,” the coach said, “I can do that.” But there’s an understanding that his run in the third chair will likely be brief.

“He may be one-and-done,” Eli says. “I’m sure he wants to get back into coaching.”

There was a lag with Belichick’s feed in Week 1 that led to choppy interactions and awkward stretches of silence. It was cleaned up for Week 2, and Belichick hit his stride with some incisive commentary — “That’s a lot of money to pay a cornerback who hasn’t had an interception in 1,000 days,” he said of the Falcons’ A.J. Terrell.

“Bill, do you just have a dartboard with pictures of me and (Nick) Foles on it?” Eli asks, bringing up Belichick’s Super Bowl losses as Patriots coach.

“Yeah, I have three at my house,” Belichick deadpans. “Two of you and one of Foles.”

“Peyton made me talk about it, Coach,” Eli says.

During most commercial breaks, Peyton asks producer Scott Matthews for the All-22 replay on a separate screen so he can break down the play when they’re back on the air. At one point, he and Belichick are dissecting one together. “They need to double-team the sh– out of that guy,” Belichick says.

Peyton cracks up. “Yeah, just say that Bill, ‘Double-team the sh– out of him.’”

Later in the half, after a lousy throw from Cousins, Peyton raises his hands above his head in disgust. Then, after Hurts scrambles for a 23-yard gain and earns a penalty for spiking the ball after the play, Peyton smacks the table.

“What is he doing?!?” he screams. “Barry Sanders! Just hand the ball to the ref!”

He’s still hot during halftime a few minutes later.

“I hate penalties like that,” he says. “I think it sends a bad message to young people. You make a great play, then you taunt. I don’t like that.”

Unlike his brother, Eli makes life easy on his cameraman. He rarely leaves his spot on the couch. During halftime, Peyton downs two enchiladas in about six minutes; Eli doesn’t eat a thing. He never even takes a bathroom break. While Peyton gets four or five touch-ups from a makeup assistant during commercial breaks, Eli is lower maintenance.

“I’m all natural,” Eli says proudly. “He sweats, it’s his shiny forehead.”

The football part comes easy: Both can immediately diagnose why a play did or didn’t work, then explain it to the audience. After Cousins hits Drake London for a 19-yard gain, Eli’s eyes immediately dart to the All-22 screen to his right. He sees a bigger play was missed. Wideout Ray-Ray McCloud broke open on an over route. Could’ve been a touchdown.

Quarterbacks — even retired ones — hate missing touchdowns.

Later, after the Eagles run a successful Tush Push, Eli chimes in. His prep work has paid off. He’s quick to tell the viewer which of Hurts’ two butt cheeks Barkley is supposed to drive forward. (Turns out, the Mannings have had some detailed butt-cheek conversations on the show before.)

True to their personalities, Peyton is the alpha of the broadcast, directing traffic during breaks, barking at producers, suggesting which questions they ask an upcoming guest. It’s easy to tell what being his teammate was like. Eli, every bit as locked in, is outwardly far more relaxed, reminiscent of the “Easy E” nickname he earned during his Giants days. He also provides comic relief. While his brother frantically demonstrates what a center should do after snapping the football, Eli cracks, “Can we get him a helmet that fits?”

The guests can be polarizing. When they’re good, they add to the loose vibe the Mannings are after: rapper Snoop Dogg presented Eli with a gold Death Row Records chain as a birthday present. When they’re bad — Arnold Schwarzenegger decided to feed his donkey during the show — they turn off viewers whose primary interest is hearing two Super Bowl MVPs discuss the game.

“If you’re not talking about every play and doing play-by-play, is there enough to talk about?” Eli asks. “The idea was just to shake it up, have a little bit more fun with it and break up the amount of time Peyton and I have to talk.”

The goal each week is one celebrity — ideally an ardent fan of one of the teams — and a player or coach for the fourth quarter. Eli and Peyton clearly enjoy having them on, but it can be a challenge to keep the focus on football. On this night, they went from breaking down the beach football scene from “Top Gun: Maverick” with actor Miles Teller to analyzing a 41-yard touchdown catch by Darnell Mooney.

The final guest, Falcons legend Matt Ryan, slides in seamlessly. The game’s getting good, and having another quarterback on the air gives the broadcast another sharp perspective.

“Matt, can you stay with us the rest of the way?” Peyton asks during a commercial break.

“Let’s do it,” Ryan says.

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Barkley could have iced the game for the Eagles with 1:46 left, but he dropped Hurts’ throw on third-and-3 from the Atlanta 10. Peyton is beside himself. He covers his face with his hands. Then he shoots out of his chair.

“Perfect throw, front shoulder,” he vents. “That’s why you don’t throw it there!”

Then his mind shifts to the other sideline.

“Kirk Cousins is over there telling his guys, ‘We’re gonna go win this game.’”

That’s what they do. Cousins leads a six-play, 70-yard drive that ends with a touchdown to London to win it. Peyton’s foot is tapping the entire time. He’s nervous. He’s sweating. He’s into this one. One moment, he’s screaming at the screen. The next, he’s coaching the Falcons’ players on the rules of the two-minute offense.

“No sacks!”

“Decline it! Decline it!”

“No spot! No spot! Let (the ref) spot the ball!”

“Don’t score too quickly!”

Back in New Jersey, Eli’s adrenaline is still pumping after the game is over. It takes the crew about 45 minutes to pack up, so he heads to his office, where he’ll check his text messages and read his dad’s review of the broadcast. Archie always watches.

Peyton exits the garage, still shaking his head. He looks like he’s out of breath, like he led the game-winning drive. “People ask me if I miss playing,” he says. “And I’ll tell you what: I miss that plane ride home Atlanta’s about to have. But I don’t miss for one second that feeling Philly has right now.”

The next morning, the Omaha team has a meeting to review the broadcast. Same as their playing days, both quarterbacks will be graded on their performance. Peyton likes it this way.

“You never wanna stop being coached, right?” he says.

(Illustration: Meech Robinson / The Athletic; photos courtesy of Omaha Productions, Kevin C. Cox / Getty Images)