The only thing controversial about Eli Manning’s legacy is the Hall of Fame debate itself.
Manning’s greatness in some of the biggest moments in NFL history is unquestioned. So are his two Super Bowl rings, his two Super Bowl MVPs, his admirable durability and his reputation as a terrific representative of himself, the Giants and the league.
It is the argument over Manning’s case for Canton that draws out the criticism and push back.
The insistence that Manning must be enshrined alongside the likes of Joe Montana, John Elway, Dan Marino and his brother, Peyton, is what invites the holes that get poked in Manning’s resume, leading with his 117-117 (.500) career regular season record.
Eliminate the debate about Manning’s worthiness to qualify the Hall of Fame, though, and there is no need to name the negatives.
Thursday night’s news that Manning didn’t get into Canton in his first year eligible, therefore, doesn’t need to be viewed as a slight.
For one, he could end up getting in next year or in 2027 anyway. And if that happens, no one will care that it took two or three years. No one will hold it against him. And Manning will have a gold jacket, which no one will be able to take it away from him.
But if this year’s voting is a sign that Manning might never qualify, might never find his bust alongside other legends in Ohio, there is nothing wrong with that, either.
Because if Manning never gets into the Hall of Fame, his legacy will remain intact.
He will still be a hero of one of the league’s landmark franchises, the man who delivered two of the biggest throws in NFL history to David Tyree and Mario Manningham, the ironman who started 210 consecutive games.
And he will still be represented in Canton, because the Hall memorializes those historic moments, the Super Bowls that define eras and franchises and the game’s history.
And no history of the NFL can be written without the Giants’ 2007 toppling of the undefeated New England Patriots in the first chapter.
Admittedly, the fact that Manning didn’t even make it into the group of 10 finalists — after qualifying for the final 15 — could be concerning for his chances in the future.
There was an obvious divide between passionate objectors and supporters, according to voters who were a part of the discussion. And the dissenters simply would not yield on the fact that Manning was never truly one of the best players at his position while he was playing.
There is a lot of truth to that point.
Most Hall of Famers, in the truest sense of the title, are players who were obviously future Hall of Famers when they were playing.
They were the cream of the crop, gamechangers who put fear into the opposition, who gave their team a distinct advantage every week, month and year through the bulk of their career.
Manning never won a single playoff game out of those two Super Bowl runs.
This is what the Hall of Fame debate over Manning does, though: once you add his Canton case to the conversation, it becomes a situation of for and against. And maybe it clarifies for New Yorkers that there is a distinct difference between how Manning is viewed locally versus how he is considered nationally.
Still, none of this minimizes Manning’s historic accomplishments, his reliability and durability, his impressive handling of being the face of New York football for so long.
If he were never to get into the Hall, hypothetically, Manning standing as one of the most clutch players in the game’s history, one of the centerpieces of two of the most memorable championship runs, is enough.
It cements him as iconic in his own unique way.
At the same time, if Manning one day does don a gold jacket, no one will begrudge him — because his career will have earned him the votes to make it so.
Either way, he stands as a central figure in NFL and Super Bowl history.
The only thing controversial about Manning’s legacy is the Hall of Fame debate itself.