For most of my life, fall has been my favorite time of year. It’s a time for plaid, bonfires, camping and most importantly, FOOTBALL! And while I do enjoy watching the Tennessee Volunteers—like every other good tax-paying Tennessean—it’s pro ball that I’m really excited for.

You see, I have an addiction. I’m a Peyton-holic. That’s right. I’m addicted to THE Peyton Manning. I have loved him ever since his Colts days—I have to admit, I wasn’t that into football when he played at the University of Tennessee, and if I didn’t admit it, I have several (rotten!) friends that would undoubtedly call me out.

But once I watched him played on the T.V. in his Colts blue and white, I knew he was the football player for me. My friends and I started watching every game, and the games we didn’t watch together, we would call each other on commercial breaks.

“Did you see that play?!” “What was he thinking?!” “Where was the receiver?!” “That was a perfect pass!”

We were a mess. But I was the biggest mess of them all. Once my family realized Peyton and the Colts were “my thing,” the themed merchandise started rolling in—a Colts t-shirt here, Colts sweatpants there, several hats, and my mom even bought me a pair of Colt’s boxers (which I definitely wore). There was even this Colts sweatshirt that I wore ALL the time, even in the middle of summer. I. Had. A. Problem.

And then my birthday would roll around. My mom made the mistake of asking what I wanted on my cake. One word: Colts. So for years, I had a Colts birthday cake. It was better than any (deflated!) Patriot’s cake--I can promise you that! This obsession went on for years, with the culmination of me receiving my first tattoo, a Colts horseshoe, of course.

This obsession went on for years, fed by mother—who loved buying me the most obscure Colts merchandise (including a Colts Mr. Potato Head and a box of Peyton Manning Wheaties called “Peyton-O’s”). But this all came to a screeching halt in 2012 when the unthinkable happened, my Peytie-Pie transferred. And there I, was left clinging to my Colt’s blankie with a dang horseshoe tattooed on my stomach. Life was the pits.

But I soon couldn’t help myself from watching the Broncos. I mean, he was still the same ole’ Peyton with his one-of-a-kind laser rocket arm. He was still the man, and he still knew how to win games. So slowly, the horseshoes began to be replaced by Broncos. I got a Broncos jersey, a t-shirt, an action figure, and for the first time, my birthday cake had a Bronco on it. Life was great. Peyton was still playing and still being awesome, and I was still able to watch my football idol.

Our new relationship continued to progress—but not without the exception of a few bumps. Last year, my friend and I traveled all the way from Knoxville, Tennessee to Chicago, Illinois to finally see Peyton play in person. And, wouldn’t you know it, he was hurt and didn’t even show up to the game. I.WAS.DEVASTATED.

But slowly, I was able to put that transgression behind me and continue my support of “The Sheriff.” And my fan-hood paid off in the biggest way with the win of (another!) Super Bowl. Man, I was riding high! (Suck it, Patriots!) Of course, first thing I did after the game was call my mom, and ask her to pick me up a Super Bowl shirt. I stayed up way too late that night watching all the after game interviews (What the heck was wrong with Aqib Talib?!) I didn’t want the Super bowl fun to end!

But a couple of months after the game, Peyton announced his retirement, and the finality of it all hit me. Yes, I wanted him to retire at the top of his game, but at the same time, I wanted him to play forever (For-Ev-Er, For-Ev-Er, FOREVER!) But I don’t always get what I want (I mean, Bill Belichik is still coaching, and Tom Brady still has more Super Bowl rings).

So here I am, just a Peyton Manning girl in a Peyton-less world. All I’ve got is my Colts tattoo and a five dollar Broncos wine class that I seriously just bought a week ago--because I still have no self-restraint when it comes to Broncos and Colts merchandise. I’m coping fine right now (it’s not football season after all), but when that weather starts to change, and I smell football in the air, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I hate to admit it, but I guess I’m searching for my next team to root for. So, please pray for our next Peyton Manning, and make sure you let me know when you find him, cause he’s got a fan waiting on him! Oh, and what on earth am I going to get on my birthday cake this year?!