How Peyton and Eli Manning Are Changing Television

Any public consensus is a marvel in 2021. Polarized America can barely bring itself to agree on the day of the week. But the Mannings? America in lockstep loves the Mannings, and their newly-coined “Manningcast,” and the numbers bear it out, with ratings rising each week. It’s by far the sports television story of the season, and, depending on how persuaded you are, either TV lightning in a bottle, the greatest football stunt since the flea flicker, the end of play-by-play as we know it, or all of the above.

The phenomenon became clear to me on opening night, when, sitting at the Raiders-Ravens game in Las Vegas, I noticed the vast majority of chatter on social media was not about the Raiders and Ravens playing before me, but about how good Peyton and Eli were. It was a strange thing, to be at Monday Night Football, and feel like I was missing Monday Night Football, but it seemed like a collective national moment. Within days, the Internet was awash in praise for the “Manningcast,” with enthusiasm matching Lindbergh’s touch down at Le Bourget. Friends now admonish you to watch it, in the same way they shame you to catch up on “Ted Lasso”—You’re not watching Peyton and Eli? Come on! It’s the best. At least DVR it. 

If you’re still wondering what this thing is, allow me to offer a quick primer: For the past three Mondays on ESPN2, Hall of Fame quarterback Peyton Manning and his kid brother Eli have sequestered themselves in Zoom-style boxes which run adjacent on the screen to the feed of the given NFL Monday game, where they spend the evening gently ribbing each other, discussing the action (sort of), interviewing pals like Alabama head coach Nick Saban and NBA legend Charles Barkley, and breathing life into a final lap of weekend football programming that has felt bland and blah for years.

That’s it. That’s really it. It’s just Peyton and Eli talking over a football game, like Joel and the robots snickering over B movies on “Mystery Science Theater 3000.” The “Manningcast” is a simple show that relies on little more than the wit and chemistry of its hosts, who played a combined 34 NFL seasons, won four Super Bowl championships, and, most importantly, grew up wrestling each other in the backyard. 

The Mannings know football, of course—it’s illuminating to hear them break down a play, like this past Monday when the Dallas Cowboys picked off Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Jalen Hurts near the end zone (“It wasn’t a back shoulder, Eli, it was just a short. He’s trying to throw it deep,” Peyton said) or watch Eli demonstrate the quirky hip-shaking routine that Cowboys quarterback Dak Prescott does to loosen up (“It’s about creating torque,” Eli said, explaining that the Shakira-style twist is a drill taught by quarterback guru Tom House).

But the camaraderie is really the sell. At its best, the “Manningcast” feels like a clubby evening in a famous football family’s basement—the boys exchanging verbal darts; papa Archie Manning popping by to tell Peyton to change into a clean dress shirt and lightly scold guest LeBron James for sandbagging his former high-school quarterback. It shines with its guests, as it did when Peyton reminded visiting Matthew Stafford of a 60-yard dart he once threw at the Mannings’s football camp. (“I have to hit the cutoff man to make a throw go 60 yards,” Peyton said), or when Eli repeatedly tried to shake down Saban for inside information on Alabama’s upcoming game with Eli’s alma mater, Ole Miss. (Eli also flipped the double bird while mimicking a child fan in Philadelphia, an act for which he later apologized.)  

It’s fresh, in all respects. To spend just a few minutes with the “Manningcast” is to be reminded how rote all but a few announcing teams are, not only in football, but across sports—the deadpan play-by-play voice narrating the action; the jock attaché babbling about what it all means. Peyton and Eli immediately make the main “Monday Night” feed feel like a starchy Oxford, which is an amusing twist, as the early “MNF,” with Frank, Don and Howard in their banana-yellow blazers and incongruous guests like John Lennon, was conceived as a louche, unbuttoned counter to sober Sunday fare.  

Like the original “MNF,” the “Manningcast” reflects the vibe of its time. It was easy to imagine Howard and the boys repairing to the hotel bar for a postgame nightcap on Roone Arledge’s tab; today, it’s Peyton and Eli in their own houses, freelancers huddled on a Zoom call, stealing bites of sandwiches. This is probably another reason why the public easily jumped on board with the “Manningcast”—we’re all terribly familiar with the format. Disembodied heads talking casually in boxes is not an unsettling visual departure. It’s how we live now. 

There’s been speculation that the “Manningcast” could ultimately supplant the main product, that ESPN should just fit the Mannings for banana-yellow blazers and call it a night. I don’t know if that’s wise. Football games are long, and I’ve found the “Manningcast” settles best when consumed as snackable content, in short, sweet and salty bites. A viewer who wants to fixate solely on the on-field action might get worn down by all their guests and digressions, and the Mannings don’t seem terribly interested in the grind: They’re on hiatus for the next three weeks, and won’t return until Archie’s Saints and the Seahawks play on Monday, Oct. 25. (That’s when you know you’re big on TV: you can comfortably take a vacation.)

The Mannings may soon have company. The first rule of TV is that a hit formula must be ripped off by everyone, and surely there are executives in the lab mocking up “Manningcasts” for baseball, basketball, deep-sea fishing and everything else. I doubt they’ll have much luck. Peyton and Eli are sui generis for an obvious reason. Their success brings to mind a comment about brotherly harmony that the Oasis guitarist Noel Gallagher—the sibling of Liam and no stranger to flipping double birds himself—made during a recent documentary about the Bee Gees and the Brothers Gibb. 

“It’s like an instrument that nobody else can buy,” Gallagher said. “You can’t go buy that sound in a shop.” You can now find it with a remote, however, and good for football. 

Write to Jason Gay at Jason.Gay@wsj.com