Look, we all know what Frank Gore is not. But it's early and the caffeine hasn't kicked in, so here's a quick review:
1. He is not Jim Brown.
2. He is not Walter Payton.
3. He is not Adrian Peterson or Marshawn Lynch or Bronko Nagurski or Elroy "Crazy Legs" Hirsch -- although no one's checked his birth certificate in the last five minutes, so there's an outside chance he might have hung out with the latter two back in the day.
Which brings us to the last and most obvious thing Frank Gore isn't: He isn't 23-year-old Frank Gore.
He is, instead, a running back with some miles on him, and by miles we mean "predates airbags by three model years." The man's 32, which is 85 in running back years. He's never lined up in the single wing, but he's heard stories about it.
So why is this still a smart buy for the Indianapolis Colts?
Because here's one more thing Frank Gore is not: He's not Trent Richardson.
He is, instead, a man who rushes for 1,000 yards the way some people put on coffee in the morning. And he can catch the football. And he can block, which is a big deal if you're Andrew Luck and periodically fleeing your pass pocket like it's a burning building is not your favorite thing to do.
The man's still got some tread on him, and if the Colts got older by signing him they also got better. That will also be true if they land Andre Johnson, a 34-year-old wide receiver who'd make a very nice complement to deep threat T.Y. Hilton as the veteran possession receiver.
Of course, he'd also make a nice complement to Gore. And to 33-year-old pass rusher Trent Cole, whom the Colts also signed yesterday. And to 34-year-old Mike Adams back there in the secondary.
This season's motto: "The Indianapolis Colts. Get Off Their Lawn Or Else."
But if this reverse youth movement is counter-intuitive -- in the NFL, younger's better as long as a player's out of Garanminals and has ditched the training wheels -- it also makes a certain amount of sense. Older might just be older, but it's also cheaper. And if you're a football team that's only a piece or two short of a realistic Super Bowl push ... well, there's no time like the present.
And so: Bring on Bronko Nagurski's homey.
What the hey. If nothing else, he'll crush the Early Bird Special.