Bo Nix, Sean Payton, and the Art of Being Coachable

Originally written following Denver’s October 15, 2026 overtime win against Seattle. 

Updated November 2, 2026.

I grew up in Colorado and have been a Denver Broncos fan for as long as I can remember.

I’ve watched Craig Morton, John Elway, Gary Kubiak (who eventually won a Super Bowl as Denver’s coach), Brian Griese, Jake Plummer, Jay Cutler, Peyton Manning, Tim Tebow (loved that guy’s spirit), Brock Osweiler, the Russell Wilson experiment (entourage included), and quite a few others I’d just as soon forget.

So I was watching when the Broncos beat Seattle in overtime. The uniforms were awesome. They reminded me of the good old days when two AFC West rivals met. I was waiting for Jim Zorn to pop out and find Steve Largent in the end zone. Or the aforementioned Craig Morton to find Haven Moses for a big first down. Who remembers the M&M connection?

But I digress. At least we won. We’re 4–2. I should be happy. Does almost 50 years of fandom allow me to say “we?” I say probably “yes.”

In spite of the win, I didn’t get that familiar feeling of happiness I usually get when the guys wearing my favorite football laundry beat the guys wearing somebody else’s laundry. (Thanks, Jerry Seinfeld.)

The defense was Orange Crush-esque. The offense managed 168 yards. Bo Nix threw for 107. The relationship between Bo Nix and Sean Payton has me thinking about something bigger than one ugly win: how much of being a successful quarterback comes down to being willing to listen and learn.

I don’t pretend to know enough about NFL offenses to tell you how much of that is Nix, Sean Payton, or Seattle’s defense. Plenty of people can break down every play and explain what went wrong.

But there’s something else about Nix that’s been bothering me.

It’s what I see on the sidelines. How he sometimes interacts with Payton. What looks to me like a lack of urgency at moments when I’d expect something different.

I realize television shows me only a few seconds here and there. I don’t see the practices, film sessions, or conversations during the week.

For all I know, I’m completely misreading him.

But I keep noticing these things.

What bothers me almost as much as what happens on the field is what I see on the sidelines. Or, more accurately, what I don’t see. I remember watching Tom Brady and Peyton Manning constantly studying pictures of defensive formations, talking with coaches, or getting on the phone with the guys upstairs. Always looking for something, however small, that might give them an advantage on the next possession.

I don’t recall seeing much of that from Nix. I don’t see him rallying his teammates or working through what went wrong on the last series. More often than not, when the cameras find him, he’s sitting on the bench staring into space. Maybe he’s doing all those things when the cameras aren’t on him. I certainly hope so. But from what I can see, the contrast is hard to ignore.

And during this game, I found myself thinking about John Elway.

In Super Bowl XXXII, a 37-year-old Elway needed a first down against Green Bay. He scrambled, launched himself toward the marker, took a tremendous hit, and spun through the air like a helicopter with a mechanical problem.

The Helicopter

It wasn’t graceful. It was spectacular.

And it told his teammates something about their quarterback.

Thursday night, I watched Nix go down or out on a couple of plays when Denver could have used another yard or two. Once late in regulation, when a first down might have ended the game, and again in overtime, when a few more yards would have made the winning field goal less stressful.

Maybe he made the right decisions. Quarterbacks aren’t supposed to get themselves killed for an extra yard.

But I couldn’t help thinking about Elway.

Bo Nix and Sean Payton: Shut Up and Listen. Sometimes.

In October 2024, during his rookie season, Nix got into a heated sideline exchange with Payton during a game against the Raiders.

My immediate reaction was pretty simple: You’re a rookie quarterback arguing with Sean Payton? Maybe listen for a minute.

Payton coached Drew Brees through a Hall of Fame career. I don’t remember Brees getting into shouting matches with him, although that doesn’t mean it never happened.

And Payton has probably forgotten more about offensive football than most of us will ever know. Judging by Thursday’s game, he may have forgotten a few things about it himself.

Of course, great quarterbacks challenge their coaches. Manning and Brady certainly weren’t afraid to speak their minds. Payton can be plenty stubborn, too.

After the Raiders game, Payton downplayed the exchange. Maybe it was nothing more than two competitive people disagreeing.

But there’s a difference between challenging someone because you have something to contribute and resisting someone because you don’t want to be corrected.

Which one was I watching? I honestly don’t know.

Golf Has a Way of Humbling You

I’ve played golf for more than 30 years, and I’m still capable of making the same stupid mistake three holes in a row.

Sometimes I know exactly what I’m doing wrong. Occasionally, I’m even right.

My first golf instructor later won on the PGA Tour. I still whiffed. I carried a ball retriever for years before anyone told me it wasn’t cool.

Having the right teacher and actually listening to him turned out to be separate skills.

Golf has taught me that wanting to improve and being willing to change aren’t always the same thing.

You can buy another driver, watch another YouTube lesson, and blame the greens all afternoon. Eventually, though, you have to admit the problem might be the guy holding the club.

And when someone who knows more than you offers advice, it might be worth listening.

Maybe I’m Wrong

I don’t know Bo Nix. I don’t know how hard he works, what his teammates think of him, or what Payton tells him behind closed doors.

Maybe he’s everything you’d want in a quarterback, and I’m judging him on a few television shots and frustrating plays.

I hope that’s the case.

But I keep coming back to a few questions.

Can you teach competitiveness? Can you teach leadership? Can you teach someone to be coachable, or does that require a certain amount of humility to begin with?

And how do you tell the difference between a quarterback who’s confidently taking charge and one who thinks he already knows enough?

I’m not ready to give up on Bo Nix. Not even close.

Maybe I’m expecting too much from a young quarterback. Maybe I’m confusing a quiet personality with a lack of competitive fire.

But I’ve watched enough football, and played enough bad golf, to know that talent only gets you so far.

November 2 Update: Maybe Bo Nix Is Showing Me Something

Well, two more games have been played since I wrote this, and I think a little updating is in order.

Denver beat Arizona 30-16 in a game that didn’t exactly inspire me, although the Cardinals followed that up by going into Dallas and beating the Cowboys in overtime. Maybe Arizona deserves a little more credit than I was giving them.

Then came Kansas City.

Down 11 points in the fourth quarter against our biggest rival, Nix and the Broncos came galloping back to win 28-24. Two late touchdown drives, a tremendous defensive stand, and suddenly Denver is 6-2 and sitting atop the AFC West.

That was fun. Really fun.

And I have to give Nix credit. Whatever I thought I wasn’t seeing against Seattle, I certainly saw a quarterback who was willing to compete when everything was on the line against Kansas City.

Does that mean my earlier observations were wrong? Maybe. Or maybe I’m just seeing a young quarterback growing into the job.

I still don’t know what happens between Nix and Payton during the week, or how receptive Nix is to coaching. But I have to acknowledge that he’s showing me something.

And there’s probably a lesson in that, too. If I’m going to write about being coachable and willing to learn, I ought to be willing to reconsider my own opinions when the evidence changes.

At some point, you have to decide how badly you want to get better and whether you’re willing to listen to someone who might know how to help you get there.

It probably wouldn’t hurt to see a figurative (or literal) helicopter or two along the way.