Brett Favre used to be my favorite player. When I was a little kid, I wanted to grow up and play quarterback for the Redskins. Part of this traces back to my Dad's time spent as a high school QB, but a great deal also came from the way I looked up to the way Favre played the game. His cannon of an arm, his child-like enthusiasm for the game, and his wise-beyond-his-year's leadership. On top of all this, his Monday Night Football performance against the Oakland Raiders in 2003 (399 total yrds, 4 TDs) in his first game since his father passed away from a heart attack, is one of the defining moments in the NFL's storied history.
That Brett Favre has lone since disappeared, along with the black Michael Jackson and the girl-next-door Britney Spears, all spinning weightlessly into some Twilight Zone-style vortex. The surefire legend has been replaced by a greedy, attention-starved ghost of his former self.
With the news that Favre had signed a new deal with the Minnesota Viking after a fourth straight off-season of retiring and un-retiring, I almost feel sad about the overwhelming notion that everyone just wants to stop talking about #4. From the unseen eye rolls of sports commentators, muted anger-filled shouts in the form of Facebook statuses, to the snarky newspaper headlines, it's clear that, worse than hating Favre, now no one cares about a man who, for a generation of football fans like me, once defined the sport.
So like many NFL seasons before, Favre will once again be under center. But this year, cheers of support and wide-eyes of admiration will be replaced by jeers and indifference. It's sad to see...I only wish that Favre would taken this response into consideration and stayed in small-town Mississippi, enjoying a retirement filled with hunting and fishing.
We can only hope the small print of his new deal reads: "1 year deal, $10-$12 million...then never come back."
No comments:
Post a Comment