I was going to avoid posting a take on the Favre Fiasco. But, due to enhanced questioning, I agree that it is nearly impossible to avoid the topic. I figured that I'd wait to write until I actually saw Judas in the Putrid Purple. To me, he looks more like he's attending Mardi Gras than a football game.
For years, I have referred to Brett Favre as the "Spirit Sniper", the "Legend", the "3-time MVP", and the "Football Jesus." Today, he's Judas. A Drama ViQueen.
So, we look towards the future. With heightened anticipation. Judas will be running out of the visitors locker room at Lambeau. Favre at GB. As the enemy. My life is trying to comprehend.
My childhood idol. A living Jesus to me. He's arrived. Back from the dead. But, as the devil. Full of anger. Full of hate. Opposite polarities. It is real, yet unbelievable. Why, I ask.
I live in wondering, seeking answers to mass confusion. Resolutions are far from sane yet fully immersed in the hearts of the masses. Sadness, disgust is all around. Until it concludes on 11/01/09 as the Packers faithful shows that we are far stronger than just one man.
Favre was a legend in Green Bay. He'll continue to be when the dust settles. I don't doubt that. But, while he's in Purple, he'll be the biggest Drama ViQueen of them all.
For years, Favre had the support of the Packer football community. Throughout his drug addiction. Throughout his marriage problems. Through the breast cancer battle. Hurricane Katrina terrorizing his families homes. His Father's death. His charity. The consistent indecision as to whether he was coming back. He had our support.
This year, he betrayed us. I was fine with him as a Jet. In some way, I enjoyed it. But, as a Viqueen? This is gross. It's lame. It's filthy. He's turned his back on everyone that held him dear.
Brett, for years, you were my idol. You showed America how to prosper in tough times. In many ways, you were a role model both off and on the field. I live in a one bedroom condo. 900 square feet. With a wife and two dogs. I still found space for an autographed Favre football, an autographed helmet, an autographed jersey and an autographed picture. I won't claim to have been your biggest fan Brett, but no one cheered harder for you than I. And know, I watch in hopes of someone driving your shoulder into that nasty Metrodome turf. Brett, karma is a bitch.
In closing, Brett you traded in a legacy of playing on the most brilliant of stadiums for a sidekick role of playing in a Dome. For years, you defined what it took to play in all of football elements. Now, you'll be playing on the turf, which in many ways resembles what you've become: absolutely artificial.
But, Brett, don't worry I'll love you again. I will. Team heals. I believe that. But, until then, have I told you that you look old, gray and frail? And at some point, the old gray man just ain't what he used to be. I hope your time has passed.