My wife and I left behind many possessions deemed “not worth the trouble to haul” before our move from Los Angeles to San Diego last month. One of the things she reclaimed from my box of junk destined for Goodwill was the Favre jersey I’ve had since I was a kid.
“Maybe our (still very hypothetical) children will want to wear it one day,” she shrugged as she tossed it in my direction. I looked at the article of clothing I used to sleep in on nights before games, thought for a second, and then crammed it into the box with our spices. I wasn’t ambivalent, just disaffected. The jersey made the move and now hangs in the back of my cluttered closet.
But as Lombardi as my witness, if Brett Favre comes out of retirement one more time, I’m burying the jersey.
It’s another offseason, and that means it’s time once again for Favre Watch: Part… I’ve lost count. Will he or won’t he? A couple of weeks ago, the Eagles were identified as potential suitors, with even Mike Vick tweeting his support. This week, it’s the Miami Dolphins, whose poor starting QB, Chad Henne, can’t even make it through a routine practice without being relentlessly booed by fans.
Favre’s agent keeps reiterating that he’s done, but this isn’t my first rodeo, Mr. Cook. “The Itch” will return, and I doubt very much that the old gunslinger possesses the impulse control not to scratch. The consecutive starts streak is over, so Brett’s in no rush to get to camp in time for the season’s first game. But mark my words, he will be back this year, for some team at some point, and that will be the last straw.
I hope I’m wrong, and not because I’m bitter or because I hold some kind of grudge. Rather, with every un-retirement, masseuse allegation, and Sterger text, Favre makes me feel worse and worse about myself – that I foolishly counted him as my hero for such a large percentage of my life. His rocket of a right arm was probably the closest thing to a religion that I’ve known, and now I feel like those poor chumps who sold everything they had because they were convinced that The Rapture was coming on May 21.
There are two things in my 30 years that I truly regret being witness to. The first was the silver screen version of “Sex and the City” (my wife owes me the 3-D re-releases of Star Wars Episodes IV-VI for that spectacle). The other was seeing Favre on the verge of another Super Bowl…with the Minnesota Vikings. At this point, I care as much about the presence of Favre’s #4 hanging in the rafters at Lambeau as I care about my own version hanging in the back of my closet.
I'm not sure if I'll ever forgive. Will you?