Why I Wanted Favre to Go to the Super Bowl


Brett Favre, when he played for the Packers.  Courtesy of Google Images.

Brett Favre, when he played for the Packers. Courtesy of Google Images.

Most of us don’t need any introduction to who Brett is but very few know the important details about his life, which make his performance on Sunday even more impressive than it was. So seeing that this is the case, I think I will put this all in perspective: Brett Favre was born in 1969. That’s right, the 1960s.


The Super Bowl was only two years old when he was born, the Beatles were still making music, mankind had just landed on the Moon, and Richard Nixon was President. Brett Favre entered the NFL in 1991 and soon after made an indelible impression on the league. Folks, do you know how long ago that was? Nineteen years to be exact. If you’re a college student, Brett is old enough to be your father!


Something about that notion disturbs me. The only old gray-haired man I want to see out on the football field is a referee.


Pretty soon Brett will be doing Viagra commercials and infomercials for diabetes and the AARP. And you know what, he will probably still be playing football, which is exactly what I do not want.


Sometimes you have to call it quits. That goes not only for Brett but also Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Madonna, and Paul McCartney. The bad thing, at least for his dignity, is that Brett Favre isn’t a quitter. It made him awesome during his reign, but now it just makes him look desperate. Expect Brett back for the 2010 season and his 20th in the NFL.


He should just get an honorary Super Bowl, somewhat like a lifetime achievement award. It’s pretty obvious he just wants one more ring so he can have two total – one on each finger so he can effectively beat up anybody who cuts him in the cafeteria line in the nursing home.


We all know that won’t happen though.


I, like many other people including every Green Bay Packer fan, wish he had beaten the Vikings, played the Colts in the Super Bowl, got himself a win, and just left the game gracefully.


But since none of this turned out like it should have, the only thing left for Brett is an intervention (besides getting wasted on Bourbon Street). We should get him in a room with his wife, a psychiatrist and possibly a reality TV show crew to coax him out of destroying his last remaining brain cells. He already holds every record for a quarterback, including the most retirements.


What more does he want? Now he is just going to go on making a fool of himself on national television, kind of like Andy Rooney.

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