We'll Never Forget You, Brent

At 10:14 this morning, I was awakened to the sound of my phone going off. I checked my text messages, and saw the following ESPN Mobile Alert:

"ESPN News - WCCO-TV (Minneapolis): QB Brett Favre is expected to sign with Vikings on Tuesday."

In the immortal words of Keanu Reeves: Whoa.

(By the way, this is the second time in a year and a half (or so) that I have been woken up by a text message. The first time was my then-girlfriend letting me know of Favre's original retirement. Out of the literally hundreds of texts I've gotten while sleeping, only two of them woke me up. A little bit creepy? Yes. But I digress.)

I was a wreck at work today. Sleepwalking through my shift. My head was elsewhere, and with good reason. For myself, and for a generation of boys in Wisconsin, Favre was a living god. Growing up as a sports fan in this state at the time I did, you didn't have much. Ray Allen's rookie year was when I was 8 years old--for my formative years as a fan, I got Todd Day, Vin Baker, and Glenn Robinson. The Brewers, if anything, were worse. In 1998, when I was 9 years old, the immortal Rafael Roque was our opening-day starter. Meanwhile, guided by arguably the most physically gifted quarterback in history, the Packers were a playoff staple. Guess which season was my favorite?

Brett Favre wasn't my favorite Packer--that was Reggie White--but he was a close second, and nobody else came close to the top two. After almost a decade of watching him sail recievers, force passes into double-coverage, and kill his teams with irresponsible interceptions, it's easy to forget what a phenom Favre was back in the day. My first memory as a sports fan was the 1995 NFC Championship game in which Favre, fresh off his first of three straight MVP seasons, damn near pulled off the impossible and upset the Cowboys in Texas Stadium. Back in the '90s, nobody beat the Cowboys at home. And Favre almost did it.

A year later, we avoided the 'Boys in the playoffs, and cruised to a Super Bowl victory. And Favre was great. Watch the highlights from that season some time--it's hard to believe that the plodding, gray gunslinger we are familiar with today was once such a great playmaker. I specifically remember one play against the Rams that season: Favre dropped back, sensed pressure, slipped loose from about 4 different Ram defenders, ran about 15 yards total behind the line of scrimmage, and flipped a shovel pass to Dorsey Levens for the touchdown.

Growing up during the Favre era tainted me as a football fan. Call it the Reverse Cubs Complex. You know how Cubs fans (or until 2004, Red Sox fans) seem to expect to lose every big game? We were the opposite. As long as we had Brett, we fully expected to win every game. And when we didn't it was a shock. Brett gave us that swagger. One of the most famous stories about him involves Super Bowl XXXI. The day of the big game, he was sitting in his hotel room watching highlights from Super Bowl XXIV. One play stuck with him--Joe Montana coming to the line, reading the defense, checking to a deep pass, and finding his receiver for a touchdown. That night, Favre did that exact same thing--twice.

Above all else, Favre was a competitor. That play against the Rams I described before, I think, exemplifies this above all. He never gave up on a play. When he was young, mobile, and accurate as anyone has ever been, this was what put him over the top. Dan Marino had the physical gifts to be that great, but never had the same never-say-die attitude that Favre had. That's what made him the greatest ever, instead of simply great. But over the years, as his physical skills eroded, Favre's mentality never changed. It was his tragic flaw.

It's an unwritten rule in professional sports: as you age, you either adapt or you fizzle. Randy Johnson has adapted--once an intimidating flamethrower, he has reinvented himself as a crafty junkballer due to his plummeting velocity. Steve Young never adapted, and he started getting hurt--and it eventually ended his career. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Shaquille O'Neal are both great examples of once-dominant players who learned to share the spotlight late in their careers.

Favre never adapted. In his mind, he was still the same player in 2008 that he was in 1996. Sure, he didn't scramble around in the pocket as much, and he relied on his running game a lot more, but Favre was still completely unwilling to quit on a play. The result? You could piece together an entire hour-long SportsCenter out of Favre's forced-pass lowlights this decade. And the perennial retirement debacle stems from this character trait as well.

Favre is still a good quarterback. He's no longer great. But he's an upgrade over quite a few starters in the league (and Tavaris Jackson is undoubtedly one of them). In his mind, he can still play--so he's still going to play. And therein lies the problem.

A year and a half ago, he announced his retirement. The Packers, to their credit, thanked him for years of memories, and prepared to move forward with Aaron Rodgers taking the snaps. Meanwhile, the voice in the back of Favre's head kept telling him he could still play. Like the hundreds of times it told him Don't take the sack--you can still make something happen. So he decided that maybe, just maybe, he still wanted to play. And the Packers' management found themselves royally fucked. Brett was God in Green Bay. But he was getting older. By and large, his tendency to force passes had cost the team a trip to the Super Bowl the year before. And Rodgers was younger, cheaper, and if you believed what he showed in the Monday Night game against Dallas was indicative of his talents, just as good.

Packer Nation was split. Half felt that Favre should be starting for the Green and Gold so long as he was willing and able. The other half felt that he had already ended things, and was putting the team in an unfair position by trying to come back.

As you know, he ended up playing for the New York Jets. Was it painful to see him running another team? You bet. But it was hardly unprecedented. History is littered with legendary figures finishing their career with the wrong team. Joe Namath with the Rams. Joe Montana with the Chiefs. Michael Jordan with the Wizards. Jerry Rice with the Raiders, Seahawks, and Broncos. Emmitt Smith with the Cardinals. Hell, even Reggie White--my favorite Packer of all time--retired a Carolina Panther. This off-season, Favre retired and most of Packer Nation was ready to forgive him.

Now? Not a chance. Not only did he sign with an archrival, he did so for spiteful reasons (citing the Packer front office's treatment of him last off-season as a key reason to want to play for Minnesota in several interviews). And in doing so, he filled the biggest need area for the Vikings. Yesterday they were a contender in the NFC North, but hardly a favorite. Today, they're probably the smart bet to win the division. This wasn't just business--this was personal. This was Favre sticking it to the Green bay fans and executives who wouldn't kowtow to him when he wanted to come back.

To watch your childhood hero pull a stunt like that, well, it hurts deep. Watching him at work today, as ESPN showed him practicing in a Vikings helmet, was too much to take. I had to change the channel. I just wasn't ready for that yet. When Reggie White died a few years ago, it shook me. But all things considered, this was even worse. At least Reggie's legacy remained intact. I feel like my entire life as a sports fan has been tainted. Until Ryan Braun and CC Sabathia carried the Brewers down a historic stretch run last fall, every single cherished sports memory I had from my childhood involved Favre in some way or another. Like I said earlier, we didn't have much else growing up in this state. Now, it just feels different. I re-watched the NFL Films Super Bowl Champions special on the '96 Packers--the first, and only, iTunes purchase I have ever made--and it wasn't the same. It felt like watching a wedding video after the divorce.

So what did I do? Start a sports blog. All summer, as I found myself with exceedingly more free time, I considered doing it. The Richard Jefferson trade giveaway happened, and I thought about starting this blog. The Brewers sent a giant "Fuck You" to their fans by failing to bring in a starting pitcher at the trade deadline, and I thought about it again. But I put it off each time--I won't stay motivated, it'll suck, nobody'll read it, etc. After this bombshell hit, it just felt right. Maybe I won't stay motivated. Maybe, after a nearly 9 month sabbatical from sports writing and devoid of copy editors to cover my ass, I'll suck. Maybe I'll get the 1.5 hits a month that inevitably killed my first attempt at a blog a couple years back.

Brett's facing the same situation. Maybe, like he said after last season, his heart just isn't in the game anymore. Maybe he's worse than we're realizing--he did, after all, murder the Jets' playoff chances down the stretch last year. Maybe, with the Packers and Bears both looking frisky on paper, he'll suffer his first losing season of his career.

At his age, he's got a better chance of being exposed than I do. So let's see how things play out.