Hero
I’m not one of those people who believe the alpha and omega balance on a fulcrum called sport. Sure, I’d like the Chiefs to go to the Superbowl. Sure, I’d like Missouri to win the border war tonight. But, if neither happens and nobody pours sugar in my gas tank, I’ll still call it a good week.
At the same time, I’m not the type of guy who looks down his nose at people with a love of them game. I have NFL Sunday Ticket. I’ve spent more than a few hours in a more than a few sports bars.
Last, I’m not the type of guy who thinks he knows everything about sports. My major deficiencies lie in hockey and pro basketball. What’s more, I’m pretty much a dunce at all sports when it comes down to the nitty gritty of stats an history.
So, there’s your full disclosure before what many might call a naive or otherwise emotion-based statement:
Brett Favre is a class act, grade-A, mother fucking hero.
There, I said it and I feel better for having said it.
If Monday night’s performance under the weight of his father’s death wasn’t indication enough, consider the following two points:
1) He’s started more than 200 consecutive games. That is, when he’s sick, he goes to work. When he’s hurt, he goes to work. When he doesn’t feel like going to work, he goes to fucking work. Oh, and by the way, he can throw the ball off his back foot farther than you can run without getting winded.
2) So far this year he has not signed a ball with a Sharpie, called home from the end zone, or held up a sign begging the NFL not to fine him. There is no such dance as the Favre-Shuffle. He does not wear a headband to piss off the brass. And, pardon me for saying so, but I bet when he’s in his 60s and back in Green Bay for a veterans night, he probably won’t get drunk and hit on the female sideline reporter. Woops. Looks like I said it out loud.
There’s a reason why people like Keyshawn Johnson make a lot of money. They use it to buy neighborhood respect and then their ticket into hell.
At least when Favre picks up his paycheck he can say he earned it.
