In defense of… Brett Favre


Take it easy, folks. I promise I haven’t gone completely off my rocker.
Yes, as preposterous as it sounds, I, a dyed-in-the-wool Bears fan (see what I did there?) who was born the year they won the Super Bowl, a veritable child of the Superfan Mystique, is taking it upon himself to defend the man who was basically the Mephistophelean Adversary to our shining alabaster beloved Chicago Bears. How did it come to this? Come along and see.
I won’t be defending his career with the Packers. As far as I’m concerned, the Favre most of Wisconsin (and whoever actually listens to the blubbery spittle of John Madden) have canonized as some kind of football saint is nothing but a pill-popping, skirt-chasing (as said by former coach Dan Reeves), interception-loving opportunist. Let’s face it, folks: the only reason the Packers were good for those few years was because they had a damn good coach in Mike Holmgren, and I’m willing to admit that. Holmgren managed to turn a saggy and aged Reggie White (also probably hopped up on something, preacher career be damned), a mediocre Desmond Howard, an even more mediocre Robert Brooks, the obese tectonic plate known as Gilbert Brown, and a few other forgettable faces (including Don freakin’ Beebe, come on!) into a force to be reckoned with. If you ask me, Holmgren deserves a medal for making a successful team out of that collection of dashed-off tripe. Before you say anything, remember that not that long ago, Holmgren worked the magic again, bringing the Seattle Seahawks to their first Super Bowl appearance ever on the vanilla shoulders of Matt Hasslebeck. No further questions, your honor.
And at the center was Favre, a brick-headed good ol’ boy who fit in well with the beer-sogged, wife-slapping, down home borderline-racist minority of Wisconsin fans who seem to relish being a statistic. I kid you not, domestic violence has been proven to go up in the state of Wisconsin when the Packers lose. Don’t bother looking any of this up, of course, because I’ve already tried and it’s impossible to find. I suppose you could say that I’m making it all up, but honestly, why would I? You see, there is something strange about the Green Bay Packers. For starters, they are the NFL’s only publicly owned team, which literally means the team is owned by the town, which is why the Pack have some gosh-darn home-grown feel good country roots, doncha know. As a result of this, the media seems to think that they can champion these goons (most of which probably didn’t even know Wisconsin was a state when they signed) as some kind of Family Team or, even more revoltingly, a second incarnation of "America’s Team," a name formerly applied to the Dallas Cowboys of the 1970s.
So what does this all mean? Well, in short, it means hands-off. ESPECIALLY hands-off the charming, oh-so-Dogpatch kyoo-bee, Brett Baby. Gilbert Brown beats his girlfriend? No coverage. Reggie White dies suspiciously early of a heart attack? No questions asked. Mark Chmura is found in a hot tub with underaged girls? Chmura gets the boot, but Favre is rumored to be at the party, and not a word is said. Even Brett Favre’s own admission to having an unhealthy relationship with painkillers has been almost completely glossed over by a tongue-lolling media hoping that, by hook or by crook, they can show that at least one professional athlete isn’t a scumbag. As long as you played for the Packers, it seemed like you were untouchable.
But God help you if you switch to one of their rivals.
Exhibit A: Reggie White, the beloved defensive end, decides that retirement just isn’t for him and comes back for a few ridiculously under quality seasons with the Carolina Panthers. Packer fans say "oh, that’s nice, go Reggie!"
Exhibit B: After winning the Super Bowl XXXI MVP award and being a Green Bay darling, Desmond Howard winds up playing in Detroit and is never heard from again, his very existence seemingly wiped from Packer fan memory.
Exhibit C: Brett Favre, after nearly escaping crucifixion by overzealous Packer fans, finally retires, prompting many a "say it ain’t so, Brett" among the MGD United. He then decides, also, that retirement just isn’t much fun and plays a ho-hum season with the New York Jets, starting out big and coasting on his previous successes, but flaring out and managing to set the record for interceptions in a career, surpassing George Blanda, a man who played until age 48. Once again, a far away team inspires a lot of "we’re still rooting for you!" sentiment and even an upsurge in New York Jets jersey sales and demands for TV coverage in Wisconsin as the fans hold on like desperate cast-offs from a swinger’s late night romps.


Mr. Favre has the gall, the UNMITIGATED GALL, to sign for the division rival Minnesota Vikings after another off-season of "should I or shouldn’t I?" hemming and hawing about his future career. After a year of huggy-muggy love from the Lambeaun-heads to NYC, the gloves finally come exploding off Packer Backers as if someone had just traveled through time and simultaneously slapped their mother, grandmother, and infant daughter. Suddenly, the Packer fans go ape.

Sweet Gallopin’ Horseradish. I can’t even fit them all on here. But what the heck, one more funny one:

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the madness. For some reason, the aforementioned Packer psychos base so much of their life around this stupid football team that it gives us…gives us… THIS:

From a fanbase that previously gave us THIS:

It’s ridiculous. It’s ludicrous. I could make a "This is Sparta!" joke, but it loses panache when there actually is a Sparta, Wisconsin. To wit, Jim McMahon, the quarterback who lead the Bears to a Super Bowl win, ended up playing for the Packers, and I can’t think of a more spirited and hated rivalry. Heck, the Packers could arguably be the team that ruined his blossoming career with a cheap shot, but the Chicago faithful didn’t do anything like this malarkey. I mean, sheesh, this is just… I can’t even fathom it.
So why, Brett? Why? Why did you go an betray your adoring fans by signing with the enemy? Why did you seemingly show disdain and spit in the eye of every Packer Backer? Why would you take a team that has done so much for you, adored you, made you unto a God, and betray them thus? Well, I can think of a few explanations:
1) He never has, and never will, care about the Green Bay yokels
2) He was all for the money

or, the case may just be…

Brett Favre isn’t smart, but he’s smart enough to know how dumb he is.

Let’s face it. Brett Favre is not a smart man, but he’s not a complete retard. He knows he won’t get any big time endorsement deals beyond Wrangler jeans or Snapper lawn tools (he couldn’t even get a deal with the green-and-yellow lawn mower company? sheesh!) . He knows he’s got quite a medical bill from his wife’s cancer. He knows he won’t get him dumb, dead-eyed slur on any kind of commentary show, especially not with his best buddy Madden hanging up his microphone. Brett Favre is smart enough to know that he has almost no career after he stops playing football, and he’s going to coast on the modest success and Asgaardian image Mike Holmgren crafted for him until he can no longer do it, and retire with whatever he has to do nothing but play golf and drink beer for the rest of his life. No one outside of Wisconsin wants to see Brett Favre, and the other teams in the league show interest only because they hope and pray that he still has a bit of the magic left in him, magic that might have filled a thimble in the first place and not enough magic to lift Joe Montana’s pinky finger a centimeter. I feel I must defend Mr. Favre from the same slavering, idiot fans who got a big ol’ stiffy over him in the 90s. Sure, I still don’t like the guy, and I think he’s about as good as Bobby Hebert… but I respect him a little more because of this latest move. Hey, fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, Brett Favre’s gotta find somewhere to throw interceptions. Here’s to the best. Brett, and I won’t even mind if you spank my Bears yet again this year. You deserve it for all the crap you’re going through from fickle, bandwagoning, possibly drunk former "fans."
When I was in fifth grade, the Pack won the Super Bowl, and everyone in my class HAD to write a letter to a Packer. I grudgingly sent a letter to Jim McMahon, and proceeded to talk about his time with the Bears. Yes, the Bears suck pretty hard, and they’ve seemed to screw up everything good given to them in the past two decades, but I’m still a fan, darnit, and I’ll still cheer for those Super Bowl Shufflers, even if they do play for the enemy. I might pout and scream and gnash my teeth, but in the end I’m still a fan, and you won’t hear me calling Mr. McMahon a "traitor" for taking a job. Godspeed, Mr. Favre, I never thought I’d be defending you.

~To be a Bears fan
is to know the pain of years
Joy will never come ~

This has been a Chicago Bears haiku.

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