I think it is fair to say that today is a significant day in Wisconsin. The stepping down of the man that essentially brought our state to a different form of national prominence is indeed a sad day. My friend Sullie is probably taking the afternoon off from work, and lying in his bed in the fetal position with snot bubbles peppering his pillow.
My thoughts on this are twofold. First of all, I do not like much about professional football. I spent too much time watching athletes shoot their mouths off, and under-deliver week in and week out. I am too aware of the influence of gambling on the sport as well, when ESPN offers up discussion on how a team does against the line it somehow cheapens the experience for me. The never-ending discussion of stadiums and luxury boxes and endorsements overshadows the game.
At the same time, I am prone to hero worship. I worship Derek Jeter, and Michael Jordan, and Wayne Gretzky, the whole team at Miller Park, the Florida State Football team, and so many others. I cried when the Bulls won each of their championships, and I own a Phoenix Coyotes Hockey jersey for no reason other than it is where Wayne ended up. I believe in heroes, and Brett is a hero in more than just Wisconsin.
Brett Favre was special. He threw a ball better than 99.9% of the humans on the planet. He competed as our gladiator each Sunday. He set records, won championships, brought glory to our state. He did so without crashing his car, or getting followed by the paparazzi, or any of that. He was our definition of a guy. He had stubble, jeans, wore hats like we did, and looked like us. But he was more than us. He stood in the arena, and he did something with beauty, and grace and flaws, and made most of us smile. Even me. I remember the pride I felt at seeing them beat the Patriots in the Super Bowl. When Brett tore of his helmet and ran with that smile on his face after the first touchdown, I sat on my families couch and laughed with the simple joy of it.
I also remember watching him as a younger player chucking the ball all over the field on Thanksgiving Day against Detroit. Balls flying here and there, no one really sure where he was throwing to, but the ball getting to its destination with greater speed than anyone I had ever seen. I remember when Reggie White would do the morning radio shows in Milwaukee, when he called Brett “not book smart, not that bright”, and then the two of them making a joke out of it. The two of them laughing, like I laugh with my friends. It seemed like a real thing, it seemed so familiar.
Brett was our hero. Brett was every high school former jock or never jock, thinking that he drinks beer, I drink beer. He does not shave, I don’t shave. Brett is me. Brett is great. I am great. When Brett threw a pick, we cringed, because we threw a pick with him.
I want to thank you Brett for what you did for me. I felt that through you I had a reason to pay attention to football on Sunday. That football was more than what Bobby Bowden did in Florida. That football, even flag football at NTC with my boss Melanie meant something cool. Thank you Brett.
