"I can't believe I survived, not only my life, but I am still playing football.  Half of those 8 or 9 years I don't even remember."  Brett Favre

The Purple Helmeted Warrior; or ROGER GOTOHELL

 

          Roger Goodell wanted to see Brett Favre’s wee wee.  His John Thomas. Trouser Trout.  Mr. Happy.  Mini-Me.  I mean Favre was unquestionably a purple helmeted warrior, but he just refused to go that far.  Instead, Favre told Goodell to go to hell.  Goodell fined him $50,000.

          NFL players already give away their right to free speech.  That’s the first amendment, by the way.  Ol’ primavera.   Or is that an Italian dish?  I’ll have the tuna, thanks. The contract players sign with the NFL says, “Players are not permitted to give honest or truthful answers…they must state, in a monotone voice,  ‘Well I’m sure the referee tried his hardest…’” and other such obvious lies.  Fortunately for Jim Mora, there is a clause that indicates, “If you are having a really bad day, the interviewee may state, ‘Playoffs.  Playoffs?  Playoffs!’ but may only raise his or her[1] voice on one of the words.”  There is a seldom used clause from NFL Collective Bargaining Agreement that indicates: “If his highness ever requests a view of your winkie, you are required to present it for inspection, regardless of its present condition, size, shape, religion or national origin.  Violations of his imminency’s demands will result in a fine of $50,000.”  Brett Favre was the first one punished under what is affectionately referred to by the players as The Caligula Rule.

           Jenn Sterger is going to try and convince a jury that she was offended by seeing a wealthy, handsome, superstar quarterback’s frank and beans. [2]  She’s trying to flag him for stepping into the neutral zone.  Encrotchment.  Good luck with that.  Before she met Favre she was posing in football stadiums half naked and the photos were all over the internet.  Now that doesn’t at all mean she “had it coming” or that he was somehow justified, but it does mean that she can’t pull a Scarlett O’ Hara and say, “My law, that was offensive.”

          Favre was offensive, there is no doubt about that.  He is the NFL’s All-Time leader in most offensive categories including career touchdowns, career completions and career lawsuits by those offended by his offensiveness.  What a way for one of the greatest players (forget quarterbacks) in NFL history to go out.  His fame and notoriety at times may have slightly exceeded his ability and sometimes the gunslinger couldn’t hit the side of a barn, but he had a rare gift for flatulence and making plays that only a few before him possessed.  I hope that I can forget the retirement circuses that hung around the end of his career like an albatross.  I probably will.  I had to visit a doctor in the 2009 offseason because every time I heard a news story about him I involuntarily vomited.  I was physically sick of him and yet I was guffawing towards the end of the year every time he made those one in a million throws and then ran down the field like a little boy running through a field of daisies on a spring afternoon with arms extended in the shape of a bird.   He made me believe that a grown man could still be in touch with that child hidden in the top row of the upper deck.  The one with the obstructed view.

          Brett Favre’s career ended in much the same bizarre fashion that it started, with a confused boy from the bowels of Mississippi looking like a court jester rather than a super wealthy, world famous, future hall of famer.   When he was drafted by the Falcons he showed up with a mullet and was destined to be more Hannah Montana than Joe Montana. In one of the great ironies, the reason he wasn't drafted in the first round related to injury concerns. He was released into the big city and showed up late and hung over to Falcons team meetings on a regular basis.  His coach Jerry Glanville didn’t know his name and would ask his assistants, “Where is Mississippi?”  He was traded to the Packers and a few weeks into the season Don Majkowski (the Magic Man) got hurt and Favre proceeded to perform the most impressive feat in the history of all professional sports.  He started 297 NFL games in a row at quarterback.  Favre was the real magician.  Nobody will ever do it again.  And we’ll never see anyone as entertaining who smiled after Warren Sapp fell on him and said, “That’s all you got Warren?”

          The next time you see Favre looking like that guy that lives in that old house at the end of the dirt road, you know the one with the fading Sex Offender sign in the front yard, remember that there was a time when he wasn’t so bad.   There was once a time when his unabashed enthusiasm and the incredible journey from the depths of Kiln lit up your television and the world.  There was another guy from a little town in Mississippi.  He was gifted in his own right and like Favre became world famous.  Like Favre, he left us with a memory of a drug addict slumped over a toilet.  Elvis is dead.  When he left, his soul found another poor little snot nosed boy in a piss ant blue collar town in rural Mississippi.  That little boy used to sing, “Teddy Bear” but he graduated to, “I’m just a hunk o’ hunk o’ burnin’ love.”  He may be singing the jailhouse rock, but I implore you, don’t be cruel.



[1]as if there is a woman capable of more than sideline reporting and massages
[2] Charles Barkley has recently reported that Favre will be plugging the “Pigs in a Blanket” or “Lean Minis”.
 
January 6, 2011