Just what we needed was one more reason to encourage Favre that we actually want him in the league still. And by "we", I am of course referring to the self-respecting, hard-working, decisive NFL fan that knows that when he tells his boss it's over...it's really over.
(Note: Please exclude from this grouping the swooning, love-struck commentators and analysts who I think in some sick way want Favre to take their daughters to the prom.)
How can anyone condemn the man for returning this year solely to seek revenge on his former team, but in the next breath shower him with praise for so obviously elevating his game against the Packers?
Let me guess—he'll have mediocre games the next three weeks, handing the ball off to AP 30 times, and then miraculously become the resurrected ghost of Otto Graham in Week Eight when he faces the Pack on the frozen tundra.
But, I'm sure he came back this year just because he loves the game, right?
I’m sure it has nothing to do with the media spoon-feeding his pretty princess ego, or the power he wields over every team foolish enough to pay this guy another dollar. They should just slap an 81 on Favre’s back and he’d fit right in with half of the wide receivers in the league. Prima donnas.
Do I sound bitter?
Well, I may be, but I assure you it’s not because I have any vested interest in whether he fails or succeeds. I am a lifelong Broncos fan and the only time the man has ever really crossed our path was back in 1997 when John Elway was helicoptering his way through Favre’s Super Bowl repeat.
I’m bitter because I have to get up every morning at 5:00 am to go to work. I’m bitter because I have spent the last year-and-a-half watching my colleagues being walked out carrying boxes containing the five possessions they can grab off their desks. I’m bitter because I don’t have the luxury of knowing I will have a job tomorrow.
I’m bitter that we allow Favre to exist in a fantasy world, where he can dictate the terms of his employment and then get praised for his manipulation.
I didn’t actually watch the game on Monday night because I refuse to put another penny in Favre’s wallet. And if I was actually getting paid to write this, I would certainly have refrained from doing so. I know my protest is inconsequential, and will have no resonance in the grand scheme of life, but at least I could look at myself in the mirror the next morning.
I’m not one of those people who feel this way about pro athletes in general.
In fact, this is the first protest I’ve ever staged of this nature. I don’t complain about them earning exponentially more money than our grade school teachers, or waste any time being envious of their fame. I understand why this is. I’m sure if there were only 3,500 teachers in the world, they would certainly make a great deal more than they do today.
I’m just one of those people who work hard every day to earn the respect of those around him. I work hard to feed my family and to put a roof over their heads. And I know that if I were to burn as many bridges as Favre has (my bridges would of course exist in the real world), I wouldn’t be able to give them the type of life they deserve.
That is why I will not watch another snap this man takes, or cheer for another interception he throws. I will turn the station when I see his face on the next commercial making light of his indecision, or glorifying his “heroics” against his former team. I will tune out the next bedfellow commentator, pouring over his talent, or labeling him the X-factor.
I would encourage you to do the same.
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