Brett, can you hear me?
It's me, Frank. You know, the guy whose fantasy team you decimated for years to come.
Well, you did it again.
You articulately conceived a plot to murder my fantasy dreams again this season, didn't you?
What did I ever do to you Brett?
In case you didn't read, or you forgot, Brett Favre and I are no strangers to each other. He has spoiled my fantasy dreams once before.
I ranted and raved on how much I hated Brett Favre for sabotaging my fantasy team last season, only to admit that I could never truly hate him, because he is once again my QB on this year's team.
Well, Brett, that was before tonight's game against Carolina. I can honestly whole-heartedly say...I HATE YOU.
I HATE BRETT FAVRE.
Brett, when I drafted you this year, it wasn't because I wanted you. It was because you were the best of what was left. I quickly learned that Jay Cutler was a disaster and Carson Palmer was average at best. So, like a true legend, you stepped up and took the helm and led my team to battle week after week.
I let my guard down, Brett.
I started to believe you. Every Sunday morning when you whispered into my ear "don't worry, I got this," I believed you. And you held up you're end of the bargain, Brett.
You led me through a spectacular regular season. You dazzled. You we're simply marvelous, you were everything a fantasy owner could ask for.
You led me to where I was tonight. You led me to the championship game.
So, again this morning, when I looked at you and Carson Palmer, you firmly assured me that it would be YOU that would take me to the promise land and bring home that prestigious title of "Fantasy Football Champion."
And then you did it.
As if you were a professional wrestler that just turned on his tag-team partner, you stabbed me and the rest of my team in the back, Brett.
You delivered a chair shot to the head of my fantasy team that would give Vince McMahon goosebumps.
My team had scratched and clawed its way to within one point of becoming fantasy champions. Adrian Peterson gave me a beautiful 63-yard run up the sideline all but assuring me the victory.
I HATE BRETT FAVRE.
This was part of you're plan all along wasn't it, Brett? You knew you were going to lead me to glory, only to snatch it right from my grasps.
I hope somebody shrinks every pair of Wrangler jeans you own.
There are four things that you do not mess with when it comes to men, Brett.
You do not mess with a man's girl, his dog, his children, and you sure as hell do not mess with his fantasy team, Brett.
Well, my girlfriend want's to know why her hairdryer is in pieces (it was the closest thing to throw) and my dog want's to know why his food bowl has been kicked across the kitchen (again, a casualty of proximity).
Brett, you're lucky I don't have any kids.