Brett Should Be Happy to Go Down Fighting and Not To Fade Away

“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

When Thomas Grey wrote this opening stanza of Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard in 1751 he was observing the signs of a country day drawing to a close. The sun setting behind a country churchyard set him thinking about human mortality. Death finally comes to us all.

Now read the verse again and, in your mind, fast forward, to the last Sunday night’s NFC Championship game between the New Orleans Saints and Minnesota Vikings. There was a farmer from Mississippi playing in that game. For 19 seasons he has been a starting quarter-back in the NFL. Twice he retired; in 2007 he left the Green Bay Packers after 16 seasons. In 2008 he left the New York Jets. Twice he returned; he gave the 2008 season to the New York Jets at 39 years of age. He has given the season just finished, to the Minnesota Vikings - at 40 years of age.

Brett Favre is this farmer’s name. He didn’t die last weekend, but his football career finally did. Until last Sunday, he consistently defied the ever-greying stubble that grew on his match day chin. In two of the last three seasons his performance ratings were equal to the three seasons he won the leagues Most Valuable Player award, they came 1995, 1996 and 1997. He currently holds the all-time records for most of the categories under which a quarter-back is judged. These include, most passing yards, touchdowns thrown etc.

It was beginning to look like Brett Favre, who has the blood of the Choctaw tribe in his veins, would go on forever. That was until very late in last Sunday’s evening at New Orleans.

The New Orleans Saints defence was keenly aware that the key to victory was to knock Favre off his game. It is not an easy task for defenders to charge through four or five men, each as strong as a bullock and weighing just as much, and get to hit the quarter-back. The Saints managed it last Sunday though, not once or twice, but dozen times and more.

The ESPN website chief writer, Gene Wojciechowski gave the following account of Brett Favre’s night.

“Favre was pounded like a gavel, twisted like an Auntie Anne's pretzel. The guy got hit so hard and so often Sunday that Superdome officials should have a walking tour of the field.

Here's where Favre's left ankle went right.

Here's where Favre's right thigh took one for the team.

Here's where Favre's left wrist lost a chunk of flesh. 

But most of all, here's where the Minnesota Vikings had their postseason crushed.”

Favre held up well through the first half of the game, but every sickening collision took it toll. As the second half advanced the quarter-back, who once strode proudly on to the field to command his troops, began to plod like Grey’s weary farmer. Still, despite his obvious discomfort, he battled on. With 15 seconds to go, and the scores tied, it looked as if he may have overcome all the adversity. He released one last pass that seemed destined to be caught by one of the Viking receivers for a touchdown. Then, the curfew bell tolled. It was tired pass. He threw it across the field – never play a tired pass across the field in any code of sport. The result was inevitable; pass was intercepted. Seconds later time was up. The game went into sudden death overtime. The Saints worked the ball into field goal position and their kicker obliged. The Vikings season was dead.

When the television cameras turned to Brett Favre, he looked his age; and a lot more. The sun had finally set on his extraordinary career.

Wojciechowski, summed it up well. “If this was the end for Favre, he has zilch to apologise for. The Vikings wouldn't have reached the NFC Championship Game without him…. He was the best player on a really good team. At 40.”

“I can’t even move,” Favre said, at the press conference after the game, “I feel 49 years old”. He then went on to tell reporters that he didn’t want to make a decision on his future for a month or so. It was brave talk from a man who looked like he had just walked out of a bad car crash.

Wojciechowski again said it best. “A few minutes later, he left the makeshift stage and walked slowly, very slowly, down a stadium corridor to meet his family. You got the feeling that it might be the last walk down one of these corridors he ever makes.”

Understanding that the time is right to retire is probably one of the hardest realities a top sportsman has to face up to. There are so many reasons for this. The chief among them being that long after the raw speed and power have left the legs and body of the star player, he will have developed the ability to survive on the knowledge and experience he has garnered to cover for any deficiency in physical ability.

In Brett Favre’s case, his experience and strength allied to the quality of the players around him, was enough to allow him to dominate opposition in the ordinary games of the season. The rise in standard and competitiveness of the play-off games meant that players around him were more engaged in their own work. They could not protect him as well and he became exposed and vulnerable.

Closer to home, we see this phenomenon every year in team sports played here. How often has a star hurler put up fine performances in the National League only to be “found out” by the faster pace of championship hurling of summer?

Another great example is the veteran inter-county player’s performances in the county championship with his club. We see glorious write-ups on these players after those games. “He’s back to their best” we are told, and “ready for a return to the big time”, but these are three-quarter paced club games and our star is often left floundering as younger fitter men dance around him.

It is a good man who knows when to call time.

Brett Favre says he will take a month to decide what he will do. When he rolls painfully out of bed each morning this week he will be reminded of what he has to do. As ESPN said, he has nothing to apologise for. 

I am sure that when he thinks about it, he will not wish to have the end of his career compared to a weary ploughman plodding his way home. NFL players are gladiators, not farmers. Their death should be swift and their epitaphs should be taken from Thomas Macaulay poem, not Thomas Grey’s.

“To every man upon this earth
    Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
    Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
    And the temples of his Gods.”

(How Brave Horatius kept the Bridge)

Brett Favre has played out a marvellous career; he should leave it now while it is intact, and not let it fade like the setting sun behind a country churchyard.