ESPN The Weekend: My Showdown with Brett Favre

Dateline 2008: July

Will Smith and DJ Jazzy Jeff’s hit song “Summertime” is playing on YouTube as I flip through each and every channel that we have: ESPN, ESPN 2, ESPN Classic, ESPN News, ESPN DePortes, and ESPN U.

By this time, we are knee deep in the Brett Favre saga as the Worldwide Leader gives updates on his progress every three or four seconds. If Brett decides to walk to his mailbox, ESPN has it covered.

So let’s fast forward to Brett’s arrival in New York to play for the Jets. All of a sudden, I am seeing people with New York Jets jerseys that have the No. 4 on the back of them. They must have picked them up from a trunk somewhere.

At any rate, Brett makes it through training camp and to the first game of the season.

But allow me to give you a little background about our rivalry.

See, I am not the biggest fan of No. 4. We all put on our Wrangler jeans one leg at a time and fish on our own private lakes in the same-sized boats. What makes him better than you or me? Huh? Well?

What makes it worse is that ESPN has the nerve to cut into coverage of the Cowboys and Terrell Owens. Ugh, the guy that wears the No. 4!

That was the last straw. Nobody messes with Texas!

I am simmering with anger every time I see his highlights shown on ESPN, NBC Sports, ABC Sports, SI.com, FOX Sports, MTV, BET, TLC, Lifetime Movie Network, The Sportsman Channel, CNN On Demand, TBN, and The Nicktoons Channel.

I was minding my business watching a riveting episode of SpongeBob SquarePants one day when, all of a sudden, they broke to highlights of Brett Favre throwing a touchdown pass.

So, fast forward to the end of the NFL season and the New York Brett’s fail to make the playoffs. In fact, they finished the season with only two more wins than losses.

Bwaa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Brett was no longer the golden boy of the NFL. Those Wrangler jeans have stains and holes in them from so many shots being delivered by the New York media.

I dance and clap to the Jets missing the playoffs.

About three weeks after the Super Bowl, my favorite Disney event is quickly approaching. ESPN The Weekend features some of sports most beloved athletes and their screaming fans. And guess who’s coming to Orlando.

Yes, it's Brett Favre.

The John Wayne/Clint Eastwood old west music starts to play in my head.

Wana-wana-waaa…Wa-wa-waaa…Wana-wana-waa…Wa-wa-waaa.

My showdown with Brett Favre is on its way.

I could not believe my luck. I would get to face my lifelong nemesis, Brett Favre. He was like the Joker to my Batman, the Lex Luther to my Superman, and the Pixies to my Fairly Odd Parents. I would finally get my chance to destroy him.

So, I start to train by throwing tomatoes against the wall and booing my wife while she is fixing dinner.

Brett would have to deal with me whether he likes it or not!

The day approaches: Saturday, February 28, 2009 at 4:30 P.M. Brett Favre would arrive by motorcade down Hollywood Boulevard at Disney’s Hollywood Studios along with Warren Moon, Jim Kelly, and Lamar Woodley.

My wife stands by my side as she has vowed to boo him with every breath in her body. There is an older lady with a piece of cheese on her head who cannot stop crying because The King is about to show himself.

Wana-wana-waaa…Wa-wa-waaa…Wana-wana-waa.

He arrives.

The announcer introduces Jim Kelly and Warren Moon, and they make their way to the stage. Lamar Woodley is next as I notice the sky turns yellow from so many “Terrible Towels” being waved.

Now, it's time for Brett to meet his match.

His name is announced and he slowly walks to the stage.

An eruption of cheers ring out, and now it is my turn.

The crowd for some odd reason goes silent and my wife starts to boo him without mercy.

In the meantime, her husband stands there with his mouth open, and for some reason, there are no sounds coming from his body.

I can't boo, I can’t hiss, and I can’t even yell his name.

I choked.

My wife stares at me with disbelief and distances herself away from me.

I can’t believe it. I had the opportunity to dethrone my archnemesis, and I choked.

All that training, all that preparation, all those wasted tomatoes, and all those slaps my wife gave me as I pretended to boo her dry chicken and burned bread.

You may have won this round Brett Favre, but I’ll be back for our next showdown one day.

It will be the same bat time, same bat place. Bwaa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!