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An Open Letter to Brett Favre

Roger PAnalyst IMay 18, 2009

SAN FRANCISCO - DECEMBER 07:  Quarterback Brett Favre #4 of the New York Jets passes the ball against the San Francisco 49ers during an NFL game on December 7, 2008 at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, California. (Photo by Jed Jacobsohn/Getty Images)

Dear Brett,


Do yourself a favor. Hang up your helmet, put on your Wrangler jeans, and retire for good.

You're this close (-) to making me forget all the cool stuff you did and only remember that you went senile and didn't know when to pull the plug, even though you were a thousand years old.

You used to be the man. The ultimate man's quarterback. You were Superman, if Superman got like a hundred testosterone shots and had his heart removed and replaced with a chainsaw.

I've always imagined that after every game you drove home in a gigantic, 16-cylinder pickup truck with wrought-iron upholstery, but that you always wore your seatbelt so that in case of an accident your body wouldn't injure the truck.

You hold the records for most career completions, touchdowns, passing yards, and most times a single player has made an entire opposing team look like 11 elementary school kids who just missed the bus and are frantically running after it, fully aware of what their mom is going to do to them when they show up back at home and said mom has to drive them to school.

You've also got the record for most interceptions of all time, but so what? There were pieces of more accurate quarterbacks in your stool.

On top of all that, you played in Green Bay, where concrete freezes and there's no birds because they all flew south for the winter and were smart enough to never come back.

But now this whole fake-retirement charade has gone on too long.

It didn't help the legend of Karl Malone that he left the Jazz, a franchise all but named after him, and played one ignominious year for the Lakers. It certainly doesn't help the greatest athlete of our time, Michael Jordan, that he played a few seasons for the Wizards (they didn't even make the playoffs).

And as for Joe Montana (yeah, I went there), does it really elevate him in your eyes that he played two forgettable seasons for the Chiefs?

What blows my mind is that you've already made that mistake, and you insist on doing it again. Remember how you played about a half season for the Jets, after which they carted your career out on a stretcher and pronounced it dead, and that it had actually been dead for some time and that the Jets had still been trotting it around like in Weekend at Bernie's?

And I certainly can't handle another sissy press conference with the sensitive-toothpaste-using, pantywaist version of you crying girly tears all over a stack of copies of The Notebook.

You got a ring. You got some MVP trophies. Now man up and go home.

And let me remember the old Brett Favre.

Sincerely,

Roger Pimentel

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