On Favre

It is no secret I love older athletes. While some people see it as sad when an athlete goes into the twilight years of their career I find those times the most interesting. Seeing how they deal with their bodies not being able to perform at quite their peak and their willingness to adapt and change fascinates me. On that note, Brett Favre is ridiculous.


Not ridiculously good looking, but whatever, I do have a man-crush. I just mean that the amount of insane accomplishments he has pulled off is astounding. He's a fucking country hick from Mississippi gunslinging throws that have no business existing and playing with a boyish enthusiasm for the game, even at 40. Throwing for 400 yards the day after his dad died, playing 100's of games in a row in a sport that is insanely violent, getting addicted to painkillers. He is like the modern hero, flaws and all. And unfortunately the hero had to ride in to SF with my beloved 49ers 2 seconds (literally!) away from going to 3-0, Favre had been outplayed all day and yet somehow makes this play to drive a dagger through my soul. I knew it though. You can't give a lion, no matter how old and grizzled that many shots at a limping wildabeast and not expect to become dinner. The lion roared again.