Just Between You and Me, Brett Favre…

What the hell could you possibly be thinking?

Dude, I’m not even going to go into the details about how you’re embarrassing yourself, because that’s been done so many times it’s like the kiddie pool at the Y: I have no desire to swim where everybody else has already peed. And I’m not gonna dwell on how low you have to have sunk to get sent to the Jets. The New York Jets, who suck so bad Miami got their single season win over them last year. They might get another. When you don’t retire, sometimes all it means is you’re about to meet the young, tough likes of Philip Merling and Glenn Dorsey, head-on.

I’m just thinking about how you must feel. Physically.

Dude, you and I are only a year apart in ages, and my legs hurt just now when I got up to go into the kitchen and get a glass of orange juice. All I’d been doing is sitting on them. That’s how it starts, you know — and I know you know — in your 30s, when all of a sudden the joints and bones and muscles that have got you this far wake up one day and look at each other and say, “I’m really tired of carrying her around. Aren’t you? Screw it, let’s take the day off.”

Brett, no one has hit me physically in about 25 years, and there are days I get up in the morning and have to grit my teeth and psych myself up just to run a mile. I don’t do anything like what would be required of me in the NFL. And it hurts when I come home sometimes. I’ll stiffen up sitting in the chair reading a book, or my calves will ache all day, and usually the payoff is worth it — I remind myself it’s the only reason I don’t weigh 300 pounds — but there are days when I, like my thigh muscles and my lower back, think What’s wrong with me that I do this to myself?

All that is before I even start the situps, by the way.

At our age, Brett, about all we can hope for is to get through the day with nothing starting to hurt, because these are the years when you can see up the road into your 60s and 70s and tell what’s going to ache like hell by then. I have years of lower back pain to look forward to — I can only hope the migraines have decamped by then — and like I said, no one the size of a MiniCooper has ever run full tilt into me and stomped my ass into the frozen tundra. There were times I wondered, watching you play, how or why you got back up when a stretcher must have looked like a good place for a nap. Not to mention a warm locker room.

Brett, as you get older, the new guys on defense just get younger. And tougher. And hungrier. They all want to be the next Reggie White, and one or two of them will. Do the Jets play Tampa Bay during the regular season? (I don’t give enough of a damn about the Jets to know.) When Gaines Adams pastes you into the grass, you’re going to flash back to those old story problems from grade school: if a guy who weighs about 220 comes at you at what looks and feels like 30 miles an hour, how long does it take you to start reconsidering retirement?

How long has it been since you just kicked back with a beer and watched a game? It’s not so bad. You can do it from a big ol’ easy chair the size of a linebacker. No one will think less of you for it. If anyone breaks your starting record, you’ll be collecting Social Security before they do it. You’re already a legend, man. Stay that way. Let it go. On behalf of Joe Theisman, I implore you, let it go.

I’m just saying.

I gotta stop writing now. You never know when carpal tunnel’s going to kick in.

At our age.


4 Responses to “Just Between You and Me, Brett Favre…”

  1. pandemonic Says:

    Gawd girl. I’m hurting just reading this! And you are much younger than me too. 😛

  2. Thank. You. I don’t understand what is going through that boy’s mind. Machismo. PLain and simple, I’m sure. It’s just going to end up kicking Brett right in the booty. Man needs to sit don and settle back into retirement. It’s best for all involved.

  3. Amen, Sister!

    Wait till you hit 40.

  4. Are you still on vacations?

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