It's a bittersweet day in the JBorhood.
The Brett Favre era has finally come to an end.
"Bittersweet?", you ask.
I know, I know. The greatest source of sports anguish in my life is finally hanging up his cleats and walking into the sunset. It feels like I am waking up from a twenty year long nightmare. My first inclination is to strip naked, paint myself blue and orange and run through the streets singing "Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead". I should be popping open a bottle of Dom with my Dad and launching into a two-week bender to celebrate the best thing to happen to the Chicago Bears franchise since the Super Bowl Shuffle (with apologies to Devin Hester, of course). But I can't shake this empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something does not feel right.
In what I can only explain as a bizarre case of Stockholm Syndrome, I am somewhat disappointed to see Brett Favre retire. I haven't exactly sunk to the level of Champ from Anchorman -- I do not miss his scent, nor do I miss his musk -- I just do not know how to prepare for a football season without my arch nemesis. I feel like a Yankee fan who just found out that the Red Sox were contracted. A football season without Brett Favre is like Cinemax without soft core porn (What? You expected peanut butter without jelly?). You'll still watch, you just might not pay for the premium package. Let me put it this way: prior to this year, if my friend asked me to be the best man at his wedding, which happened to fall on the same day as a Bears-Packers game, he'd be looking for a new best man. This year, I'd at least think about it (before saying no).
The Brett Favre era has finally come to an end.
"Bittersweet?", you ask.
I know, I know. The greatest source of sports anguish in my life is finally hanging up his cleats and walking into the sunset. It feels like I am waking up from a twenty year long nightmare. My first inclination is to strip naked, paint myself blue and orange and run through the streets singing "Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead". I should be popping open a bottle of Dom with my Dad and launching into a two-week bender to celebrate the best thing to happen to the Chicago Bears franchise since the Super Bowl Shuffle (with apologies to Devin Hester, of course). But I can't shake this empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something does not feel right.
In what I can only explain as a bizarre case of Stockholm Syndrome, I am somewhat disappointed to see Brett Favre retire. I haven't exactly sunk to the level of Champ from Anchorman -- I do not miss his scent, nor do I miss his musk -- I just do not know how to prepare for a football season without my arch nemesis. I feel like a Yankee fan who just found out that the Red Sox were contracted. A football season without Brett Favre is like Cinemax without soft core porn (What? You expected peanut butter without jelly?). You'll still watch, you just might not pay for the premium package. Let me put it this way: prior to this year, if my friend asked me to be the best man at his wedding, which happened to fall on the same day as a Bears-Packers game, he'd be looking for a new best man. This year, I'd at least think about it (before saying no).
For Bears fans, the regular season schedule revolved around the two games against Green Bay. An early season win against the Packers provided positive momentum and the late season clash decided playoff rankings or (more often) provided one last chance chance to salvage an otherwise forgettable season. Occasionally, if the Lions or Vikings were good, those games took on an added excitement, but no matter the circumstance, they could not come close to the intensity of the Bears-Packers rivalry. Favre's departure does not destroy the rivalry, it just takes away some of its luster. Brett Favre wasn't a part of the Bears-Packers rivalry, Brett Favre was the Bears-Packers rivalry.
For example, historically, when the Dodgers traveled to San Francisco to play the Giants, the Giants fans would chant, "Dodgers Suck!" Whenever, the Giants went to LA, the Dodger fans would chant, "Giants Sucks!" But, somewhere during Barry Bonds tainted run, as he grabbed all the headlines and became the face, heart and soul of the Giants (or perhaps, more appropriately, sucked the heart and soul out of the Giants), the Dodgers fans collective hatred for the Giants morphed into a collective hatred for Barry Bonds. They no longer cheered "Giants Suck!", they chanted "Barry Sucks!"
The same thing happened in Chicago. Somewhere along the way, we Bears fans stopped hating the Packers and we started hating Brett Favre. Actually, let me rephrase that, we still hate the Packers, but we despise Brett Favre. I'm not sure if it was the continual beatings at the hands Favre and the Packers or the long procession of god awful Bears quarterbacks (Take a deep breath...Henry Burris, Chris Chandler, Will Furrer, Brian Griese, Rex Grossman, Jim Harbaugh, Chad Hutchinson, Erik Kramer, Craig Krenzel, Dave Krieg, Shane Matthews, Cade McNown, Jim Miller, Rick Mirer, Moses Moreno, Kyle Orton, Jonathan Quinn, Steve Stenstrom, Kordell Stewart, Steve Walsh, Peter Tom Willis), but at some point, we snapped. During the Packers hey day I would not have shed a tear if I found out that Brett Favre had been hit by a bus. While being eaten by a polar bear. With rabies.
But, during the last few years, something changed. I don't know if it was the back to back NFC North Championships in 2005 and 2006, the Super Bowl appearance, the 6-2 record vs. the Packers during the Lovie Smith era, or the gradual onset of maturity (wait, that can't be right), but somehow, someway, I stopped hating Brett Favre. What's worse, I even started to like him. It's hard not to like a guy who enjoys playing football as much as Brett Favre.
He doesn't cry about his contract.
He doesn't whine about playing time.
He doesn't complain about his teammates.
He doesn't fight with his coaching staff.
He just laughs, smiles and wins. More then any quarterback in the history of the NFL.
All you need to know about Brett Favre happened within 30 seconds during the Packers first round playoff game versus the Seahawks this year. The Packers had the ball in the red zone and called a short slant pattern, designed to hit Greg Jennings for a quick touchdown strike over the middle. Due to the snow and wind, the play completely broke down and it looked like the Seahawks had Favre wrapped up for a sack. But Favre juked one man, spun around to his right, sprinted toward the sideline, jumped forward and flipped the ball to Greg Jennings for a miraculous touchdown. Without skipping a beat, Favre took off his helmet, laughed and started throwing snowballs at his teammates. For just a moment, they weren't professional football players. They were a group of guys, doing what they love the most. The moment was truly Favrian. In fact, no other word could truly describe the moment. It was vintage Favre.
It is with that in mind that I bid a fond JBorhood farewell to Brett Favre.
But, during the last few years, something changed. I don't know if it was the back to back NFC North Championships in 2005 and 2006, the Super Bowl appearance, the 6-2 record vs. the Packers during the Lovie Smith era, or the gradual onset of maturity (wait, that can't be right), but somehow, someway, I stopped hating Brett Favre. What's worse, I even started to like him. It's hard not to like a guy who enjoys playing football as much as Brett Favre.
He doesn't cry about his contract.
He doesn't whine about playing time.
He doesn't complain about his teammates.
He doesn't fight with his coaching staff.
He just laughs, smiles and wins. More then any quarterback in the history of the NFL.
All you need to know about Brett Favre happened within 30 seconds during the Packers first round playoff game versus the Seahawks this year. The Packers had the ball in the red zone and called a short slant pattern, designed to hit Greg Jennings for a quick touchdown strike over the middle. Due to the snow and wind, the play completely broke down and it looked like the Seahawks had Favre wrapped up for a sack. But Favre juked one man, spun around to his right, sprinted toward the sideline, jumped forward and flipped the ball to Greg Jennings for a miraculous touchdown. Without skipping a beat, Favre took off his helmet, laughed and started throwing snowballs at his teammates. For just a moment, they weren't professional football players. They were a group of guys, doing what they love the most. The moment was truly Favrian. In fact, no other word could truly describe the moment. It was vintage Favre.
It is with that in mind that I bid a fond JBorhood farewell to Brett Favre.
I hate you Brett Favre, I hate you. But gosh darn it, do I respect you.
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