Emmet Pearson’s wife must wait one more year.
At least. The truth is, it’s probably all over. Opportunities like this don’t come around in Minnesota every day, and she isn’t getting any younger.
Pearson has not shaved his beard since the Pittsburgh Steelers beat the Minnesota Vikings in the Super Bowl in 1974. The now 79 year-old Pearson swore he would not let a razor touch his face until the Purple People Eaters snagged a ring.
Thirty-six years later, he has a beard that makes him look like he is running moonshine, which he probably wishes he was right about now. Nothing short of a jug full of fermented corn mash would have been strong enough to deal with last night’s 31-28 NFC Championship loss to the New Orleans Saints.
Pearson was so close to finally shaving.
Over the years, Pearson’s beard has grown into a knotted metaphor for what the game represents to many a man’s significant other.
I made a vow, and I’m going to stick with it. But I think my wife would just as soon I give it up.
SportsChat can only imagine that Mrs. Pearson had the shears out last night, hoping she would finally see her husband’s face again for the first time in 36 years. She may have been smoothing out the blade’s edge, meticulously and steadily sharpening the steel, as Brett Favre led the Vikings on what should have been a game winning drive to end regulation.
Across town, player-hater extraordinaire Fran Tarkenton was likely smiling as wide as former-Senator Larry Craig when the line-up is presented at a he/she bordello in Manila’s Red Light District. When the Vikings signed Favre, Tarkenton exposed himself as a grumpy old man shaking his fist at the kids playing stick-ball in the street because he doesn’t understand why they don’t wear suspenders to keep their trousers above the waistline. His bitterness clearly exacerbated by his own inability to win a Super Bowl for Minnesota.
Tark said he did not care if the Vikings won the Super Bowl. Regardless, he would think Brett Favre was a prima donna, a Packer and a meanie poopie head. SportsChat imagines Tarky-poo was probably warming up to the kid during that last drive. Not even a myopic narcissist like Tarkenton could have completely resisted catching the wave of emotion that was creeping up on the state of Minnesota.
But just when Tark was about to step on board, the bottom fell out. Instead of simply jogging five to fifteen yards and setting up dependable Ryan Longwell for a reasonable, game winning field goal, Favre threw across his body. On what was possibly the last play of his NFL career, Brett Favre did something a quarterback is taught not to do on his first day of practice in the pee-wee leagues.
The Saints’ Tracy Porter intercepted the pass, and surely Fran Tarkenton immediately dove off the band wagon and giddily started with the “I told you so’s.” The truth is, a win would have gotten Tark a bunch more face time. As it is, it will now be that much harder for him to shill the book he always managed to drag along when he was trashing Favre.
As for Mrs. Pearson, SportsChat can only imagine she silently returned the finely sharpened blades to their proper place under the bathroom sink before overtime even started.
Brett Favre had blown her chance.
Mrs. Pearson will never see her husband’s face again.
Photo: Not Emmet Pearson — though he probably does look like that by now.
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