Brett Favre is undead, and that is how I like it
Dear Jacob,
Hey there, buddy. How’s it going? I am writing you because tonight is the first night of the NFL season, and I know how excited you are to watch your boy Brett Favre suit up for his 250th season. I’m not sure how he manages to pull his old bones out there year after year, but he does.
I think he might be a zombie. He definitely has the brains for it, and since it looks like nothing short of a decapitation followed by dropping his newly severed head into boiling lava from an erupting volcano could cause him to miss a game, it seems like a definite possibility.
But the truth is, I think you have something to do with it. When they said he wouldn’t be able to handle the transition from leather helmets, you believed in him. When they said he couldn’t win the big one, you begged to differ. When he spent the early 2000′s playing like Jeff George on a bad day, you said he would be back.
You always believed in him.
When everybody else rolls their eyes at the latest Brett Favre press conference, you turn up the volume. All you want is one more year of watching him play. It is obvious how much joy he brings into your life.
I really think the joyful energy Brett Favre brings into your life is reflected back onto him no matter how much of an arrogant jackass he becomes. There is no other logical explanation for how the man has been able to suit up and start 285 games in a row.
Well, besides zombieism.
The best part is, it all works out rather nicely for me. Every year, I have the privilege of watching you in rapturous joy for three months while you watch your hero play football. And then for the next nine months, I get to replay images of your face morphing from bliss to abject terror and finally resigned sadness after Favre shatters your Super Bowl dreams with a boneheaded play that ends the season with a beautiful, thudding finality. Just as importantly, I am guaranteed to be able to say, “Did Favre blow it all on the last play again?” to you in the most smarmy, obnoxious voice possible for ¾ of every year until somebody finally drives a stake through that man’s heart.
Hopefully, some smarty pants scientist won’t discover a zombie virus cure and spoil the fun. In any case, it doesn’t really matter. I think Brett Favre ate your brain a long time ago.
Love,
Mason
.jpg)
