Brett Favre announced in a news conference today that he would return to the Minnesota Vikings for another season.
He was so close to the Super Bowl last year, he said, he could feel it. And he “owes it” to the Vikings to give it one more try. He’s not promising he can make it through the season, though, the season that he says will be his “last.”
I used to like the guy. Respect him, even. Now, the more I hear his name the more I want to pull my ears off with some rusty pliers. Dude, grow a pair and quit trying to relive your youth. I know that you produced last year but realistically how long will that last? I’m guessing one good sack in the regular season and you’re toast, as if your body isn’t already. You’ll be in a wheelchair before your 40s are over, and then where will you be? Counting your millions while someone has to feed you because you can’t lift your right arm isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. I’m also guessing that the millions that you’ve already earned won’t be enough to buy back the missed time with your family or the time you’ll spend rehabbing all of those joints that are going to have to be replaced.
And you know what? I’m not the only one that’s calling shenanigains on you.
Go home to Hattiesberg. Have a mint julep. Relax a little. Sure, let the tv crew in when they’re ready for a little NFL analysis come playoff time, but quit jacking with your team and your body. The shtick is just old.
You can thank me later, but I’d like my share of whatever you’re paying your therapist now, in small bills. And considering that your salary is reported to hit $16.5 million this year from $13.5 million last year, plus incentives reported to jack it up to almost $20 million, I think you can spare the dimes.
Kendra is ready for some football. But not like this.