Favre plays his part like no other broken-down quarterback

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 04/11/2010 (5451 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

At what exact moment the NFL became the National Favre League is hard to pinpoint. But it happened anyway.

It’s a full-blown phenomenon and each passing (and subsequent interception) week unfolds like a Spanish telenovella, laced with intrigue, back-from-the-dead miracles and, naturally, a subplot involving a bosomed femme fatal.

Even by today’s insatiable, incessant media standards, Brett Favre is without peer. It boggles the mind, frankly, what the legion of NFL talking heads will do if the Minnesota Vikings’ creaky quarterback finally does the unthinkable and retires.

It never ends. He leaves, he returns, he leaves, he’s begged back. Every nuance is tied to Favre’s record of 292 consecutive starts, and when and if The Streak might end. If that wasn’t enough, there’s the lurid matter of cellphone photos of his naughty bits sent to a former New York Jets sideline reporter. Not that anybody cares about that stuff, right?

Favre’s appeal is no secret. He’s just like many NFL fans; a 40-something man trying desperately to fend off the unforgiving hands of Father Time. Trying to compete with the young kids. Trying to stay relevant, even robust, while the changing world around him tries to grow facial hair. Favre is a living, walking John Wayne western.

He’s a man who’s seen better days, turned grey and whose body has begun to openly betray him. Yet he hangs in there, throwing. Getting knocked down, getting back up.

Really, do you have to be a professional football player to relate?

And the more of a train wreck Favre’s career becomes at dusk, the more he morphs from bullet-proof gunslinger to Greek tragedy, the more the audience becomes entranced and polarized.

Sure, the media has saturated the Favre market. But it doesn’t help that clearly the man is a drama queen in tight pants. If the tendonitis in his elbow is acting up, you’ll know, because Favre will start wincing immediately and agonizingly after every throw. In his last outing, Favre had to be helped off the field after taking a helmet to the chin.

Judging by both his and the trainer’s reaction, I thought his jaw was broken. The way he was splayed out on the sidelines, I thought his very life was in danger.

Turns out, Favre was cut for eight stitches. Come on, man, I’ve seen Ryan Smyth take a puck in the face, get cut open for that many stitches and not miss a shift. Doug Brown’s nose is bloodier after pre-game stretches.

But since it’s Favre, the only surprise is the guy wasn’t whisked by helicopter, from midfield, to the nearest emergency room.

“My chin is numb right now,” Favre told reporters after a miraculous recovery. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Too late. Just add the chin to the drama pile. And enter the hair-and-teeth to bravely predict that Favre, the ageless wonder, will be back in the Vikings saddle again next week for Game No. 293. Why? Because he’s Brett Favre, that’s why.

Well, not to be a Betty Downer or anything, but has anyone else noticed that the Vikings are 2-5, or that Favre’s quarterback rating is 69.8 (ranked 29th in the NFL)? Or that he’s thrown 11 interceptions? In fact, when is the last time a game of consequence involving Favre didn’t end with him throwing a back-breaking pick?

Now a confession: I am one of those aging football fans, the constituency who still roots for the old Viking in his vain (no pun intended) attempt to stave off his inevitable Valhalla. It’s not about the hype, but instead the study of one man’s struggle not just against the Patriots or Giants, but the formidable forces of nature stacked against him.

Often, it’s not pretty. Still, there are the fleeting instances where Favre can summon the past from that aching right arm. That his own theatrics torque the moment is secondary.

There are those who feel strongly that Favre is a fossil, a decrepit senior citizen who has become the NFL’s Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard, begging for one last close-up, Mr. DeMille.

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That might well be true. Surely, there are football fans who view Favre’s last days as more pathetic than poignant. Perhaps, these are the same youngsters who dream of a future they’ll never have as opposed to their elders who long for a past that never was.

You wonder about the fascination over a broken-down 41-year-old quarterback? And who are the ones really hanging on?

Grow old, my son.

Then we’ll talk.

randy.turner@freepress.mb.ca

Randy Turner
Reporter

Randy Turner spent much of his journalistic career on the road. A lot of roads. Dirt roads, snow-packed roads, U.S. interstates and foreign highways. In other words, he got a lot of kilometres on the odometer, if you know what we mean.

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