Brett Favre Wants To Let You Know Just How Much He’s Suffered

As usual, King swoops in on the story after all the important details have past, and allows Favre his little soapbox to wallow in self-pity and general shitheadery. Let's hit the first paragraph.

"It's hard to admit I'm not 25 anymore,'' Brett Favre said late Tuesday night, when what he'd done began to sink in. He still sounded stunned that a few hours earlier he'd called Minnesota coach Brad Childress and shunned his dream job: quarterback on a team with a great defense and the best running back in football, with coaches who run a scheme he could operate falling out of bed.

Consider this paragraph for a moment. Read it a couple times, just to soak it how fucking ludicrous it is. Favre lobbied hard for the Jets to release him so that he could entertain an offer from the Vikings to play. That was all his doing. Then, he strung the Vikings along for as long as possible until he decided that A) He was too tired to play, and B) He was unwilling to do all things necessary to prevent himself from being too tired to play (e.g., skipping OTA's). And now, he wants you to know that he's DEVASTATED by this. No, really. You're supposed to feel bad for him because…?

"I passed up the greatest chance I could have had right now, and it hurts,'' Favre said.

Oh, no! POOR YOU! YOU DID WHAT YOU WANTED TO DO! WHAT HORRORS! WILL THERE EVER BE A RAINBOW?

"By saying no, I know I'm leaving an incredible opportunity on the table, and that opportunity is not coming back.''

That's right. That chance will never, ever come back, except that Favre then immediately tells King…

"I really believe this is it. I truly, truly believe it's over. But if someone calls Nov. 1, who knows?''

"I'm done. UNLESS I'M NOT, PETER!"

That's the maddening part of Favre, and the part that makes fans hate his waffling. The fact that he'll keep throwing the ball at Oak Grove (Miss.) High — just down the street from his home — and continue working out is going to fan the flames that he's not done. He knows that. "I'll toss the ball around, but I ain't tossing it to keep in shape to play,'' he said.

In other words, Favre knows he can't play anymore, but he'll happily go toss the ball in public just to keep the very last rays of media glare on him. That way, when November rolls around, he can again go talk to King and say, "Now I'm really done." Then he can cry, and he can once again strain, against all odds, to portray himself as a sympathetic figure. It's insane. I'm supposed to feel bad that this asshole is too old to play? Us fans never got to play in the NFL. Why the fuck should we feel bad if the Land Baron can't squeeze out one last, shitty, 18th year? Oh, you still want to play, butcha just can't? Congrats, asshole. You're every old fucking athlete, only you want a pity party for it.

"A lot of people, I know, have been saying, 'Well, you strung the Vikings along. Why the hell couldn't you have told them earlier?' What do you think I was doing? I was trying to figure it out.''

Except that you left the door open to return on November 1st, hoping you can get some sort of Clemens-type arrangement where you only have to play half the season or whatever. This is Favre at his absolute worst: wishy-washy, manipulative, and never acknowledging his own faults. No other player in the history of any sports has milked retirement like Favre has, and he'd like you to believe this is all a completely natural process that anyone should be able to understand. It's a pathetic waste of everyone's time, and I expect more decisiveness from a fuckhead who never hesitates to throw into triple coverage. Hey Brett: Eat shit and die.