Friday, August 1, 2008

Giving Up on My God


As hard as this is to say, I am giving up on my God.

For 16 years I have worshiped the man with the golden arm. I put up with his first few years in Green Bay when he threw the ball to the rafters of the Pontiac Superdome where no Packer would be. My heart dropped game after game as he scrambled left, then right, and then left again and then launched the pigskin 70 yards down the field to be miraculously caught by Robert Brooks. I cried like a little school girl when he gave me the best birthday present; a Superbowl victory. Those 16 years were the greatest gift any football fan could ever want.

But now I am giving up on my God. For the past few season, Brett Favre (for pronunciation please see Websters Southern Dictionary) has toyed with the idea of retirement. I remember stopping my New Years Eve party, gathered the party around the tube, and watched Brett tear up as if it was his last game. Not the case. A few weeks later, Brett declared he was not done and said he felt the best he ever did. So the Packers passed on Brady Quinn (star of the Fighting Irish) and embraced a long future with Favre. Then last season. Brett breaks records. He marches the Pack into the playoffs. He gets them one interception from the Superbowl. He plays the best football of his life. AND then he decides to retire. Packers this time lock Mr. Rogers (not that one) in as their starter, draft 2 more rookie qbs, and head into the new frontier-post Favre.

And now...he got an itch. He should have just scratched it, but instead this itch has turned into the biggest drama ever. Mom and Dad now hate each other. This is a messy divorce. Brett wants to play. The Pack doesnt want him to. Now Brett wants to cheat on his team with their bitchy neighbors (The Vikings or The Bears). It is messy.

So I am giving up on my God. Brett Favre, you have ruined your image in my eyes. I am at the point where I hope put on a Vikqueens jersey, open the season in Green Bay against the Pack, and KGB comes off the corner untouched, and plants you in the Frozen Tundra so hard that you will have to be retired FOREVER. We will scratch that itch for you.

So bye bye Mr. Favre. There is no room for you in Mr. Roger's neighborhood.

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