After bursting out of the Packer closet with my green and gold #4 pasties on, I find myself quickly picking up my confetti-littered clothes, and tiptoeing backwards into the closet, quietly mumbling a few “excuse me’s” and “pardon me…” along the way.
I’m not going to get into it because plenty of my fellow fans have. And I know everyone is getting a liiiitle sick of the story. At least, they should be, my God.
All I’m sayin’ is the warm feelings of contentedness that I had envisioning Mr. Favre riding off into the Mississippi sunset on his riding lawnmower have been caught in the blades and splattered all over the flower beds.
Ok, I’m not in that much pain, (I mean seriously, it’s a game played by millionaires, my woe about his trade only cuts so deep), but I had to work with the lawnmower reference.
So after some reflection, I have come to a decision as to what I want to see this season. I want both Rodgers and Favre to do incredibly well. Rodgers will be the New Coming, a football messiah with freakishly magical skills. Favre will prove to be a modern-day William Wallace, pumping life and blood and grit back into the battle-weary Jets. It will be a riveting, nail-biting, adrenaline-pumping, exhilarating season watching both men claw their way to the top of the pile. Yes, it will be the Best Season Ever in the History of the World. Both teams will make it to the SuperBowl for the final showdown. Everyone will be on the edge of their seats.
And then Rodgers will kick Favre’s ass. My apologies to my sweet baboo, but no matter how much I enjoy watching Mr. #4 and his well-formed posterior, I will always root for the Cinderella story. Especially one that is seasoned with a little sweet revenge.
Besides, I gotta live here. And there ain’t nuthin’ worse than spending a long Wisconsin winter with a bunch of crabby cheeseheads.