Well, we cared a little. We cared enough to believe. I wanted to believe. And now the dream, such as it was, is over. It was a brief relationship, and like many that fly by in our lifetime, this one is going to seem surreal yet inconsequential in the long run. It will ultimately be more embarrassing to Brett Favre than it was to the Jets, and I cannot imagine any team taking a page from our book and signing Brett on. This whole thing never seemed right from the start, like Cher and Gregg Allman, like Lyle Lovett and Julia Roberts, like Ernest Borgnine and Ethel Merman. How vain were we? Perhaps as vain as Brett Favre himself.
It's time to make some things clear, though:
1. The man's name is mispronounced. Everybody knows it. Nobody wants to admit it. It's French. He should be "Fav-re." That's always bothered me. The fact that only the Farrelly brothers have been willing to say it aloud just makes it worse.
2. Even if another owner smokes enough crack to allow him to play again, Favre will not (God will have to strike me down out of rage if I'm wrong) - repeat will not - bring any team to the Super Bowl. It cannot happen. It will not happen. He will just chuck the ball in the air all over again, with the same care and accuracy as, say, I would. He and I are the same age, after all.
3. He will not return. Not just because no one will have him, but because the more demure, modest, quiet withdrawal from the game this time probably signifies a sincere desire on his part. The torn muscle in his arm was a gift to him and to us. It enabled him to save face and walk away. It enabled us to believe - correctly - what we have all secretly known for months: that he is not the player he once was. So this time there were no operatic press conferences acting as dress rehearsals for a curtain call or three. He has lived to think differently, and so have we.
If you, or a friend of yours, can responsibly and efficiently lead an offense with a good front line, a moderately talented receiving corps and a strong backfield, please let Rex Ryan know. The team you save may be my own.