Brett Favre, the man with the rocket arm and way-cool stubble, won't be throwing passes (or snowballs) anymore. He decided to end his 17-year career, a surprising move considering that his team was young, under the salary cap and on the rise. Another Super Bowl run was a definite possibility.
But he just tired of the league, a league where preparation is everything. The work it took for Brett to get to Sunday (and Monday, his best night) became too much.
Some don't buy that. Some think that he retired because the Pack couldn't and wouldn't land free agent/awesome wideout/coach killer/sonuvabitch Randy Moss. I don't buy that for a second. Those who know football know the work required to get to Sunday. And I think Brett was talking not about the practice field, but in regards to the incredible amount of work that goes into being a great, not merely good player. Often times in the NFL, the guy who studies his film more carefully and gets the max out of the mental preparation (tendencies, etc.), tends to triumph, ala Tom Brady. I'm glad that Brett is honest enough to admit he's tired of these 70-hour weeks during the season and not just go on a victory lap without expending maximum effort.
Brett was always a love-hate thing with me. I've been a big fan of risk-adverse, game manager type QB's who make good, solid decisions because as statistics will show, winning the turnover battle and outrushing your opponent, no matter what gadget offense is in vogue, will get you a win 9 times out of 10.
Brett was a gambler, the guy who had a penchant for the oh shi....oh yeah! moment. It was exciting to watch, but sometimes, his infallible trust in his own arm got him in big trouble. Remember, this dude is the all-time interception leader and his last pass in the NFC championship game smacked of desperation.
Even with that, I still rate him as one of the top five best QB's of all time. And unlike Tom "Pretty Boy" Brady, he was a little rough around the edges, literally and figuratively. Early in his career, he nearly drank himself out of the league and Atlanta gave up on him. He's fought adversity and tragedy at every turn, yet in a league known as the "No Fun League," he was the antithesis of that outlook, throwing snowballs and pumping up his teammates.
I'm glad he's got all the passing records. But I'll miss magic Monday nights with Brett, a stage that he always shone on. I'll miss asking "what the hell did he see on that throw" every time he throws one of those head-scratchers like his final NFL pass. And I'll miss his self-aggrandizing celebrations every time he rifles one of those blistering fast TD passes he uncorks.
It's sad to see the players you grew up watching go away, as time inevitably rolls on. When the Michael Jordan/Clyde Drexler/Scottie Pippen/Patrick Ewing/Charles Barkley/John Stockton/Karl Malone/Hakeem Olajuwon generation left the NBA, I stopped watching. And I haven't really returned since. I don't think I'll stop paying attention to the NFL for this reason, but I think it just won't be as fun.
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