Maybe I’m a bit dramatic when it comes to my feelings about Brett Favre, but I feel justified when a sports fan outside of Green Bay can relate to me…
From this morning’s Mailbag on ESPN.com:
Q: I am 19 years old. I have been a fan of Favre and the Packers since the third grade. I grew up thinking Favre could do no wrong. As a mature 17-year-old, I cried the day he retired from the Packers. I was tolerant of the Jets experiment — even have the jersey to prove it. But what am I supposed to do now? Tonight I watched my childhood hero stomp all over the team and the fans he represented for 16 years. I found myself cursing him for the very same reasons I used to love him. The phony TD celebrations, the smug smiles, the way he hams it up with his new teammates and his new fans. I don’t know how to handle it. I started this e-mail thinking I had something to say about all of this, but I just feel lost. I don’t know what to think anymore … I’m just lost.
–Drew, Bloomington, Ind.
SG: And that’s the part of Monday’s game that got lost. Every Packers fan felt like how a dutiful wife would feel if she stuck with her husband through thick and thin, watched him become a success, then got dumped for a younger trophy wife who also happened to be her archnemesis. Favre failed in the same way Roger Clemens failed when he signed with the Blue Jays in 1997 — his problems with management affected his feelings toward his old franchise, and he did a piss-poor job of letting his old fan base know that he still cared about it. I have written about this before, but I turned on Clemens during his Toronto news conference when he simply refused to acknowledge Boston fans beyond a few generic words. It hurt. I took it personally and decided he was an opportunistic, disloyal, dishonest scumbag from that moment on. And as it turned out, he was.
In Favre’s case, his lack of empathy for Packers fans has been really alarming. I know he plays with his heart on his sleeve. I know he’s a “kid out there” and “having a ball out there” and all the crap. And maybe he’s not a brain surgeon, but he’s smart enough to understand what he meant to Packers fans and the state of Wisconsin, which means he had to understand how it went over after he (A) signed with an NFC North team two months ago; (B) dialed up the finger-pointing and fist-pumping during Monday’s Pack-Vikes game so egregiously that even his biggest fan fron Green Bay couldn’t defend him; and (C) gave that self-satisfied postgame interview in which he never said anything like, “I just wanted to say hi to everyone back in Wisconsin and tell them that this was as strange for me as it probably was for you, but I want you to know that it was just one game — a game that I wanted to win because I’m a competitor and I love my teammates, but still, none of this changes the fact that I love you guys and I always will.” That’s it. That’s all he had to say to Michele Tafoya after the game.
He didn’t say it.
And believe me, I’ve been there as a fan. It’s unforgivable. Especially when you’re under 30 and don’t realize that many of your “heroes” are people who don’t deserve that level of worship, or any worship, for that matter. They just play sports well. They don’t care about you. They care about themselves and that’s it. If this realization hits you at the wrong time in your life, it can be hard. (I know it was hard for me. I took the Clemens thing personally, as witnessed by the fact that I once wrote a column wondering if he was the Antichrist.) So if the Packers fans want to play along, so to speak, then they can’t cheer Favre on Nov. 1. He set the stakes. He made it clear that he’s moved on with his new team and cut all ties to the old one. That means you need to go to Lambeau and boo the living hell out of him. Make him miserable. Rattle him. Flummox him. Do everything you can to get the better of him for three hours. This man does not belong to you anymore, and maybe, he never did.
I still don’t know how I’ll feel about Favre in five, even ten years from now. All I know is that right now I despise that man. He’s snubbed us, and it hurts. We are not all named Ted Thompson.