Champions on Paper

In the shower, along highway 169 with the tidal wave of road construction during the wee hours of a rainy morning, sitting with friends in an industrial park waiting for a brewery to open its gates like Willy Wonka.  So many things to say, so little time, so my musing go buried into what's left of my head after a 10 hour work day, followed by impromptu wrestling matches with the kids, and finally lessons on Plot, Setting, and Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants" until my eyes can take no more and the cycle begins a new.

To paraphrase a certain poker brat "if it wasn't for time, I'd do it all".  My interest in things outside of this self-inflicted schedule have a gray-ish layer over them.  Even my beloved Purple and Gold have seen the decibels lowered with every Favre penis story and pick-six that would normally have me firing off a 1,000 word volcano that would be invoked even if Tarvaris Jackson lined up behind whatever center they throw along the line since the departure of Matt Birk.  Instead of the gladiator that was the scourge of the Twin Cities and football demi-god to he legion of fans, Brett Favre has turned into a circus sideshow.  Injuries, passive-aggressive tangles with a coach that shouldn't be there, Jenn Sterger's tits popping up unwillingly according to most reports right behind Ed Werder's mustache.  In what was supposed to be a reincarnation of last year improbable run to banish the ghost of the Purple People Eaters of the 70s and the near-perfect 1998 season.  But, as Dallas Cowboys fans are learning as well (Romo going down last night was a painful metaphor for their season), the only things favorites on paper win is lining the bottom of a bonfire on a chilly November day. 

Sure it's easy enough to say "Brett should have packed it in" while the team is 2-4, and like most NFL teams a few plays would have reversed that record (Purple Jesus unable to plunge into the end zone against Miami and extracting Favre's head from his ass during the Packers game).  He's throwing the ball with the zip of a young quarterback while moving like one that is better suited in play $5 Euchre tournaments after steak night at the local VFW.  It is my hope he puts aside this quest to "go out in a blaze of glory" *cue Bon Jovi guitar riff* and does what's best for the team.  If Favre is healthy and believe he can do more than add another tick to that game-streak, by all means chuck all the TDs and INTs us fans can handle. 

I'll be there to watch 2-14 or 12-4 with my jersey on (except apparently during the WPBT which I'll be donning some Green and Gold of the dreaded Green Bay Packers again due to a text message I believe was pre-written by The Wife just waiting for Favre to toss the last ball over Randy Moss' head) just make it entertaining Mr. Favre regardless of the outcome, I'm sure you will.

Tomorrow or Thursday I hope to have my post up about Surly Brewing's Darkness Day.  Really, driving from New York to get a bottle of beer?  They were not the only ones.