Photo credit: StarTribune
Favre-overload has been the way of life for the Viking fan this year. Not Purple Jesus, Moss, Culpepper, Love Boat Strippers/Hookers, or Touchdown Tommy plowing thru Hennepin Ave with a blood alcohol content on par with the percentage off of all dish towels during a linen sale at Target. Wrap all those personalities and issues together and you'd have a 15-second lead-in story into a 5 minute exclusive on Favre's breakfast decision. The things he's done here on the football field have been nothing short of a reawaking for team that just need one part to become part of the NFL elite.
He's supposed to be an unassuming, laid-back country boy yet the sports media circus that surrounds him is befitting for your run-of-the-mill latest Hollywood starlet that decided to kick her cocaine habit after getting caught snorting a line off Ron Jeremy's back on Sunset avenue. He's a 1st ballot Hall-of-Famer, we get it, let the man have his swan song, one last time down the
Now if you'll excuse me, all this Favre talk has given me a season long identity crisis as rooting for the pariah of Packer Football (save Starr, Bart and Lombardi, Vince) feels like a sparkly vampire that needs to drink holy water to live. Yet here we are five months after touchdown at the Lindbergh Terminial of MSP, the Super Bowl still within grasp and we're still rooting for number four. All Viking fans save the biggest homers who bought their Favre jerseys in August and haven't taken them off since, are waiting for a reason to pile on Favre. Just one pick six to blow the game, a fumble, knocking up three cheerleaders at halftime, something to hate the guy again.
But I can't.
This year has been the most exciting to watch as a Vikings fan since the 1998 season, and in some ways more exciting since that team blew teams away with its record-setting offense where as this team had several fourth quarter blood pressure bursting drives and plays:
Still gives me goosebumps watching it
Either way, thank you Mr. Favre, regardless of Sunday's decision this season has been one to remember until I'm slurping protein shakes for meals in the local nursing home while donning my tattered Jaren Allen jersey.
But I'm still not buying that book.