by Sean Kates, Wilmington, DE — Sad news today in the sports world, as the last bastion of moxie, fun and painkillers finally hung up his cleats. Flashing that sexy, boyish grin one last time, ultimate master of teammery Brett Favre told his agent, Buss Cook, to tell his team’s coach of his plans. Fan darling and Green Bay idol Favre has no plans to hold a press conference to explain his departure from a team that nearly went to a Super Bowl just 2 months ago, though speculation runs rampant that he is currently busy having his knob slobbed by Peter King for the 17th consecutive offseason. If these reports hold true, this will mark the end of an era, a distressing thought for columnists who could previously practice closeted racism by holding up Favre (a gunslinging painkiller addict with a taste for the unsavory interception) as the paragon of all that is good in the league, but now may be forced to rely on reports about Daunte Culpepper’s sexcapades.
Favre began his career as a hick from a busted Southern school, under the wing of the single most wronged coach of all time. He has come a long way, and is now a dashing hick from a busted Southern school, career leader in touchdowns, interceptions, and any other stat that rewards throwing a ball for an unequalled length of time and in unequalled numbers. What a long, awesomely white, trip it’s been. Critics have pointed to Favre’s proneness to making big mistakes in pressure situations, especially over the past few years, but have been roundly answered with cries of “Great White Hope,” “Addiction Overcomer” and “What type of word is ‘proneness,’ anyhow?.”
The National Football League will miss Brett Favre, not just because he went to the Pro Bowl nine times, or because he’s the National Football League’s all-time leader in giving me erections, but because deep-down, he knew what it took to be a winner: guts. He gutted out year after year, taking the field for an insane 253 consecutive regular season games (275 including the playoffs). Sure, he was probably hurt a couple of those times, and he may have even cost his teams some very important wins. But that’s not what matters. What matters most of all is heart…and fun…and uh…guts. Yeah…he rocked. So all haters can, in lieu of flowers, send busts of their lips to Brett Favre’s house, because now that he is retired, he has plenty of time to apply them to his ass.
