If their expressions of storytelling turned out as passionate as the Viking fans celebrating their come-up, or Packers fans stewing in their spicy cheese fondue, then they would likely chalk-up 7 Oscar’s/Motion Picture Academy Awards like Out of Africa did in 1985 (all those awards should have gone to The Color Purple…and yes I’m still mad)
If the Academy Awards were held this week, I think it would go something like this:
“And the Award for Best Actor in a Dramatic Series…” said Prince, as the crowd tickled the cliffs of their seats. After an eerie silence Prince shrieked, “Brett Favre! Brett Faavre! Brett Faaaavre!!!” and the crowd erupted, Prince broke off into song, and they all followed Favre on Interstate-94 in helicopters and SUVs and stuff, all the way to Vikings headquarters in Eden Prairie.
This is the madness that seemed to be taking place when Vikings owner Zygi Wilf’s private jet landed in St. Paul with helicopters and zealots hovering about, to soak up Favre’s first steps onto Minnesota soil as an ally. And then I remembered why some people don’t like sports.
I love sports, but dislike shenanigans, and support pomp and circumstance only in deservingly regal situations. Brett Favre has been weaving an intricate story for the majority of this decade, and the plot centers on the drama of his looming retirement. We fans don’t like to see the great ones leave their sport, though that time inevitably comes. The actual athlete handles the retirement progression even worse, often resulting in a childish game of peek-a-boo, or invoking fear like a parent telling a child that they’re going to leave the child in the grocery store by themselves: “Noooo Daaddy don’t gooo!!”
But I think that we all must give props where props are due, because no athlete has done it better than the good ole country boy himself, Brett Farve. Country boys can be some of the smoothest slicksters the world has ever seen (also see Bill Clinton), and they sure know how to command a camera with the best of ‘em. I mean the private jet helicopter stuff was at lunchtime, and the press conference was set for as soon as people got off work. Give the PR people a round of applause. The best part was how there was so much build up to Favre making a decision (hundreds of times since last season it seems) by the end of July, claiming retirement…again, and then bursting back on the scene with extreme perspicacity for good timing. So many factors looming, and sooo many gut wrenching, curled in a ball, agonizing hours going back and forth over whether to come play some football for $25 million dollars. How can you not feel for the man?
See the country boys know that at the end of the day, their good ole country boy charm can arrest even the most fierce of enemies (also see Bill Clinton hostage negotiations). I’ve fought being a Brett Favre fan for a long time (mostly because the Packers’ uniforms are simply atrocious), because I think other historic quarterbacks have shown more overall poise. But I tell you what, flashy Hall of Fame quarterback Broadway Joe Namath himself is the only player who thus far surpasses Brett Favre’s ability to generate some theatre; and that’s only because he was in New York and sported full-length fur coats.
Other than all the theatrical madness, Favre playing with Adrian Peterson and the bunch should be worth the price of admission as far as football goes. I’ll warn you that last time the Superbowl was in Miami the Vikings went 15-1 and didn’t make it to the Superbowl. In support, I’ll say that Favre has won a Superbowl before so who knows.
But of course there could only be one person who could summarize the recent and future theatre of Brett Favre playing at the end of his career with the Minnesota Vikings: Charlie Brown. Thus in summary all I can say is, “Good Grief!” But it does all somehow qualify as can’t miss theatre. If somehow a photo of Favre and Prince together, chillin in full-length fur coats and posing like Run DMC surfaces, I’m packing my stuff…theatre or not.