That was my high school girlfriend’s way of patching things up after our fourth breakup. It was mind-wrenchingly awful, I died a little bit each time, but in the back of my head I knew—I knew—that makeup and breakup #6 was already stamped and on its way…sometimes on the same day.
So when I read that Brett Favre was DONE with football I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to deal with constant ESPN coverage, Twitter trending topics, or Roommate Tony’s threats to hang himself. And yet…in the back of my mind, I knew we weren’t done with this self-indulgent douchebag.
Right now, Brett Favre is my high school girlfriend: needy, emotional, self-absorbed, and absolutely 100% bat shit loco. The first breakup was bad enough: it hurt everyone, it was drawn out, everyone saw it, and no one really got out of it clean. It was kind of like the 1999 movie “Election.”
…Did we mention that breakup lasted about six months? BF decided that he wasn’t really sure what he wanted. This was the hiatus period after the first breakup. We went on summer vacation, didn’t see each other, and then suddenly we’re at preseason soccer and field hockey practice, we’re loitering outside by the parking lot, and crazy Brett Favre thinks that he’s missed us and wants back in. Hey thanks, New York Jets.
You know how it goes when you get back together with an ex. It’s GREAT at first! Why the hell did we break up? You’re awesome! Look at your gutsy (idiotic) throws into double coverage for (satanic pact) touchdowns! I forgot all the little things, I have no idea why we split! I mean, you do throw the ball off your back foot and you used to be addicted to painkillers and you’re reckless and you throw an ass ton of interceptions and you’re clearly not as spry or sharp as you used to be…oh.
Listen, this isn’t working out.
And so we broke up with Brett again…until he decided that no, he wasn’t done. He was damaged goods, to the point that we were dating the animal abusing chick who just got out of prison (this metaphor is getting sloppy and slightly gay) before we started passing folded triangles of notebook paper with Favre again. KIT! BFF!
And I couldn’t feel worse for the Vikings or the fans. The Vikings fans are like my best friends, telling me—nay—screaming at me that this is an AWFUL idea. You KNOW this won’t work out. NO ONE’S going to like this guy. In New Jersey, he had his OWN GYM so he WOULDN’T HAVE TO WORK OUT WITH THE REST OF THE JETS! I wouldn’t want to be in the same building with the Jets either, but you get my point.
The Vikings have already had their first preseason game. They have two quarterbacks already who have spent weeks getting a rhythm with their receiver corps…this is the perfect time to bring the Wrangler Wheezer in!
But I, and we, are weak. I remembered the times I saw my ex as hot, fun-loving, dangerous, and at least marginally rewarding. I forgot about all the obvious shortcomings, the flaws, the Misha Barton-esque breakdowns and flip outs. And the most important lesson I learned from my constant breakups and makeups with my high school girlfriend: each subsequent reconciliation got shorter and shorter until all the good parts were completely forgotten. That’s going to be your legacy, Brett.
On the bright side, John Madden is out of retirement!
PS: Here’s the kicker: every time I write one of these critiques, someone always gets REALLY mad and says I’m just mad we don’t have him. THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT! You’ll defend your crazy ex until the moment when you realize that YOU’RE the idiot, and then I’ll have to act sorry for you. We’ll talk about this in December…because you sure as hell aren’t making it to January.