As a lifelong Green Bay Packer fan, I was in love Brett Favre for a very, very long time. When I moved to Boston in the winter of 2007, I brought my love for Brett Favre and the Green Bay Packers along with me. I made sure that everyone I met knew of my deep passion for all things Favre and Packers. My roommate and I even threw a birthday party for Brett at our apartment on Comm. Ave. on October 10th (his actual birthday). We decorated our apartment with
newspaper collages and Favre facts. All of our friends wore green and gold, despite the fact that most of them were New England Patriots fans. At other parties when the topic turned to football, I would spew out facts about Brett Favre followed by, “I bet your quarterback never did that!”
My passion for Favre became so well-known among my circle of Bostonian friends, that when the Packers suffered a devastating loss during the NFC Championship game, I received sympathy texts and voicemail as if I had lost a relative or something.
Even my middle school students knew of my love for Favre. When my students were upset over an assignment I had given them they would mutter under their breath, “Brett Favre sucks” as if that was the all-time worst insult they could imagine. When I competed in The Ultimate Grind, a grueling physical competition devised by my athletic trainer friends and carried out in a foot of snow, I was given “The Brett Favre Award” for my passion for competition. In fact, my name pretty much became synonymous with Brett Favre and the Green Bay Packers.
Needless to say, I was a freaking Brett Favre fan if there ever was one. So it might come as a shock that, today, I am still hoarse from booing Brett Favre at Lambeau Field during Sunday night’s Packers/Vikings game. I booed for Brett Favre during his every play of the game, screamed for joy at his interceptions and even flashed a few thumbs down signs in his direction (Since I was sitting near children, I refrained from giving the finger.)
Amidst my public displays of Favre-hate, something dawned on me. How could it be that the 71,000 other fans and I were shouting at the top of our longs for the demise of someone who we had drooled over only two short years ago? How had it come to this? Favre played a terrible game while receiving boos for his every move. On top of that, he is injury-laden, the punchline of dick jokes, and his own wife didn’t even bother to attend Sunday’s game. Brett Favre had taken his legend and dragged it through the mud. It became crystal clear to me: Brett Favre should have quit when he was still ahead.
If he had quit after 16 seasons in Green Bay, Favre would’ve been remembered for his dedication, passion, and talent instead of as a spiteful, selfish prima donna with a sexting problem. His jersey probably would have been retired by now and he could be spending his days filming Wranglers commercials in peace. Let Brett Favre’s shenanigans be a lesson to all of us: quit while you’re still ahead.
I still have a framed poster of Favre in my bedroom from the Monday Night game he played after his father died unexpectedly. The poster now serves as a visual reminder to me to quit while I’m still ahead. I’m not involved in anything that I want to quit, but when the moment arrives, I will be sure to make a timely exit.