By Lony Olec
Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t hate Brett Favre. He took us to the big show twice, won it once, and came within spitting distance plenty of times. He allowed me to hold my head up high as a Packer backer, which is difficult when you are a fan of America’s greatest sports institution in a city as barbaric as Chicago, where holding your head up high for the Green Bay Packers, the finest collection of humanitarians and athletes ever assembled, is considered a cue for the Molesters of the Midway to throw bottles at your face. So when I finally quite my job as an engineer in the nineties and moved to De Pere to be closer to my team, I was glad that I traded in a $87,000-a-year position to start as a new guy in the electricians’ union at $9 an hour, a tradition of football excellence that any human whose heart still pumps blood could be proud of, AND a winning season. So I don’t hate Brett Favre. I just want him to rue the day he took the fans and the people of Green Bay for granted.
I want him to be injured early in either the NFC Championship game or Super Bowl XLIV – not much, maybe a low spinal or both of his femurs broken – and then, while he watches from his hospital bed, I want his team, the ‘greatest team he ever played on’, to collapse. I want the opposing team to crush the Vikings, the way a 400-lb. lineman crushed Brett’s pelvis – the way that Mississippi drama queen crushed our hearts.
That’s all. I am not a vengeful guy. I just want Brett to realize that he should have quit when he said he would. I want him to realize that he would never have found a greater family than the Packer family, and that he should have just appreciated that he was able to play, and play well, for the greatest football city in the world, rather than head to some minor league dump like New York or Minneapolis and try to be a big fish in a little pond. You always were a big fish, Brett! You were always the biggest fish!
And when Brett hobbles around his home after he finally retires for good, requiring a walker because of his shattered knees, or has to have ramps installed because he is paralyzed from the waist down, I want him to consider the blob of tapioca pudding staining his t-shirt, dribbled from his mouth when his nursing assistant fed him, and say to himself, “Man, I had a good thing in Green Bay.”
I just want justice.
The views of Lony Olec do not necessarily reflect those of the Packer Ranter.
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