I'd love to think that we are all now, finally, free from the tyranny of Lord Favre. But we aren't. He's still doing ads, and it's only a matter of time before he squeezes himself into a blazer and tortures us with his "homespun" claptrap as an "analyst."
The most horrific possibility is that this preening attention whore will continue to tease the media about another comeback. Apparently, this dance has already begun, with reports that he will "continue throwing and working out."
I was actually hoping he'd come back, just so he could write a final chapter to his career more humiliating than 2008. It's a source of deep shame for me that Mr. Wrangler Jeans' only playoff victories over the last decade came against my Seahawks. Seattle singlehandedly kept the flickering flame of Favre's legend alive, feeding the illusion that The Land Baron was still an elite-level QB.
Thankfully, Favre followed each of these wins over Seattle with absolutely horrific OT interceptions in the next round of the playoffs. Against the Eagles in the 2003 Divisional Playoff and the Giants in the 2007 NFC Championship, Favre barfed up throws that were Grossman-level team-killers, and my black heart was filled with curdled joy.
If this truly is the end for Favre, we can always look back and smile at that snowglobe game at Qwest last December. Against a 3-11 team, Favre's Jets needed a win to keep their playoff hopes alive... In what was supposedly HIS element, Brittfar tossed two embarrassing picks, absorbed four sacks and racked up a 48.7 QB rating. He left the field a battered and broken man, pelted with snowballs by the 12th Man.
So long, Brett. You won't be missed.