Favre is already legend. Like Vince Lombardi and Bart Starr before him, the clean-cut All American became the face of the Packers. Over 16 seasons, the quintessential quarterback developed a deeply symbiotic relationship with his team and his city, to the point that it's impossible to imagine Green Bay without him.
I'm hard-pressed to think of any Philadelphia athlete who had quite that type of relationship with the fans.
Maybe Dr. J. Possibly Bernie Parent. Probably Harold Carmichael.
But Favre was different. Maybe it's because there isn't much else in Green Bay except cows, really good cheddar and spectacular football. Maybe it's because he'll be remembered as one of the 10 best quarterbacks in the history of the game. Maybe it's because he's studly and Christian at the same time, equally adept at reading a playbook or the Bible.
Whatever the reason, Favre could do no wrong. Compared to the love affair between BF and GB, that thing we've got going with Michael Nutter is nothing more than a sordid little fling.
And yet, none of that seems to matter anymore. Favre has hung up his Green Bay uniform, this time for good. Just as the leaves will be changing colors come fall, so will he. (Technically, he'll still be in green, only it's got a distinctly New York hue.)
For a few more years, as long as he can squeeze some juice out of his still supple physique, Brett is a Jet.
From far-off Eagles land, all of this is crazy and exciting, just the cure for the Hillary-Obama-McCain hangover I've been suffering from over the past few months.
But as someone who thinks that words mean something and promises are meant to be kept, I would have felt a whole lot better if Favre had walked away from a game and a team and a city that he cherished with his head held high. With dignity.
