My favorite team is going to sign Brett Favre in the coming days, or weeks, or months, or however long it takes that fucking asshole to milk the publicity machine to his satisfaction. It’s going to happen. Debating whether or not it will is a complete waste of fucking time. When it comes to the Land Baron, speculation always becomes reality.
It’s fitting that it would come this. For years and years, I have fucking loathed Brett Favre with every fiber of my being. He is the single most self-aggrandizing piece of shit who ever walked the Earth, the most blatantly phony human being in America this side of Bobby Bowden. Say what you will of openly douchebaggy people like Matt Leinart or Spencer Pratt. At least there are no illusions when it comes to those gents’ intentions. Everything about Favre – from his style of play to his carefully cultivated everyman image – is complete bullshit, and everything about the man is tiresome, to the point where bitching about him being tiresome has become an even more tiresome enterprise than whatever it is that makes him tiresome to begin with. Not only am I sick of this dipshit, but I’m sick of being sick of him. And I resent that everyone is so tired of hating him, that I’m beating a dead horse by still hating him.
I have always argued that pro athletes should play their respective sports as long as they damn well please, because it’s still a kickass job even if you aren’t all that good at it anymore. So I don’t begrudge Favre his right to play football, even if it’s for the Vikings. What I do begrudge is the fact that this asshole NEVER WANTED TO FUCKING STOP PLAYING TO BEGIN WITH. He knew the second he rererereretired earlier this year that he’d try and get his release so he could play in Minnesota. This whole myth perpetrated by Peter King that, “I don’t think even Brett Favre knows what Brett Favre is going to do” is the most insulting pile of shit I’ve ever heard. That fuck knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing, and anyone who says otherwise probably spends all day licking radiators.
Make no mistake, when the Vikings end up signing Favre, it won’t be the final piece in some kind of championship puzzle. It’ll be the nothing more than the final nail in the coffin for Brad Childress. It’ll be the last act of a desperate coach who has spent the past three years wasting an otherwise talented roster on unimaginative schemes and an abject failure to produce anything of note at the quarterback position. This asshole had three fucking years to cultivate a decent QB for this team. Three. A fucking lifetime in NFL years.
Instead, he insisted he could develop Tarvaris Jackson, who can play the position somewhat decently only when there is nothing important to play for. Jackson was drafted by Fran Foley, the onetime Vikings personnel director who was immediately fired after the Jackson draft, for warning his secretary there would be a coming “bloodbath” (his word): a mass firing of scouts and team administrators. Foley traded two third-round picks to select Jackson, whose predraft grades (most pegged him as a late round pick to rookie free agent) immediately made his selection the equivalent of the Raiders’ Michael Mitchell pick two weeks ago.
The Vikings could have made any number of moves in recent years to give Jackson competition, or to outright replace him. They had a chance to trade for Matt Schaub. They had a chance to draft any number of other QB’s. They could have traded for Jay Cutler, regardless of whether or not you found his price too exorbitant. Instead, they did virtually nothing until trading for Sage Rosenfels earlier this year. It’s an indictment of just how poorly prepared Jackson is that Rosenfels, who averages one interception for every 20 fucking pass attempts, represents a colossal upgrade at the position.
And now, only now, after time and again fucking up the QB situation, does Childress feel urgently compelled to seriously upgrade the position. And how is he going about it? By making late overtures to an erratic 39-year-old journeyman with half a bicep. Hey shitbox, you already have an erratic journeyman on the roster. Do we really need fucking multiples of them?
I’ve heard arguments in the Minnesota media that, while Favre almost certainly offers no January promise for the Vikings, that his presence will at least make the coming season more interesting. Well, you know what? I don’t want my team to be fucking interesting. I want my team to fucking WIN. I’ve seen this team do the interesting thing before, with Denny Green and Randy Moss and all that shit. It was fun. But ultimately, it ended up going to shit.
Interesting teams don’t win it all in the NFL anymore. If you want to win a Super Bowl, you’re better off being the most boring fucking team alive. Look at the Steelers. They change coaches once every two decades. They never sign big name free agents, particularly those “he’s the final piece!” type free agents. They don’t do any of that shit. They keep things running smoothly, and then they go win titles. And they don’t sign players I fucking despise.
That’s the biggest dagger of all in this whole shitshow. That seething hatred I have of Brett Favre is part of who I am. It’s ingrained in my very being. When I die, my body will turn into nothing but solid black ash. I won’t go to Heaven. I won’t go to Hell. I’ll simply stop existing. Not a trace of me will be left, on this plane or any other. But, even then, I assure you I’ll still find a way to fucking hate Brett Favre.
And now, as a final, personal FUCK YOU to every Viking fan like me who ever wished him dead, that fuckface is now going to make it so I have to root for him. I actually have to cheer when he goes and does something good. And that makes me hate his fucking guts all the more. Because now I’m supposed to buy into all his bullshit.
That fucking fuck.
Well, fine. If that’s the way it has to be, then so be it. I’ll root for you in a Vikings uniform, Favre. But just know that I will hate every goddamn minute of it. Just know that never has loving a sports team been more exposed as a thoughtless, irrational, singularly idiotic pursuit than in this coming instance. Just know that I will fucking hunt you down with a goddamn bow when you end up fucking us in the end. And you will fuck us. Just know I’m far more excited by the thought of you getting booed at Lambeau than the thought of you being cheered at the Metrodome.
Just know that your new head coach is an incompetent, arrogant fuckwit who couldn’t place an order at a Sonic drive thru without fucking it up and triggering some sort of biochemical attack.
Just know all that before you sit down for your little powwow with Brad Childress, Farvaro. You fucking pussyflap. Oh, I’ll cheer you on, you fucking Hollywood redneck cockpuller. I’ll pull for you every step of the way, you miserable shit volcano. I’ll cherish your token three good games during the season that make Collinsworth flood his pants, you blood-soaked pantyliner.
I’ll do all that that.
But I’ll never stop hating you.