#4

Roughly 20 minutes ago, I woke up groggy on the floor of my neighbor's apartment. I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep, but the thought that I had once again woken up confused in the middle of the night on someone else's floor put a dopey smile on my face as I made the seemingly long trek up the eight steps to my apartment. Deciding to check my email before I officially blew out of the light on my Tuesday, I stumbled into my living room and, half asleep, opened the web browser on my computer. Smile gone. Brett Favre was retiring.

When I was twelve years old, I made my first trip to Lambeau Field. The details of this trip have receded to some extent with the years, but one lasting memory I have of the day was my desperation to get inside the stadium to see the player introductions before the game. I was nearly in a panic as my aunt and I took our seats just as the Packers offense was being announced. We were playing John Elway and the Broncos in the middle of a season that would eventually produce the only Green Bay Super Bowl victory of my lifetime, and I recall Elway being hurt and being held out of the game. None of that mattered much at the time. Elway was in the twilight of his career and Favre would go on to throw four touchdowns in a blowout victory, but regardless of the outcome, I was simply ecstatic to be at the game. Come to think of it, it never really was much about the football anyway.

I would have that feeling several more times in the next eleven years, sometimes in wins, and other times in losses. But I'll always remember what it was to be twelve and to see #4 run onto the field for the first time. Hearing of Brett Favre's retirement tonight was like a swift punch in the gut. Part of the shock comes from the naivety that accompanies growing up watching the same man throw footballs for most of one's life. The tendency is to believe that, after 275 consecutive starts, that same person just may continue to be there forever. But the other part of the sting, the one that makes you wince so hard you almost turn away from yourself, comes from knowing that you just might never get him back. Because unlike the other quarterbacks and household names who eventually call it quits, Favre was never meant for eulogistic sideline celebrations or a spot in the commentator's booth. In our heart of hearts, we know that he'll likely now do what we always thought he'd do - retreat back to his lawn and his family in Mississippi and make a clean break from it all. Of course, this shouldn't come as a surprise because part of Favre's appeal all these years has come from the fact that when it comes to the conventional and the expected, he just never gave a shit.

After 160 wins, 442 touchdown passes, and just as memorably, 288 interceptions, Brett Favre decided to retire today. Barring a change of heart (and anything's possible, because, well, it is Favre after all), he will leave the game having had his final pass intercepted and seeing his last chance at an elusive second Super Bowl ring thwarted in a cold Lambeau wind in which he built his legacy over the past 17 years. Favre's legacy will never be perfect, but I suppose that's sort of the point anyway. In the end, it was never about the fourth quarter comebacks or the breathtaking touchdown tosses - and yes, so many of them were fantastic - but it was about the challenges and slip-ups and the fight to keep your head held high. This week, Brett Favre will likely take a long deserved rest and celebrate his retirement with a cold beer and a long ride on his tractor - just like the rest of us. I suggest you do the same.