An open letter to Brett Favre from the State of Minnesota
Dear Brett,
It’s tough to get up in the morning when it’s 30 below zero outside, with 30 mph winds and 30-foot snowdrifts waiting to greet you. An old guy like you knows what I’m talking about.
You’ve been working hard at what you do for a long time, and I appreciate that. Even though I rooted against you for most of your career — even prayed for a broken throwing arm once or twice — I’ve always respected your determination. You’ve got guts.
Honestly, Brett, it doesn’t matter anymore why you came here; all of that off-season drama you put me through is water under the bridge. You’ve given me something to cheer for on Sunday afternoons, and for that I’m grateful.
You’re resting up for a playoff run — starting Jan. 17 at the Dome — and everyone knows you deserve the time off. Four thousand yards by a 40-year-old arm is no small feat. Enjoy all of the massages.
But let me make one thing as clear as I possibly can: Mess this up, Favre, and I’ll never forgive you. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and cold is something I’ve got a lot of.
I’ve enjoyed watching you this season, but I can’t shake the feeling that you’re some kind of sleeper agent sent from Wisconsin to torture me in ways previously unimaginable (which is saying something coming from a Vikings fan). I’ll be watching you. Closely.
Look at it this way, Brett. Even if you have been sent here to crush all of my hopes and dreams, couldn’t you at least first lead my Purple to South Florida on Feb. 7 so we can drop another Super Bowl? You know, just for old time’s sake?
Win or lose, you might as well be some place warm this winter, even if I’m not.
Sincerely,
The State of Minnesota
P.S. Please say “hi” to the wife and kids for me.
Tom Royer is the assistant editor of The Land. He may be reached at troyer@thelandonline.com.
