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| In Defense of Indecision: Let Favre Go Play |
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by Scott Tinley
Source: CBS News.com
Aug. 22, 2010
Brett Favre is not delusional. He understands well the unique and challenging transition period out of sport, out of the spotlight, and
out of favored-god status. Like others given the option of preparing for one of the hardest periods of their lives, Favre has dipped his toe into the abyss of change and recoiled in self-inquiry. He may ask, "Am I ready for the uncomfortable quietude, the months, then weeks, and finally just the sporadic request to travel as America's guest? Playing golf with pasty-skinned CEOs and learning humility one meet-and-greet at a time? What kind of job can I find that requires experience as a 'mythic figure'?"
Yes, Favre, in yearly fly-casting his NFL employment, has shown that he knows it ain't gonna be easy sitting atop that John Deere, even with little risk that he'll lose that 40 acres and a good mule. But he has also frustrated a legend of followers who can't quite grasp his refusal to follow the classic hero script.
C'mon, Brett, they bellow, you're taking up space, disrespecting the natural order. How can we emotionally invest in you if your place in sport is as ambiguous as your (a)musing press conferences? But I will argue that Favre has earned the right to leave on his own accord in his own time. His is not the tale of punch-drunk fighter hanging on because he cannot know where the ring ends and the ringing begins. His is not the story of a risky investment gone badly; the athlete-victim pinning for one more run at financial security before the graceless groveling necessitates card shows and county fair contests. No, Favre seems to understand that his life after sport will be just fine, thank you very much, but it won't ever, can't ever be the life that he had.
And who are we to deny this? No, it's not always pretty seeing athletes hang on as long as they can. No, their best years have already been chronicled, documented, and sent to the actuaries. But forget for a moment that Favre is still a factor and focus on the motives that sound bite pundits manufacture for perhaps their own gain, not the athlete who has thrilled us for nearly two decades.
We want Favre gone because he reminds us that we too are not 25 years old with deep horizons calling. We want Favre gone because we have already seen him at his best. What value is seeing him at anything less? We want Favre out of football because what is sport but a contiguous march of narratives that reinforce youth, vitality, and the best of physical culture? And we call for his stepping down because he forces us to admit that refusing to retire from a good gig is but a determination to go on living the best anyone can.
Brett Favre might very well play next year and the year after that. And so what if he does? Instead of berating his indecisions we might appreciate the arc that he draws, however projected, to the others who played when football was perhaps a different game, a game when men played until they got hurt bad or they had to be held down and their cleats forcibly removed. In no particular order or place, there exists a Venn diagram of Kellys, Bradshaws, Tarkentons, Marinos, Bradys, Youngs, Elways, Aikmans, Starrs, Staubachs, Grieses, Fouts, Moons, Montanas, and Mannings. Lest we forget, each of these iconic players left football in various forms and formats, both on their own terms and according to external pressures that were never recanted in the public discourse. And each takes us back to a different time, a place that forces us to ask ourselves if we have put up level marks that a young man or woman must lay claim to in the first period of their lives.
This temporal connection of past to present, to our own as well as theirs', is at the crux of fan's antipathy towards Favre. We long for the perfect manufactured moment where an athlete's exit is orchestrated with a series of long good byes and lovely parting gifts. We want them to go out on top so that we remember them on top. But if we disavow this public relations moment, we must admit that in life, no one goes out on top.
To his credit, Favre admits that "I've got to fall apart sometime." But to his discredit, well...duh.
Still, perhaps some of the arrogance and ignorance is ours, not Brett Favre's. He knows that given the option of peeking into his return to Everyman status, he can better appreciate the simplicity, the autotelicy of play. And if we are observant enough we might learn from his recon missions. At some point we are all Brett Favres, a grown kid or an aged adult trying to find a bit of grace while our body fails the present requirements of the task. And what will we do? Hunker down in a Florida condo on the 14th fairway with 5 o'clock scotch and sodas? Or will we rage against it; take a scaled back position, a part time consultancy, anything that keeps us in the game of life because maybe, just maybe, those golden years don't seem all that bright? |
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