The sun didn’t explode. The earth’s crust didn’t cave in. Dogs and cats didn’t start living together. Paris Hilton didn’t become President of the United States and rename it Awesomesaucia.
Brett Favre‘s streak of consecutive games played came to an end in 2010, and for some reason, nothing catastrophic ensued.
Steve Mariucci spouted a few. Jon Gruden lit some candles. John Madden put a couple extra onion slices on his afternoon cheeseburger in remembrance.
Somewhere, Jenn Sterger rolled her eyes.
Okay, a lot of people rolled their eyes. Oh the vaunted streak. Yes, by that time we were tired of hearing about. We were tired of hearing about everything related to Brett Favre, including his legendary toughness.
Even Favre’s dog was sick of Favre.
Still we had to admit: Damn, that was a heck of a streak. 297 straight games? For a quarterback? In a league that’s all about trying to kill the quarterback?
And it wasn’t like Favre was the careful sort either. He was reckless. He broke the pocket. He put himself in position to get crushed and often did get crushed. Somewhere along the way, Brett must’ve learned the secret to falling without being injured. Oh, and the Vicodin and booze probably didn’t hurt.
Unfortunately, even for those who possess ungodly toughness and a pain threshold not normally seen outside of superhero circles, there is a limit. In 2010, Brett Favre found his limit. With a little help from Arthur Moats of the Buffalo Bills.
Arthur Moats. Before you were merely another no-name Buffalo Bill, but now you have taken your place among the immortals. Your name will live forever as the answer to a trivia question.
In 50 years school children will quiz each other. “Which player delivered the shot that ended Brett Favre’s legendary streak of consecutive games?” Little Timmy will use the Google search app in his bionic eyes to find the answer. And if he scrolls down a little, he will find several blurry images of Brett Favre’s dong. And he will laugh.
If Timmy keeps scrolling past the dong pics, he will find old SportsCenter video of grown men blubbering like their mamas just died. With the videos will come this explanation:
In the year 2010, before the robot takeover, the media spent most of its energy glorifying the exploits of professional athletes (instead of keeping track of the robots, which in hindsight would’ve been helpful). Among these exalted meatbags was a man named Brett Lorenzo Favre, who became famed for his ability to endure pain. So strong-of-will was Favre, and so childlike in spirit, that he became a sort of god to these men of the media, who would’ve happily had female organs transplanted into their bodies so they might bear his children. Today we would call them sissies and feed them into the gnashing mouth of the great robot-deity Moloch, praised be his name. But back then, they were allowed to speak freely over the television, the radio and the internet. Truly, those were silly times.
Timmy will understand better than we ever can what it means to be chased through an open field by a toaster with legs.
And where will Brett Favre be himself in 50 years? Dead, very likely. And if not dead, probably in a home somewhere, flirting with the robot nurses and attempting to pinch their behinds even though it gives him an electric shock every single time.
If he still has his faculties, he will probably look back on the 2010 season. What will he think of the year his whole career and public image came crashing down like a stadium roof laden with snow?
I doubt his recollections will be fond. More likely, he will remember 2010 with bitterness. And his ankle will ache at the memory. And his shoulder. And his hand. And his elbow. And his head.
But then he’ll remember the good things about 2010, and he will smile.
That idiot Brad Childress got canned. Damn, that was hilarious. Come on over here Nursebot, I need a little AAAAAAAH!
If his brain survives another shock, he may think about the day the streak ended. That day that will forever be known as December 14th, 2010.
The Vikings were set to play the Giants in Detroit, having lost the roof of the Metrodome to snow damage. Would Brett Favre be able to shake off his shoulder injury from the previous week and continue his streak? Or would Tarvaris Jackson have to haul his carcass onto the field for one more pitiful performance?
Most people expected Favre to play. Then word came that he had been declared inactive for the game, and the internet exploded.
I can’t post most of what was said about Favre. A lot of it is obscene. Much of it is unintelligible. The stuff that can be made out by a human with a normal brain is mostly too gushy to be stomached.
After the wave of mingled Favre-hate and Favre-love subsided, the Vikings still had to play a football game. Unfortunately.
The exact results of that game are lost to history (let’s pretend). Suffice it to say that, without Favre, the Vikings stank slightly more than they did with him. But no one cared about the score anyway, because Brett Favre didn’t play and the streak was over. No one cared if the sun was still shining, because Brett Favre didn’t play and the streak was over.
And then a magic thing happened: no one cared that the streak was over. People talked about other things on the internet. Mostly boobs.
The next morning the sun came up. Birds sang. Newspapers slapped on front steps. Charlie Sheen snorted his 7 am line. The world went on without Brett Favre being a football player.
A week later Favre came back, and was promptly annihilated by Corey Wootton of the Chicago Bears. One thing then became clear: Favre never should’ve returned after losing the NFC Title game in New Orleans. He should’ve let that be his bittersweet swan song. There’s a fine line between courage and stupidity.
The new streak ended at one. Favre would not play another down in 2010. Instead he would stand on the sidelines pretending to give a damn about what Joe Webb was doing.
And a few months from now we will see him again, throwing the ball to high school kids. And Ed Werder will ask him how he feels. And he’ll say he’s feeling pretty good. And the media will speculate. And I will do a blog post because I need the hits.
And in a secret factory far below the surface of the Gobi desert, the robots will make their plans.