Growing up in south Mississippi I can remember watching this guy named Favre play for the University of Southern Mississippi. I couldn't understand why his name was far-vuh instead of fav-ree. Later I remember watching him not play for the Atlanta Falcons. They had Prime Time (Deion Sanders), Show Time (Andre Rison), and Country Time (Brett Favre). I was never really a Green Bay Packers fan, but when they traded for the guy from south Mississippi and let him throw the ball, I became a fan.
I can remember those around me becoming fans, too. My brother who wasn't even really a sports fan was suddenly wearing a Packers jacket. We all watched and marvelled. Favre was an incredibly gifted athlete, to be certain. That wasn't what drew us to him, though. As Tom Curran describes
here, it was Favre's human side. He was confident, but not just confident enough to be cool. He was confident enough that cool wasn't enough. He had to be real. He had to be human. He had to be just like we would be but so much more than we could ever be.
I can remember meeting him a couple of times in Hattiesburg. Most recently was I believe during the summer of 2007. We were standing in line at Longhorn Steakhouse and I'm watching this couple stroll across the parking lot after getting out of their truck and I'm thinking to myself, "Man, does this guy look familiar. How do I know him?" Then it hits me, "It's him. It's Favre." You can hear a wave of recognition ripple through those standing outside in the warm evening but no one bothers him. He and his wife walk inside, are seated immediately, and from what I could tell enjoyed a quiet dinner to themselves. I guess that's part of the reason Favre loves south Mississippi.
My most vivid memory of him during a game was much earlier in his career. He'd just been leveled by one of the defensive players. Just completely buried. The guy leaned in and told Favre a little bit more than he wanted to hear about it as he's getting up. Favre then reaches up with one hand, grabs the huge defenseman's facemask and pulls him back down and proceeds to pound his helmet with his other hand as hard as he possibly could. At this point players from both teams are jumping in and trying to separate them. I just remember thinking... how cool is this dude not to take any crap from someone twice his size or worry about hurting his throwing hand or anything else. He's one bad dude that I'd take on my team any day and at any game.
Curran says it far better. He writes (with my editing):
“That’s how I’d do it.” How many times did those words pass through the minds of men harboring dreams of playing in the NFL but not the ability as they watched Favre?
He was Huck Finn in shoulder pads, rasslin’ with his brothers down in Kiln, Mississippi, ... performing with barely containable glee when he won the Packers starting job.
He wasn’t like Montana, Unitas or Brady – face placid with a season on the line. He felt the crucial moments and they registered on his face. He cried. He skipped. He jumped. Maybe that prevented him from being as great a quarterback as those three but it made him more revered. He was the most human of the great quarterbacks, a graying buzzcut and the trace of a wise grin on his face by the time he was done.
And the human side? You felt Favre’s pain. You knew the ache and nausea that hit Favre in a wave when it sank in that he’d screwed up and you watched for it to register on his face. You knew the feeling of having flushed everyone else’s work down the crapper because of a bad decision and how you would feel. You knew the resignation that hits like an anvil when it comes clear that you have to start all … over … again.
It was that last – the human side – that made the legend, wasn’t it?
