The End of an Era

You know, it really shouldn't matter. So, a man who throws around a ball for a living decides not to anymore. And this decision cripples a state. It crippled me, for awhile. I actually teared up when I read the news. For awhile, I couldn't think about anything else. It might be a little pathetic, and it shouldn't matter ... but it does. It matters because we're not just saying goodbye to a quarterback - we're saying goodbye to a piece of our own personal histories as well. To me and to many others, Brett Favre is more than just a great player who imbued this great state's team with a glory that it hadn't seen in years. Rather, he symbolizes a way of life that others just might not understand, a way of life that I am sad to see go.

For 17 years of my life, I got to experience coming home from church on Sunday mornings, putting on sweat pants, making some hot chocolate, maybe eating some hot ham, and laying around to watch "the game." Mom would tune in and out, running around with baskets of laundry, Dad would celebrate with Lady when there was a good play, (in between building shelves, if it happened to be 1995), and Jen would probably be jumping up and down or making loud squealing noises if there was a nail-biting pass ... I got to grow up during the years of the Cheesehead and the Packerana and the origins of the Lambeau Leap. I was present at the Superbowl party where we all watched Brett and Reggie and Freeman and Brooks and all the others take on those slimy Pats (and watched some crazy kids run around the house barefoot in January with every touchdown). I remember the miserably hot and cold games in Green Bay, cheering from the stands and reveling in the fact that I was standing in the midst of greatness ... Losing Brett Favre is more than just the end of an era for a football team, it's the end of an era in our own lives as well.

I never really thought this day would come, and I never really appreciated all that the Brett and the Pack brought to all our lives. Because of him, we share this common history, this memory of a time when we had smiles brought to our faces every time we saw a child-like man complete an impossible Hail Mary, or wiggle out of an inescapable sack (only to proceed to block for another player), or sneak the ball into spaces that were undetectable to mere mortals. I really feel lucky to have witnessed all this, but it's sad to see something so good come to an end.