He was wearing a collared shirt (a collared shirt!?). He was in a chair, before a table. There was a microphone. It was silver. There was a green backdrop with a bunch of the trademarked Packer logos. About 100 or so members of the media sat across from him. They had been urged to arrive on time. Brett Favre would, at long last, be retiring.
What the hell am I doing here?
He began to speak. Slowly. Softly. In the huddle, he had power and command. Here, he appeared to be shrunken. Small. “It seems like yesterday we were all here. Well, I think we all know why I’m here. First of all, sorry I’m late. But I am officially retiring from the NFL and the Green Bay Packers, and as much as I’ve thought about what I would say, and how . . .”
Pause.
Deep breath.
What the hell am I doing here?
“I promised I wouldn’t get emotional.”
Long pause.
A gaze downward.
A wipe of the nose.
What the hell am I doing here?
Deep breaths.
“It’s never easy.” Deep breath. “You know, it’s funny. I’ve watched hundreds of players retire . . . and you wonder what that would be like . . . you think you’re prepared . . .”
What the hell am I doing here?
A tear began to stream down his left cheek. Two tears. No one else in the room dared say a word. The Packers were an organization of legends. Bart Starr. Jim Taylor. Paul Hornung. Vince Lombardi. Most of all, Brett Favre. “But I was telling Deanna on the way over here, God has blessed me with so many great things. Ability, wonderful family. And as I was flying up here today I thought about so many different things and how I wanted to say some of the things that I felt like I need to say, but He gave me an opportunity to use my abilities, and I seized that opportunity.” A lengthy pause. “I thank Him for that.”
Many in attendance had covered Favre through the highs and lows. They arrived with justified skepticism—another year, another Favre retirement. Clearly, this was not another Favre retirement. This was Favre’s retirement. “It’s been everything I thought it would be, and then some,” he said. Tears. Breaths. Tears. “And it’s hard to leave. You think you’re prepared for it. I know there’s been comments and issues in the press lately about why I’m leaving, whether or not the Packers did enough, whether or not Ted and Mike tried to convince me to stay. None of those things have anything to do with me retiring, and that’s from the heart. I’ve given everything I possibly can give to this organization, to the game of football . . .
. . . and I don’t think I have anything left to give.”
Wait. Stop. Hold it. Did Brett Favre just say “think”? Because there’s a difference between “I don’t have anything left to give” and “I don’t think I have anything left to give.”
What the hell am I doing here?
“I know I can play, but I don’t think I want to. And that’s really what it comes down to . . .”
Again, the “think.” Did Brett Favre not want to play, or think he did not want to play?
He continued.
“Fishing for different answers and what ifs and will he come back and things like that, what matters is it’s been a great career for me, and it’s over. As hard as that is for me to say, it’s over. There’s only one way for me to play the game, and that’s 100 percent. Mike and I had that conversation the other night, and I will wonder if I made the wrong decision. I’m sure on Sundays, I will say I could be doing that, I should be doing that . . .”
By the time the press conference concluded and Favre had sniffled and sighed and paused his way through 10 gut-wrenching minutes, a good number of those in attendance thought the whole show reeked of malarkey. Not that Favre was lying. It was just that, when superstar athletes hold retirement announcements, they are almost always decisive and adamant. From Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Julius Erving to Mike Schmidt and Wayne Gretzky, the words “I’m done” do not tend to find themselves attached to an “I think.” Perhaps that’s why, when it was time to open the floor to questions, the first one was whether Favre just might change his mind.
“I think last year and the year before I was tired and it took a while but I came back,” America’s newest retiree replied. “Something told me this time not to come back. It took a while once again. Once again, I wondered if it was the right decision. But I think in my situation, and I had this conversation with Mike and Ted, that it’s a unique situation in that at 17 years I had one of the better years in my career, the team had a great year, everything seems to be going great, the team wants me back, I still can play, for the most part everyone would think I would be back, would want me back. That’s a unique situation going into an 18th season. There’s no guarantees next year, personally and as a team, and I’m well aware of that. It’s a tough business and last year and the year before I questioned whether or not I should come back because I didn’t play at a high-enough level. Other people questioned that. I really didn’t question my commitment. I just wondered, ‘Could I not play anymore?’ I know I can play. But this year, and this is not the first year but it really to me and Deanna was more noticeable, the stress part of it. It’s demanding. It always has been, but I think as I’ve gotten older I’m much more aware of that. I’m much more aware of how hard it is to win in this league and to play at a high level. I’m not up to the challenge anymore. I can play, but I’m not up to the challenge. You can’t just show up and play for three hours on Sunday. If you could, there’d be a lot more people doing it and they’d be doing it for a lot longer. I have way too much pride, I expect a lot out of myself, and if I cannot do those things 100 percent, then I can’t play.”
Translation: Who the hell knows?
Later that day, Favre flew home to Mississippi, to the house he and Deanna had built on 465 acres in Sumrall. They returned to Sam, the chocolate lab; to lots of turkey and deer to hunt; to mowing the lawn and riding his tractor and swimming in the pool and watching the ducks swim in the two ponds. The estate encapsulated all he had endured. The concussions, the sprains, the breaks. This is why—so the Favres would forever live in comfort.
What the hell am I doing here?
It was a mistake. Deep down, he knew. Favre was certain the Packers wanted him to retire. Green Bay didn’t use a first-round pick on Aaron Rodgers to merely have him leave without ever really playing. The future needed to be now. Thompson never uttered those words, but his actions and mannerisms screamed them. Even when, in February, the general manager called Favre from the league’s annual scouting combine to say he was welcome to return. Those were mere words. Brett felt it, Deanna felt it. They were no longer wanted by the organization they had carried for nearly two decades. But, when asked what he planned on doing with his life, Favre shrugged. “Nothing,” he told a reporter.
Nothing?
What the hell am I doing here?
When Willie Mays retired from the majors in 1973, he observed that “growing old is just a helpless hurt.” Favre didn’t feel old. He could still launch a football, could still roam the pocket. When Barry Sanders left the Detroit Lions at age 31 after the 1998 season, he said his desire to exit the game “is greater than my desire to remain in it.” Favre didn’t desire to exit the game. He wanted Sundays in front of 70,000 fans. He wanted the smell of the locker room, the feel of a new pair of cleats. He was a football player.
Mark Murphy, the Packers’ new president, announced 12 days later that the team would retire Favre’s No. 4 during a game in the upcoming season. “I would say it’s a no-brainer,” he said. But, truly, it was more than a no-brainer. There was fear (justified fear) that Favre would once again bring forth his inner Jason Voorhees and return from the dead. The more official his retirement felt, the less likely Friday the 13th: Green Bay Edition would come to pass.
In the spring of 2008, few sports writers possessed the chops of Sam Farmer.
The veteran Los Angeles Times scribe had emerged in journalism as the Oakland Raiders beat writer f
or the San Jose Mercury News, and now was in his eighth year covering the NFL for the Times. His reputation as a reporter was unblemished. When Farmer broke news, you knew it was legitimate.
A couple of weeks after Favre’s press conference, Farmer started hearing things. “I was told from a couple of sources that Bus Cook had been kicking the tires on Brett coming back,” said Farmer. “I was told he was taking the temperature, like, ‘What if this were to happen . . .’”
On April 4, the headline FAVRE RETIRED? MAYBE NOT appeared on the newspaper’s website. According to Farmer, Cook “had quietly inquired with teams about their interest in trading for the three-time NFL most valuable player. The sources did not indicate whether Favre knew of the inquiries.” Favre, it turns out, had asked James Campen, the team’s offensive line coach, whether the Packers might take him back. Farmer reached out to Cook, who denied the account and added, “He’s retired, period, point blank.”
In the coming days, Farmer’s work was condemned by many in the mainstream media. When reached by Sports Illustrated’s website, Favre insisted, “That’s the last thing I’m thinking about.” And then—“I suppose anything could happen. How will I feel in months? Who knows?”
Um . . .
A few days later, Favre told Al Jones of the Biloxi Sun-Herald that should the Packers reach out to him, he could—theoretically—reconsider. “It would be hard to pass up,” he said. “I guess.” He called a return “tempting.”
Um . . .
The organization responded in the best way it could, by announcing that not only would Favre’s number be retired in 2008, but it would be retired in one of the first four home contests. A few days later, the team finalized September 8—the season opener against Minnesota—as Brett Favre’s special day. Terrific times awaited, Murphy insisted. The quarterback was a Packer for life, and the jersey thing should happen as soon as possible. “To me,” Murphy said wistfully, “he’s made a decision to retire.”
At the Packers’ facility, meanwhile, the players spent late May going through the drills of organized team activities. On May 21, Rodgers arrived, only to look 10 feet away from his stool and see Favre’s locker still intact, complete with a FAVRE 4 nameplate and his old shoulder pads dangling from a hook. “No. 4, he’s not here,” said Donald Driver. “But he’s here in spirit.”
One day in early June, Peter King was washing his golden retriever, Bailey, in the driveway of his New Jersey home. His phone rang—it was Favre. “Peter, can I ask you a question?” Favre said. “An off-the-record one?”
“Of course,” King said.
“Well, what would you think if I came back?” Favre asked.
“Really?” said King. “Are you sure you want to?”
“Pretty sure,” Favre said.
“Well,” King said, “I guess it depends where you’d be coming back to.”
“My preference is to stay in the [NFC North], because I know the teams,” he said. “My first choices would be Minnesota or Chicago.”
King was thunderstruck. “Brett,” he said, “if you do that, Packer fans will be pissed off. If you wanna play somewhere else, a few will be pissed. But Chicago or Minnesota? Little kids will tear down their Brett Favre posters and burn them.”
Three months after Farmer’s initial Favre-might-return report was discredited by the quarterback, his agent, and much of the sports media world, ESPN ran a piece that said the quarterback told McCarthy he had “an itch” to play. By pure coincidence, the story ran on the same day Sports Illustrated pre-released an upcoming Rodgers profile, in which he said, “I don’t feel I need to sell myself to the fans. They need to get on board or keep their mouths shut.”
This was not going well for the Packers—and it became significantly worse on July 11, when Favre officially asked the team to release his rights so that he could make a comeback with another organization. Two things, both unforeseeable a mere few months earlier, were now officially undeniable:
Brett Favre would be playing in the NFL in 2008.
Brett Favre was declaring war on the Green Bay Packers.
Except, really, it wasn’t the Green Bay Packers, but Ted Thompson. One of the league’s worst-kept secrets through the years had been the quarterback’s contempt for his team’s general manager. Favre didn’t like the way the Packers drafted. He didn’t like the way the Packers approached free agents. But most of all, he didn’t like how Thompson addressed him as he would any other player. There was never an ounce of special treatment, or extra consideration, or even the type of check-in-and-see-what-you-think courtesy phone calls Jerry Jones paid Tony Romo in Dallas, Robert Kraft paid Tom Brady with the Patriots. All the perks Favre enjoyed (the private space, the back-entrance parking, the weekly catered meal) were by-products of the Mike Sherman era. Thompson wasn’t going to yank them away, but he felt no need to add on. In his mind, Favre was a great player—but great players come and go. Plus, for a guy long known as being low maintenance, Favre sure was high maintenance. Were he 25 and entering his prime, perhaps the demands would be digestible. But Thompson saw no reason to bow down to a player approaching 40—especially one who hadn’t sniffed a Super Bowl in a decade.
Favre’s two mouthpieces at this time were Al Jones, the Biloxi Sun-Herald reporter who protected and defended a man he also covered, and Scott Favre, his older brother. On the day Brett Favre requested his independence, Scott Favre explained to Jones’s readers, “Why wouldn’t he want a release? [The Packers] have moved on. By not saying anything, it says a lot. If they wanted him back, they could have said, ‘If you want to come back, we want you back.’ Why would he want to go back if he’s not wanted? You tell me?”
Wrote Jones: “I could not agree more . . . it was only a matter of time before the bomb was dropped and from my standpoint, the reason for the explosion around the NFL falls on the shoulders of . . . Ted Thompson.”
It was insanity. Favre decided to retire, and the Packers had a talented young quarterback ready to take over. Favre held a press conference, insisting he was done. Favre denied he was returning, then denied again and again and again. And this was now . . . Ted Thompson’s fault? “Ted was the kind of guy who believes all your loyalty has to be toward the team,” said Tom Silverstein, the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel writer. “Favre was a distraction, but Ted refused to let him dictate how things went. Favre took exception to that. But Ted was pretty much right.”
Behind the scenes, Bus Cook was working the phones, working the media, supplying information as an “anonymous source close to Favre.” According to the “anonymous source close to Favre,” the quarterback’s feelings were hurt. Also according to an “anonymous source close to Favre,” he was spending time at Oak Grove High School near his home doing “core-oriented workouts.” Translation: he was ready to play. Generally speaking, those who covered Favre trusted Cook as they would a rattlesnake in the bunny coop. He was your typical fast-talking agent, spewing the side of the story that helped his client. He was notorious for only returning phone calls when it met his needs. Among his detractors was Bonita Favre, Brett’s mother, who neither believed nor particularly liked Cook.
On July 8, Thompson, Favre, and Cook spoke via conference call, and it wasn’t pretty. Favre wanted to return—period. The Packers wanted him retired. There was no wiggle room, and the hostility was palpable. Three days later, Cook sent a formal letter to the organization, requesting Favre’s unconditional contractual release—“with no strings attached.” According to an anonymous source (aka: Bus Cook), Favre did not desire a trade, because he wanted to decide where he would play next. “Why would he want to play where he’s not wanted?” Scott Favre told Lori Nickel of the Journal Sentinel, repeating what he’d told Al Jones. “The Packers have moved on, so why wouldn’t he?”
The letter was greeted inside the Green Bay offices with a mixture of incredulity and derision. Sure, we’ll just let our legendary quarterback go sign wherever he wants. That’s a wonderful idea . . .
Trainin
g camp was scheduled to begin in two weeks, and nobody knew how this would end. The day after the conference call, Thompson conducted a series of damage-control interviews, telling reporters that Favre could possibly return to the team, but as Rodgers’s backup. It sounded silly, but he was sincere. Thompson made certain to avoid ripping the old quarterback, walking the tightrope between We admire him and This is a nightmare. Even within the facilities, behind closed doors, Thompson remained respectful of Favre. He, too, had once been an NFL player, and remembered the emotions that accompanied retirement from the Houston Oilers in 1984. He wasn’t enjoying Favre’s indecision. But he understood. “Ted gets as vilified as anyone, but he never said one bad word about Brett,” said Jason Wied, the team’s general counsel at the time. “Not one bad word. Ever.”
Life was a daily soap opera, starring Favre as the jilted lover and Thompson as the heartless villain. On July 13, 100 Packers fans held a pro-Favre rally outside Lambeau Field, chanting “We want Brett!” and holding FAVRE FOR PRESIDENT signs.* Newspaper columnists across the country made their pitches to Favre. David Whitley of the Orlando Sentinel penned a piece headlined HEY, BRETT! WE’D LOVE TO SEE YOU BECOME A BUC. Bob Matthews of the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle stepped forward with FAVRE PLAYING FOR BILLS ISN’T SUCH A CRAZY IDEA. Cam Inman, a Contra Costa Times columnist, gave the hometown 49ers and Raiders a push with DO US A FAVOR, FAVRE: COME TO BAY AREA. The day of the rally, Favre appeared on Fox News for an exclusive (and weird) two-part interview with Greta Van Susteren, during which he repeatedly bashed Thompson for, among other things, failing to acquire Randy Moss and for refusing to interview Steve Mariucci, his old offensive coordinator, for the head coaching position that ultimately went to McCarthy. He added that he was tempted to show up at Green Bay’s training camp, simply to call the team’s “bluff.” Less than 24 hours later, another pro-Favre rally was held, this one in the parking lot of the Wisconsin State Fair in Milwaukee. Thirty people attended.
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