Pennington once again insisted the game was nothing personal, and no one believed him. It was personal—not against the Jets quarterback (who he actually liked), but the Jets organization. “You don’t think he wanted that one?” said Rhodes. “I mean, come on.”
Giants Stadium was sold out, with 79,454 fans enjoying an unseasonably pleasurable 64-degree afternoon. But there was little oomph and even less zest. This was a team rolling off a cliff. As the Daily News’s Ohm Youngmisuk rightly observed, “the magic disappeared.” Before kickoff, Favre gathered his teammates in a sideline huddle and offered up a lame and uninspired pep talk. With hands together in the center of a circle, he said, somewhat flatly, “If it works out, it works out. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. All you can do is give your best. OK? Love you guys!”
Jim Valvano he was not.
To Favre’s credit, the game was close. To his discredit, it wasn’t really his doing. Midway through the first quarter, with neither team yet on the scoreboard, Favre threw a pass down the left sideline that sailed over Washington’s head and into the arms of cornerback André Goodman. The cameras flashed to Mangini, whose lips were easy to read: Why would we do that?
Late in the second quarter Favre struck again. He dropped back from the New York 30, did a little pirouette, tossed a screen in Jones’s direction, then watched in horror as a defensive lineman named Phillip Merling plucked it from the air, bowled over the old quarterback, and rambled in for the touchdown and a 14–6 Miami advantage. Favre walked off the field wincing and holding his arm.
New York scored on a Washington run to take a brief 17–14 lead, but the day belonged to Pennington. He hit tight end Anthony Fasano on a 20-yard scoring strike to go up 21–17, and a late Dan Carpenter field goal upped the final score to 24–17. As he jogged off the field and into the joyful visiting locker room, Pennington was grabbed by cornerback Jason Allen. “Get your hat, boy!” Allen screamed. “Go get your hat.” It was a gray division title cap being distributed by the equipment staffers.
The Miami Dolphins, led by a discard, were AFC East champions.
The New York Jets, led by a quarterback who changed the dress code, were done.
One day later, Favre underwent an MRI on his right shoulder, which would reveal the tear. He was asked about returning, and uttered the familiar “I don’t know yet” refrain that would not be tolerated in New York as it had been for so long in Green Bay.
“If he wants to come back and if he can put in his time for the whole year, that’s fine with me,” Rhodes said. “If he’s not going to be committed to it and not want to be here the whole time, it’s going to be tough for everybody. I’m just saying—if he’s going to come back, don’t string it out.”
Within three days, Brett Favre was out of his New Jersey home and back in Mississippi. “I was hoping he’d stick with us,” said Tannenbaum. “I really was.”
It was wishful thinking. Brett Favre had bigger plans.
25
A Norse God
* * *
THROUGHOUT THE LONG and storied history of American sport, revenge has served as a motivating factor for countless professional athletes. You’ve been traded, you’ve been released, you’ve been disrespected in one way or another, and now you crave payback.
Think about it. When Tom Seaver was shipped from the Mets to the Reds in 1977, he returned to New York and stuck it to his old team, striking out 11 and surrendering one run over six innings. When Joe Montana faced the 49ers for the first time as a Kansas City Chief, he played every down as if it were life or death. Wayne Gretzky tallied two assists for the Los Angeles Kings against the Edmonton Oilers, Reggie Jackson—California Angel—went deep against the New York Yankees in his return to the Big Apple.
When Brett Favre finished his season with the Jets, he, too, sought revenge. The feeling had lingered for a year, ever since Ted Thompson and the Green Bay Packers disrespected him, first by pressuring his retirement, then by giving away his job, then by not welcoming him back, and finally by shipping him off to New York.
Although it’s probably a stretch to say Favre hated the Packers, he abhorred Thompson in the way one abhors an abusive boss or unfaithful lover.
He loathed Ted Thompson.
He wanted retribution.
What better way than joining the franchise’s greatest rival?
Of course, Favre first needed to do his little self-indulgent jig. On February 11, 2009, Bus Cook told the Jets his client was officially retiring. Then, in late April, speculation surfaced that Favre was considering a return with the Minnesota Vikings. Then Cook told several journalists that—seriously!—Brett Favre was done. Then, in early May, Vikings coach Brad Childress was scheduled to fly to Mississippi to talk with Favre. But then the trip was canceled. Then rescheduled. Then canceled again. On June 5, Cook told the Associated Press that Favre was—seriously, seriously!—done, and there were no changes in his plans. That same day Childress, attending a community event, said he wasn’t even thinking about Favre, and that the Vikings quarterbacks were Tarvaris Jackson and Sage Rosenfels. Within 72 hours, ESPN reported that Favre underwent arthroscopic surgery on his throwing shoulder with the intention of returning for a 19th season. Cook neither confirmed nor denied the operation—even though he knew, with absolute certainty, that Favre spent a day with Dr. James Andrews, under sedation, having his right arm repaired. On June 9, the Green Bay Press-Gazette reported that Favre’s family booked 25 to 30 rooms at the Midway Motor Lodge near Lambeau Field for the weekend of November 1, when the Vikings were scheduled to visit Green Bay. On June 15, in an interview with HBO, Favre admitted that playing with the Vikings “makes perfect sense,” and referred to the team as “we.” He explained that while he and Childress had yet to speak, Eric Sugarman, the Minnesota trainer, visited Mississippi to show him some exercises related to rehabbing the arm.
This went on.
And on.
And on.
And on.
On July 19 Jared Allen, Minnesota’s star defensive end, told the Chicago Tribune that his patience was wearing thin—“Let’s either get it done and get moving on with it or let it go.” On July 20, Childress said he’d watched video of Favre, throwing with a high school team in Mississippi, and his motion “looked fine.” On July 23, ESPN’s Ed Werder reported Brett Favre was wavering, but would decide shortly. On (also) July 23, ESPN’s Rachel Nichols reported that Brett Favre’s family and friends hoped he would make up his mind. A handful of Vikings—Allen and halfback Adrian Peterson among them—reached out to Favre, thereby irking Jackson and Rosenfels. Finally, on July 28, Favre called Childress and told him that he would stay retired. “It was the hardest decision I ever made,” he told ESPN. “I didn’t feel like physically I could play at a level that was acceptable. I would like to thank everyone, including the Packers, Jets, and Vikings—but, most importantly, the fans.”
End of story. He. Was. Not. Coming. Back.
On the afternoon of Sunday, August 16, Childress, now three weeks into training camp at Minnesota State University–Mankato, met with his quarterbacks in a small room inside the complex. Along with Jackson, a fourth-year pro from Alabama State, and Rosenfels, a veteran acquired from Houston to challenge for the job, two other players were present. John David Booty, the Vikings’ 2008 fifth-round draft choice out of USC, sat in one chair. Sean Glennon, an undrafted rookie free agent from Virginia Tech, sat in another. Rumors of Favre had once again started up, and the head coach wanted to put his quarterbacks at ease. “Brett’s not coming,” Childress told the group. “Just so all of you know, there has been a lot said and a lot of talk. But it’s not happening. He’s not coming.”
Though Jackson and Rosenfels both felt relief, it was particularly great news for Booty and Glennon, who were fighting for a third-string/practice-squad gig. The following afternoon, Glennon—having just completed a workout—was sitting in the players’ lounge, watching tennis on a nearby TV. Rick Spielman, the team’s vice president of playe
r personnel, tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Sean,” he said. “Come up to talk.”
This couldn’t be good.
“I’m just gonna be blunt,” Spielman said. “We’re signing Brett, and unfortunately we have to clear a roster spot. After some deliberation you’re the odd man out. We appreciate everything you’ve done. If a roster spot opens, we might call . . .”
“Football,” Glennon said, “is a cold-blooded business.”
Less than 24 hours later, on the morning of Tuesday, August 18, Booty reported to the facility, walked up to his locker, and did a double take. Dangling from a hook was a No. 9 jersey—not the No. 4 he wore throughout camp. “It wasn’t like I was married to No. 4 or anything,” he said. “But the way it was all handled was wrong. First, Brad gave us his word that Brett wasn’t coming. Second, you don’t even say anything? You just change my number? It’s a business, I get that. But we were being told something totally different than what was going on behind closed doors. It was slimy.”
On Monday morning—after assuring the quarterbacks they need not worry—Childress placed a final call to Mississippi, urging the veteran to join the team. A two-year, $25 million contract was waiting for his signature. “I can be persistent at times,” Childress said later. “I just felt like it was a small window that we had to reconsider adding him potentially to our football team.” Later in the day, Cook told Spielman that, yes, Brett Favre would join the Vikings, and that the team could expect him to report shortly. Hence, on the morning of Tuesday, August 18, Brad Childress stepped into his black Escalade and made the 20-minute drive to Mankato Regional Airport, where, at approximately 11:20 a.m., the private plane belonging to Vikings owner Zygi Wilf arrived with a nearly 40-year-old quarterback savior in tow. By now word had leaked that Favre was a Viking, and a news helicopter tracked the Escalade as Childress and Favre drove to the facility. Many of the Vikings watched in bemusement, joking about “our own O.J. chase.” Visanthe Shiancoe, Minnesota’s veteran tight end, referred to the coverage as “Favre-a-palooza.”
When the car reached the facility, madness broke out. Purple-and-yellow-clad fans stormed the street to greet the Escalade, then stormed the training-camp property. Wrote Chip Scoggins of the Minneapolis Star Tribune: “In a sight fitting the moment, a person dressed in a full parrot costume walked along the street, carrying a sign advertisement.”
“It was like we were welcoming a UN ambassador, or some high government official,” said Ben Leber, a Vikings linebacker. “But it was just ol’ Brett.”
Roughly two hours later, Favre—wearing Booty’s No. 4—jogged onto the field for his first practice as a Viking. This was Vince Neil joining Van Halen. Or, if that’s too mild, this was Luke Skywalker joining Darth Vader. In Green Bay, many players have done many bad things through the decades, only to be forgiven. Key drops. Missed tackles. Drug abuse. Robbery. Even sexual assault. But none had gone out of his way to purposefully enlist as a Minnesota Viking. “It was hard to digest,” said Bob Harlan, the former Packers president. “Of all the teams, of all the players . . .”
Favre introduced himself to the other quarterbacks, to the wide receivers, to the running backs, to his linemen. “It was weird,” said Bryant McKinnie, the veteran offensive tackle. “This was Brett Favre, the Packer I’m supposed to hate. And he’s wearing purple.” Some faces Favre recognized, many he did not. One of the initial reasons Favre considered Minnesota was because the offensive coordinator, Darrell Bevell, had been his quarterbacks coach for six seasons in Green Bay. They exchanged a warm greeting, then Favre turned to Kevin Rogers, the team’s quarterbacks coach.
“I’m Kevin,” Rogers said.
“I know who you are,” Favre replied. “Great to be working with you.”
“It was very flattering,” said Rogers. “He was happy, upbeat, enthusiastic. He could not have made a better first impression.”
Though Jackson was liked by teammates and Rosenfels had earned respect, there was little awkwardness about Favre being handed the job. Ever since Daunte Culpepper’s breathtaking 39-touchdown 2004 season, the Vikings had been searching for a capable quarterback. The outreach included such nonluminaries as a faded Brad Johnson, an incapable Brooks Bollinger, a battered Kelly Holcomb, an ordinary Gus Frerotte. “We needed somebody with a truly proven track record,” said Jim Hueber, the assistant offensive line coach. “We needed a difference maker, a guy who had been around the block but had something left in the tank. We had a lot of talent, but we were missing that one thing.”
When he joined the Jets, Favre liked what surrounded him. When he joined the Vikings, Favre loved it. As a child, Favre took to watching Chicago’s Walter Payton, a fellow Mississippian and the game’s best running back. Peterson, just 24, was a Sweetness reincarnate who ran for 1,760 yards and 10 touchdowns in 2008. The wide receivers were equally stupendous. On one side Favre would be throwing to Sidney Rice, a six-foot-four, 200-pound picture of grace and fluidity. On the other, he had the team’s latest first-round pick, a 21-year-old speedster from Florida named Percy Harvin. “The two of them were unreal,” said Leber. “Sidney had this pep in his step that Brett gave him, and he made some catches I’d never seen. And Percy—he wasn’t that big, but he ran with so much power, and he did things in space that humans don’t do.” Toss in a soft-handed tight end (Shiancoe) and a veteran offensive line with multiple Pro Bowlers, and the Viking roster was special.
Favre adapted quickly. He was back in the NFC North, back with Bevell, back to a part of the country that reflected (and resembled) his Mississippi upbringing. One day Favre asked Childress for permission to address the team. With everyone seated, he stood and apologized for the offseason indecision. He said he shouldn’t have waited so long; said it was unfair to Jackson and Rosenfels and the coaching staff. The words only took five minutes, but they were perfectly received. “He talked about the quality team and the chemistry we already have,” said Antoine Winfield, the cornerback, “and how he wants to be a part of that.” Favre seemed to learn from the mistakes of New York, where he walled off too many teammates. This time, there was no requesting a private changing space or a back office. He made himself accessible to the media and chatted with teammates as if they were long-lost pals (a rocking chair was playfully placed in front of his locker). Perhaps it was an old quarterback realizing the end was near, or maybe he was simply comfortable and happy to be a Viking. Whatever the case, it went over brilliantly.
Three days after his signing, Favre debuted in a home exhibition game, starting against the Chiefs and generating a standing ovation (and thousands of camera flashes) as he jogged onto the Metrodome turf. He performed poorly (1 for 4, four yards) and lasted only two series before a Kansas City linebacker named Corey Mayes slammed him into the turf. Favre was able to walk off, but there were no shortages of deep breaths along the Minnesota sideline.
He played three quarters the next week at Houston, and this time made more of an impression. First, he was a solid 13 of 18 for 142 yards while suffering through the pain of a cracked rib. Second, he threw a nasty—and outrageously illegal—crackback block to the knees of Texans safety Eugene Wilson, which infuriated the opposing defense but inspired the Vikings. If their ancient quarterback was willing to do whatever it took, how could the Vikings play at half speed? “His teammates loved him immediately,” said Sean Jensen, who covered the Vikings for the St. Paul Pioneer Press. “I’ve been around a lot of alpha males, and none were as beloved as Brett Favre. He didn’t throw his status and money around, he didn’t act better than anyone.”
Off the field, he adjusted quickly. Tony Richardson, Favre’s fullback with the Jets, still owned a house from his two seasons as a Viking, and he rented it to the quarterback. He went on a few hunting trips with teammates, took Deanna and Breleigh to see Grease and a Miley Cyrus concert. The kid who used to party like every day was New Year’s Eve was now a man in bed by 10:00 p.m. “I’ll bring film home and I’ll watch it,” he said, “and 9 o’clock will com
e, and I’ll decide to watch a little TV.
“Now I go home and help my daughter with homework. I have studying to do myself. I really don’t do anything. My wife and our 10-year-old love it here, so it’s been good.”
The Vikings opened at Cleveland on September 13, and Favre could barely contain his excitement. Under Childress (a longtime NFL offensive coordinator) and Bevell, he was back running the exact version of the West Coast offense that had made him millions in Green Bay. Only now he found himself surrounded by the type of skill players who rarely seemed to materialize with Mike Sherman and Ted Thompson. The perpetually awful Browns packed 70,560 fans into their stadium, and Minnesota dominated. It wasn’t vintage Favre, or even interesting Favre, but Peterson ran for 180 yards and three touchdowns, Favre chipped in 14 completions on 21 attempts, and the Vikings won, 34–20. The quarterback’s 270th straight start generated one real highlight—after throwing a 6-yard touchdown pass to Harvin, he charged into the end zone and tackled the rookie (who was four when Favre made his NFL debut). “You don’t find too many players who still love the game,” Harvin said. “For him to be that old—he’s got a daughter my age—and still have a love for the game . . . he’s by himself.”
Peterson added another 92 rushing yards the next week in a 27–13 victory against Detroit, and Favre threw for 155 yards and two touchdowns. It was early, but some in the media were beginning to wonder whether Favre would do much besides handing off.
Finally, against the 49ers in the third week, something clicked. It was Favre’s first regular-season home game as a Viking, and for most of the afternoon the performance had fans wondering whether Tarvaris Jackson should be playing. Favre made a handful of bad throws, and two or three awful ones. San Francisco led 14–13 at the break. He was hit, and hit hard; Minnesota’s first five series of the second half resulted in three punts, an interception, and a turnover in downs. When 49ers quarterback Shaun Hill connected with tight end Vernon Davis on a 20-yard touchdown pass with 8:12 remaining in the game, the Vikings trailed 24–20, and the normally loud Metrodome went silent.
Gunslinger Page 44