How I Hated Brett Favre

I was living in Biloxi, MS when Brett Favre rose to prominence in Green Bay.

God, I hated him.

This was 1994 or so. I don’t remember the exact year, but I do remember that his time at Southern Miss in Hattiesburg was still fondly remembered. I remember that back then, he still hadn’t gotten his teeth cleaned, so his smile still looked like he was eating chocolate. I remember that he was almost always on the front page of the sports section in the Sun Herald. Biloxi is about an hour and a half away from New Orleans (at least, when I drive), so normally, everyone in the area was a Saints fan. We were so close that our Fox affiliate was based in New Orleans. My football memories during this time were tainted with a chorus of “Saints on Fox 38!” being sung by a zydeco band. But also during this time, everyone was talking about the Packers like Lambeau Field had been right next to the Grand Casino for the last 50 years.

It bothered me, because I couldn’t (and still can’t) stand bandwagon fans. Yes, I understood that he was from Kiln, which is about 60 miles north of Biloxi. I understood that he was the last worthwhile thing to happen to Hattiesburg that someone outside of Hattiesburg would know about (at least until that episode of “My Super Sweet 16). But the Packers, a team that’s at least 1000 miles away, were getting more love than the team that was right down I-10. Yeah, the Saints were still being called the “Ain’ts” and had no hope of reaching the playoffs. But what about team loyalty, or at least being loyal to the team that’s closest to your town? Jim Mora was giving Biloxi a free show every Sunday night by blowing up in front of the cameras and somehow, that wasn’t enough to hold Biloxi’s attention.

On top of that, people just wouldn’t shut up about Favre. I couldn’t escape from him. I’m the kind of person that tends to avoid following trends and rebels against whatever is the hot thing at the time. If everyone else likes it, I ignore it until it goes away and discover it on my own. It’s why I still haven’t listened to Alicia Keys’ latest CD. But I wasn’t allowed to do that with Favre. He was forced down my throat as the greatest thing since someone decided to put air inside of pigskin and throw it at people.

And to top all of that off, my girlfriend around that time had a friend across the street that was related to Brett Favre. They were distant cousins, but cousins nonetheless. They were closely related enough to where they shared facial features and she knew he was related to her, but distant enough that their names were spelled differently (Farve). Surprisingly, she was like me. She was sick of this guy.

I didn’t want to hate on the hometown boy, but it just became ridiculous down there. For one, he wasn’t even a hometown boy, like Ronald Dupree or Chris Jackson. He was from Kiln, MS, which is all the way over in the next county and really, isn’t even on the Coast. He didn’t go to Mississippi Gulf Coast CC or even Perkinston. He went to Southern Miss. He had no real ties to the Coast, and yet was embraced as the biggest start to ever come out of there. It just didn’t make any sense to me.

So when the Packers would play, I’d almost always root against them. Besides, that’s back when the Cowboys and 49ers were still good, so I’d support those teams, mainly because they were the only ones I really knew. Eventually, Favre overpowered my personal vendetta and the Packers won the Super Bowl. It was a sad day in the Martin household, or at least, in my bedroom. I doubt my parents really cared about my player-hatred.

After that, I would move on to Jackson State University, about two hours north of Hattiesburg (provided you’re obeying the speed limits). Up there, they didn’t care about Brett Favre. They had their own colleges in Jackson, like perennial powerhouses JSU, Belhaven, and Millsaps, whom you might remember from a famed ESPN clip where a football team lost a game after the opposing team scored a touchdown after about 30 laterals were thrown to get the ball in the endzone. That was Millsaps. It’s the only way Jackson colleges ever get on TV. Millsaps Fever! Catch it!

Also, we were close enough to Ole Miss and MS State to where they got most of the attention.

Being away from all of those fake Packers fans gave me the opportunity to see what everyone else had figured out years before me: That Brett Favre was a great football player. It also gave me the chance to learn the hard way that one should never bet against Brett Favre. I lost way too much money doing that.

Ironically enough, when I started betting on him, the Packers were stinking up the joint. Karmic justice at its finest.

Along the way, I watched him teach the top, fall off, almost get run out of town, turn a hater like me into a fan, and almost reach the pinnacle again. Not a lot of players in the NFL get the chance to do that. John Elway might be the only other one in my short football memory.

But aside from all of the records he broke and amazing games he played, the lasting memory that I will have of Brett Favre is of him throwing snowballs at his teammates in the middle of a playoff game. And maybe his brown teeth, but mostly the snowballs. I mean, here was one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever throw a spiral and he was wasting his Hall of Fame arm beaning his teammates in the back with poorly packed snowballs. His Mississippi upbringing was showing through.

Two months later, he shocked the world by walking away from the game after his team was a win away from going to the Super Bowl. Surely, they’d be in contention again next year. Why didn’t he walk away during the three years that the Packers weren’t worth the chalk that marked the yards on their historic field? Why now, when he had turned the football world on its ear by making the Packers a legitimate team again at the age of 37?

He just didn’t want to play anymore. That’s all there is to it. But he went out on his own terms, and as an athlete, that’s really all you can ask for. No one made him go and his body didn’t betray him. And while I’m sad he’s gone, I’m still happy for him. I’m happy that he walked into his retirement press conference and I’m happy that he found such joy in doing something that it made him cry to stop doing it. What more can you ask for in life?

I guess maybe a chance to start an NFL game. At least, that’s what you’re asking for if you’re Aaron Rodgers. Be careful what you wish for, kid. You’re about to get it.