For the love of…

God, I hate football.

Let me just put that right out there. Sure, I understand that sports are an allegedly important part of our culture. They promote teamwork, physical fitness, and regional pride. They provide a wholesome activity for the players, and provide entertainment for the spectators.

That said… I still hate football. Anything that physically violent should be illegal. Its zillion rules, penalties and play patterns make my head ache. The mere fact that its lowest-paid players net somewhere in the high six figures – while elementary teachers have to buy crayons and paper out of their own meager paycheck – is thoroughly disgusting. Running around in ridiculous outfits and crushing each other half to death makes me think of elementary school, actually – a childish boy’s activity to outgrow.

But I think that the one thing that made my dislike cross the into the end zone of hatred (yeah, that made me cringe too) is my husband’s obsession with Brett Favre.

Sure, I’m glad he’s that secure enough in his manhood that he can admit to worshipping another man. I might be worried, if this were Ancient Greece. But when my kindergarten-age daughter associates the number 4 with a football player, it’s time to draw the line.

He loved the Packers because of Brett Favre. He loved the Jets because of Brett Favre. Now he loves the Vikings – of course, because of Brett Favre. Don’t get me wrong – I actually think the guy is admirable (but I will NEVER tell my husband, because I will never, ever hear the end of it). He’s an affable, friendly family man who you’d love to have as your next-door neighbor. He’d almost certainly lend you his weed-whacker anytime. But really, to be pretty much at the top of his game, at his age – without any kind of steroids, enhancers, or anything but his own physical power and will… it’s pretty impressive. And honorable. Still, the tearful “I’m retiring” and equally tearful “I’m back – but kind of against my will!”… then “I’m retiring again” – then “I’m back AGAIN!” stunts were just beyond annoying. I could go on… but it tires me just to think about it.

It’s a GAME. It’s not brain surgery, cancer research, saving starving kids. It’s not even as socially valuable as – well, ANY other job! It’s not even a job! So what drives people mad at the mere mention of the man’s name?

Throwing the best passes in the entire world, apparently. [Sigh.] Is there hope for humanity?

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