An Open Letter to Brett Favre
Dear Mr. Favre,
I hope this letter finds you well. I know you have been out of the NFL scene for a couple years now, but I want you to know that you have garnered yourself a new fan! Congratulations to you, sir!
Concerning your image, I have to be honest and admit that I was on the fence for quite some time. For a while there, I remember, it seemed that every other day you were having press conferences where you were either crying, retiring, or signing onto a new team. Is that really who you are, I wondered: A star athlete past his prime who is having a really, really, really hard time letting go of his career?
But no, that’s not the real you. No, I really believe that the real you is the one from the Wrangler Jeans commercials.
That’s the real Brett Favre. The real Brett Favre isn’t hell-bent on last minute cash grabs or media attention. No, the real Brett Favre just likes to hang out on the back of his moderately-priced pickup truck, pallin’ around with the fellas in a fun-loving game of touch football; in his Wrangler Jeans, of course.
The real Brett Favre wouldn’t leave a voicemail message to Jenn Sterger asking her to come back to his hotel room to hang out. That would be inappropriate! Brett Favre is married. And the real Brett Favre certainly wouldn’t start sending images of his phallus to Jenn as a way to convince her to come over since the voicemail went unreturned, subsequently ruining Jenn Sterger’s career. I see the Brett Favre in the Wrangler commercials with his wise smile, twinkly eyes and I just know that the real Brett Favre wouldn’t do that.
The real Brett Favre only uses the phone to call up the fellas to see if they want to get together in some unmarked field to toss the ol’ pigskin around; maybe have a chuckle or two while his wedding ring is displayed prominently. It should go without saying that Brett is steady quarterback for both teams, right fellas?
I also imagine that one of your friends’ nickname is Chaz or Blotter.
In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Wrangler asked you to do an ad for television and you just told them to come to the field with a few cameras since you and the boys do that every Saturday anyway. And after the game is over and you’re done hanging out with the guys on the back of your pickup truck, talking about how well your jeans held up during the game, you head back to your cabin. I believe the real Brett Favre lives in a humble wood cabin with an American flag perched above the front porch. I know you’re worth about $100 million, but you only use a little bit of that money to buy something like a stainless steel refrigerator or an imitation marble countertop. After all, you do chop your own firewood, don’t you?
The real Brett Favre is humble, in my humble opinion, and that’s why I have decided to write you. Because when the retirement officially settles in and the media no longer camps out in front of your house and the sex scandal just kind of goes away, all that is left standing (besides your championships and hall of fame stats), are the Wrangler commercials; which are still airing for some reason.
Real. Comfortable. Jeans.
Emphasis on “real.”
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