by Brian

I should start by saying that I’m not a jerzee guy, per se. Now, when I was a kid, forget about it. At that time, I was obsessed with the 49ers and Broncos, along with the Eagles, of course. My closet was adorned with John Taylor’s #82, Jerry Rice’s #80, Reggie White’s #92, and John Elway’s #7. And that was just the football section of my closet.  There comes a point, though, at which boys become men and consciously decide to don the jerzee of another man less frequently. I still own, and am proud of, my Brian Dawkins #20 jerzee and pull it off the rack for big games throughout the season (something which I’ll still do despite the fact that the Birds brass didn’t see B Dawk as part of their machine any longer).

When Brett Favre, my favorite player of all time, announced his first retirement, I engaged in a chess game with myself over whether to buy a

If only this were the last jerzee we'd both wear, Brett. (John Biever/SI)

Favre jerzee. Part of me could justify the decision by promising myself it would be my last professional athlete jerzee purchase of my life. The other part of me was convinced that wearing the jerzee of a retired player made me seem late to my own party.  In the end, I received the Favre jerzee for Christmas 2007.  I wore it proudly and even joked that it was both relevant and retro in one fell swoop, making me, and it, infinitely cooler than any Jay Cutler or Matt Ryan jerzee could ever be.

Then Favre decided to channel his inner Michael Jordan and hold the N FL world ransom for another two years. To say throngs of Favre fans were immediately conflicted would be a gross understatement. A nation of #4 wearing lunatic fans had to get used to the idea of Favre on Broadway.

For more than half the year, including that “in-your-face-Green-Bay”

That's a cold six pack, isn't it Green Bay? (Bill Kostroun/AP)

six TD performance against those NFC Champion Cards, Favre was serving up platters of crow for Green Bay GM Ted Thompson to munch on.  Sadly, much like most of Favre’s two year saga into the depths of vengeance, the bottom fell out on Favre and the Jets. After an 8-3 start and division leading status, Favre imploded and the team stumbled to a 1-4 mark to finish the season 9-7, missing the playoffs and simultaneously buying head coach Eric Mangini a first class ticket to Cleveland. In a word, YIKES.

Favre apologists, one of which I am not, will tell you that the sacks, the consecutive games started streak, and the injuries were all mixed in a career-ending cauldron from which Favre must have drank.  The reason for the collapse is really inconsequential to me because the Jets’ season and Favre’s career were over.

Because going quietly into that good night is not Favre’s style (again, see: Jordan), reports started to surface that Favre was considering surgery to repair his ailing shoulder. Then reports started surfacing that the Minnesota Vikings were really the only fit for the first-ballot Hall of Famer. Next, video footage surfaced of Favre throwing darts to overmatched high school kids in Mississippi. All the league needed was for Favre to, well, surface as the next starting quarterback of the Vikes.

By now, we all know that months of posturing, rehabbing, and finagling all went for naught.  Favre is staying retired (for now) and better be working an apology to his fans and the league into his Hall of Fame acceptance speech. In the end, this was the right move for Favre because while I understand the need for vengeance, playing for the Vikes now, a full two years removed from his quasi-retirement, would be like a spiteful college freshman coming back to his junior prom to show the one girl who paid him no attention that he “was fine on his own.”

There’s a fine line, which to this point hadn’t even been drawn in professional sports, between redemption and petulance. Sadly, every time I put on the ol’ Favre throwback jerzee, I’ll be reminded of my favorite player’s refusal to retire with dignity, like another old favorite, Elway, instead of his devil may care approach to the game, instead of his fireman’s

He ain't heavy...He's my receiver. (AP Photo/Jim Mone)

carry of a touchdown pass recipient, and instead of the only man in the league’s history to win three straight MVPs (the last of which was shared with Barry Sanders in 1997).

Thanks for the memories, Brett.