So you finally did it Brett. And after everything that we have been through together. I thought we were stronger than this. I can’t believe that you are leaving me now. I’ve only really loved you for six years. It’s not long enough. Sure, there have been others. Some who have loved you for lots of years. Most for your whole tenure. I thought we had another year together. Our final fling. The chance for me to prepare emotionally, spiritually, hell, sartorially (can I still wear a Favre shirt?). This is cold.
Faced with a season without you fills me with a sadness that I have seldom felt since the grim realization that I would probably never marry any member of Duran Duran. It’s all slowly starting to dawn on me. You won’t run down the line anymore. You won’t be slapping officials butts anymore. You won’t be goofing around with your teammates and coaches on the sidelines anymore. You won’t be stunning me with ridiculously foolhardy throws that somehow work. And worse still, you won’t be starring in any denim commercials, giving us a much needed mid week glimpse of one of your very best features.
Oh sure, I have a husband. And three kids. And a job. And a house. And a car. And my health. And friends. And I’m going to learn the ukulele this year. But it somehow all seems so meaningless without you.
We had some good times me and you. Some great times. And I learned so much from you. Hell, when I was working out yesterday and ESPN came on with you as their top story, yes, I cried, I’ll admit it. But did I stop working out? No! Just because I was in pain, severe heart wrenching, stomach curdling pain, is that any reason to stop working out? No way. You taught me that. Broken thumb? Play on. Dislocated shoulder? Play on. Sick wife? Play on. Dead father? Play on. NFL leader in touchdown passes retires? Keep running dammit. You run through the pain. I could almost hear you telling me that.
I’m going to miss you so much. There’ll be others. They might throw like you. They might score like you. They might even throw interceptions like you sometimes. But it won’t feel the way it did when you did it.
There will never be another you.
Good luck. We love you.
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