Friday, October 2, 2009

Talkin' with Tewks: Brett Favre Brett Favre Brett Favre

This is a column I did not want to write. I find the incessant media coverage of the Brett Favre saga to be completely ridiculous and the fawning appreciation thrust upon Favre by legions of white middle-aged sportswriters is akin to thousands of tween girls screaming hysterically at a Miley Cyrus concert.

Unfortunately, his tremendous comeback against San Francisco last weekend (it truly was spectacular and made for riveting television), plus the Vikings upcoming grudge match against the Packers on Monday night has forced me to join the Favre hype machine.

Some of my newer readers may not be familiar with my feelings for Brett Favre, so allow me to repost my comments from my 2007 NFL Playoff Preview:


The Packers are led by their peerless quarterback, the Right and Honourable Brett Favre. There’s something about Favre that I dislike; I think it has to do with pretentious way he pronounces his name. I mean its spelled F-A-V-R-E: it should be pronounced "fave-er" or "fav-re", not "farve." To me, he’s the Derek Jeter of the NFL.

Before all of my Wisconsin readers throw down their wheels of cheese to write harshly worded emails with their fat little fingers, I will say this: Brett Favre is a great quarterback. He is a surefire Hall of Famer and has two of the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen.

Unfortunately, Favre is also hideously overrated. To hear football pundits talk about him, you would think he’s the Second Coming of Christ, but with a stronger right arm. He is the all-time leader in touchdown passes with 436, but also the all-time leader in interceptions thrown with 283.

Here’s a free tip from Tewks: if you fling enough crap against a wall, some of it is bound to stick. This is how Brett Favre runs an NFL offense.

Yes, Favre led the Packers to a Super Bowl Title in 1997, but he was so strung out on prescription painkillers that there’s an excellent chance he doesn’t remember anything from the past 10 years.

Wow. I forgot how good of a writer I am. How have I not won a Pulitzer Prize by now?

Favre’s actions over the past two years have just added to my dislike. The way he has jerked around three different organizations (Packers, Jets and Vikings) and millions of football fans with his narcissistic waffling over playing or retiring is despicable. He presents himself like a down home country boy with an ‘aw shucks’ personality but he is just as much a media whore as Terrell Owens.

If you want to play, then play. If you want to retire, retire. We don’t need press conferences where you tell us you haven’t made your decision yet. He still has the talent to play the game at a high level; evidenced by his superb play in the first three months of last season and his undefeated record so far this year.

So why does he take so long to make a choice? It’s really quite simple.

Brett Favre hates training camp. He abhors it. He would rather show up on Week 1 and start flinging bullets all over the field. Favre feels he’s too experienced to need weeks of prep time or hundreds of hours of play memorization and video study.


No one in the media seems to be bothered by this at all. They breathlessly sing Favre’s praises and exult that he ‘looks like a kid out there’, plays with ‘reckless abandon’ and he ‘really loves the game.’

Well Christ, if you gave me $10 million a year, I’d pick up garbage with reckless abandon and throw it in my truck with the smile and carefree attitude of a young child.

Also, anytime Favre makes a mistake or tosses an errant throw, his misdeeds are forgiven with the argument that it’s ok because ‘he’s a gunslinger.’ He’s supposed to engage in risky activity and laugh in the face of danger.

What the fuck?

How is that a reasonable excuse? I wish the gunslinger defence worked in real life.

Groupie: Tewks, wait. I want you to wear a condom; I don’t want to get pregnant.
Tewks: Don’t worry baby, I’m a gunslinger.
Groupie: Oh, well nevermind then.

Judge: Tewks, you are hereby charged with the sexual assault of Jane Doe at the Taylor Swift concert. How do you plead?
Tewks: Your honour, if it please the court, may I bring it to your attention that I am a gunslinger.
Judge: You are? My mistake. Case dismissed.

Police Officer: Tewks I had you clocked at 200km/h in a 50km/h zone. Plus I can smell alcohol on your breath and you have an open 40 of rye in your lap. Please step out of the car.
Tewks: I’m a gunslinger.
Police Officer: Sorry sir. Have a good night.

Back to Favre’s amazing last second touchdown pass to the back of the end zone last Sunday. The pundits shouted that it was just another chapter in the novel that is the legend of Brett Favre. He is the ‘king of comebacks.’

Do you know why he has so many come from behind victories?

Because he sucks so much during the first part of the game: forcing passes into coverage, chucking boneheaded interceptions and doing other gunslinger-y things. Therefore he has ample opportunity afterwards to get his head out of his ass and, you know, win some football games.

However, I will definitely be watching on Monday evening as what he’s doing at the age of 40 is incredible. I wish the media would recognize that he is just a plain old quarterback who wears Wrangler jeans and not the Messiah in human form (although I bet he has the ability to turn water into Vicodin).

Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Fantasy Sports - Not Just for Nerds Anymore (But Nerds Still Needed)



Tewks and I see eye to eye on many things: the fact that we write for the same blog can speak to that. However, his recent diatribe on fantasy sports has compelled me to write a rebuttal.

Only one of Tewks' arguments is salient: I do spend an inordinate amount of time working on my fantasy teams – time that after the end of an 8-8 season would probably have been better spent doing other things – but that's where the validity of his arguments end.

The average sports fan does not play fantasy sports for money – I'm currently in two leagues: one that I play in for free, and one where the winner will take home a whopping $60. Now, I realize that this represents a whole week's salary to a small percentage of the populace (an eight year old running a lemonade stand, and Tewks, for example) but to me an extra $60 would mean buying Labatt Blue over Lucky Lager for one week.

Also, the notion that people play fantasy sports because they think that they're smarter than the front offices of professional teams is equally fallible. I know for a fact I am smarter than JP Ricciardi, Al Davis and Matt Millen – because they're all idiots who don't/didn't have a clue how to run a franchise, not because I have any sort of eye for discernible talent.

So why do I (and almost everyone I know) play fantasy sports?

It's a chance to test your sports knowledge against that of your peers. It goes beyond the trivial aspect and digs deep into the game, forcing you to take the same considerations in starting your team as a real professional coach would – albeit at a much more simplified level. I don't want to try and prove that I'm a better manager than Cito Gaston, I want to prove that I'm a better manager than the jackasses I work with (sorry Duja).

In an ironic way, fantasy sports mimics life: if you work hard, do your homework and stay up to date on a sport that you like anyway, you'll have success – and have fun. You engineer something from its infancy, modify it based on how the season is transpiring, and hope that your knowledge and intelligence is enough to make you successful.

Tewks still lives with his parents and doesn't have a real job. When he's 35 the only thing he'll be engineering is a daily trip to the food bank with the rest of the squalor – burning copies of his unpublished manuscript in an industrial drum to keep himself warm during another frosty winter.

Too much? Nah... we're good friends.