There is no other earthling better suited to defend our planet against the unknown than Brett Favre.
Super Bowl wins and playoff records as criteria for quarterback greatness? Forget that big media bullshit, it’s fertilizer for drunken debates in bars and cabs. The “wins” argument only works with teams, coaches, boxers, wrestlers, and race car drivers.
That’s not entirely true, but in the case of determining one game, it’s a crutch of an argument that can’t support the weight of the present situation.
There’s only one shot to defend our planet. We have no advanced scouting of our opponent, but our enemy knows so much about us and the game we invented, that they are allowing us to use any player from any point in history.
Does this sound like an opponent that lacks confidence in its athleticism, skill, and knowledge of the game?
We can’t get stoned off the fumes of our players’ past glories. The sooner we get over the Hall of Fame credentials, the better, because this game will be a gut-wrenching, soul-testing war. I don’t care who you put on the offensive line, there will be several points during this game that our all-time greats will get knocked on their ass, walked into the backfield, beaten off the edge, and tricked like freshmen into thinking there’s a pool under the basketball court at the high school gym.
We need physically, mentally, and emotionally resilient players. We need creative players. We need players that understand when it comes to football, the chess analogy only works if the board is in the middle of a brawl on biker night at the dive on the outskirts of town.
A defense doesn’t recline in its chair and tell you “nice move,” after you execute bishop to knight 2 to put its king in check. The defense rips the piece off the square, bites its head off, spits it in your face, punches you in the chest, and then after molding you into the turf, says, “Check THIS”.
Great football players create chaos out of order and order out of chaos. We better presume the aliens will have great football players. The pocket won’t be clean, receivers will get blanketed, and the opponent will make good reads.
Knowing these things, are you really going to choose an intellectual field general that moves like a king on a chess board? Tom Brady, Johnny Unitas and Peyton Manning are great when they can study for the test and get tons of rehearsal time. School’s out, kids, welcome to the real world.
Pick one of these brainy overachievers for your squad and I have seven words for you: See you in the alien mines, motherfucker.
I want a quarterback that can win pretty, ugly, or even bizarrely.
Give me a quarterback that can do everything wrong–footwork, grip, throwing motion, receiver choice, or pre-snap read–and still turn it all into a beautiful, impossible dream of a play.
Give me a football player that can lead an inferior team to a come-from-behind victory against a National Championship-caliber opponent six weeks after his car flipped three times, stuck the landing against a pine tree, and two-and-a-half feet of his guts were removed from his body to keep him alive.
Give me a star who kicked his addiction to painkillers six years into his career and played another 14 with the same fearless disregard for his body.
Give me a man who plays out of his mind on a national stage while racked with the shock and grief of his father’s sudden death from a heart attack the night before.
I want Brett Favre for my team to defend the planet.
Say what you will about the all-time interception mark and the cringe-worthy recklessness that cost his team huge games. He never lost his confidence to play his way through mistakes during a 20-year career.
I don’t want a quarterback renown for executing an offensive system as long as his ass stays clean, his teammates are playing well, and his opponent lacks an answer to the scheme. I want a passer with a track record of pulling himself out of a hole, overcoming an addiction, and playing through his grief.
I want the quarterback that can wipe that bishop’s head off his face, sharpen the nose to a fine point with his teeth, and wing that bishop’s head-turned-dagger into the defenses’s throat. And while that defense is drowning in its own blood and spit, that quarterback will walk past with a wink and smile, and drawl, “you’re lucky I didn’t give you a dutch oven.”
Favre played the game with reckless abandon and joy for 20 years at the highest level. He inspires teammates to do the same because he understands that each play might be his last. No one at his position performed with as much skill, grit, and play-to-play adaptability.
Imagine what Brett Favre would be like if he didn’t lose two-and-a-half-feet of his guts in college.
I’d like to tell you Favre’s exploits are the stuff of league MVPs, but it’s not. It doesn’t matter that Favre earned that honor three times, NFC Player of the Year five times, All-Pro Honors six times, and Pro Bowl votes (from peers, not fans) 11 times. It’s the caliber of the plays he can make when they’re needed the most.
Favre is the cheat code to the test. The monkey wrench thrown into the works. The exception to the rule.
I want that from my quarterback to defend the planet.
Matt Waldman runs this joint called the Rookie Scouting Portfolio blog. He also writes one of the most insanely comprehensive analysis of skill position prospects available to the public called the RSP. Draftniks and fantasy owners swear by it. Download the RSP and RSP Post-Draft for one insane price here and 10 percent of each sale is donated to Darkness to Light, which trains individuals, communities, educators, coaches, government and civic organizations to prevent and address sexual abuse in their communities. Learn more about the RSP publications.