It’s a relief when anything good can come from so much physical and emotional pain. In the specific case of Brett Favre it was downright uplifting, to see a man so honor his father, who at one point had also been his coach, by not just playing 24 hours after his death, but by playing his best, by playing so magically he elevated his teammates and brought an opponent to its knees.
It was emotionally wrenching to watch Favre play Monday night, probably because it hit a little too close to home for some of us, losing a father at 58, losing the man who coached you before anybody else coached you, losing the first man you played catch with, the man whose approval you sought on the ball field or the court since you first grasped the notion of competition and how cool it was to share it with your dad.
Favre didn’t just bring honor to his own father, Irvin; he brought honor to all the kids and fathers who tossed the football or baseball in the backyard, particularly those who had to part before it was time. We already knew how physically tough Favre is. He’s Cal Ripken tough. He doesn’t miss a start, no matter what’s hurting. Nothing is revered in pro football like physical toughness and Favre has that in such abundance it’s scary. But what happened Monday night defines the NFL regular season that’s about to end, much the way baseball’s regular season was defined in large part by Barry Bonds hitting those late-summer, game-winning home runs after the death of his father and hero, Bobby Bonds.
The producers of all these silly reality shows think they can manufacture drama and emotion by locking some stiff in a box with snakes or forcing two teams of knuckleheads to spend a couple of weeks on a deserted island. They work every angle to create an outcome, to stage melodrama, and often draw millions of viewers in the process. Yet, their scripted junk can never, ever produce something as real, as unrehearsed and as compelling as Monday night in Oakland, when a 34-year-old man playing on adrenaline and memories threw for 399 yards.
This is what’s meant by the phrase, “the human drama of athletic competition.” Only sport gives you such reality. Only sport is so audacious as to ask, “Okay, Brett that was nice. So now, do it again.”
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