Football Fantasy

Spring 2005

“So how was your night?”

“Good! I had a vision.”

“A…vision?”

“It’s going to occur. Just as I saw it. I know.”

“O…kay?”

“It’s Monday Night Football, right? Vikings start it off against Giants’ crosstown rivals. Randy Moss drops back to pass.”

“Okay, what? No, Randy Moss isn’t with us now.”

“Right, but Moss will join us again.”

“Um…okay. And you said, drops back to pass?”

“Right.”

“But Moss isn’t a guy who throws footballs.”

“I know. But Moss throws it to anyway. To…oh, you know, that guy in shirt four.”

“No, I don’t know. No Viking is in shirt four.”

“That guy from Wisconsin. Who will at that point play for us, and want to win against his old squad.”

“But…wait, I thought you said it was…not against a squad from Wisconsin? Also, that guy–”

“–throws footballs, I know. Anyway, it fails, that play didn’t stand.”

“I should think not.”

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You Are Old, Mr. Favre

“You are old, Mr. Favre,” a reporter did call.
“And you’ve seen quite a lot of the game.
And yet you incessantly throw the football
To the wrong team. Isn’t that a shame?”

“In my youth,” the veteran replied to the man,
“I had no control of my arm.
But I do as I’ve practiced, since that way I can
Be sure that I’ll come to no harm.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before.
And have played with most uncommon skill.
Yet at the end, the Vikings just couldn’t score.
Surely this wasn’t part of your will?”

“In my youth,” answered Brett, taking his helmet off,
“I kept all my limbs in good care.
But now,” he went on, with a sigh and a cough,
“My bygone strength just isn’t there.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet.
But your whispers will stir up new rumors each week.
Pray, how do you manage to do it?”

“In my youth,” Favre explained, “I’d pretend to broadcast
My made-up playoff victories.
My mouth got practice from those years so long past.
Now I can start rumors with ease.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “one can hardly suppose
That next season you will come back.
Or is that not true? You know how it goes.
Will you stay and help the attack?”

“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
Favre responded. “Don’t give yourself airs.
I’ll have the summer to think about that stuff.
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”

An Open Letter To Brett Favre

We’re sick of hearing all about your plight.
Old vets should step aside at close of play.
Step aside and make your exit, stage right.

Though pundits at their end know the time’s right
Because their words aren’t interesting, they
Make us sick talking all about your plight.

Although we saw you crying on that night,
And you asked what might have been in Green Bay,
Step aside and make your exit, stage right.

Wild men who threw the footballs into flight
And learn, too late, they sent them the wrong way,
Are sick of hearing all about your plight.

Grave fans, in spring, wondering in hindsight
If you should have blazed like a meteor, say,
“Step aside and make your exit, stage right.”

You’re already descending from your height.
Please go, or at least tell us if you’ll stay.
We’re sick of hearing all about your plight.
Step aside and make your exit, stage right.