Brett Favre has been a Chicago foil for longer than we've been writing about sports. Longer, even. When we were just a wee lad, we watched Brett Favre with equal parts anger and awe -- he was both fantastic, brilliant, and utterly irritating, even for a young child enraptured with everyone that was ever good at sports.
Of course, part of that irritation had to do with loyalties. Bears fans aren't really supposed to like Brett Favre. At the very most, they're supposed to begrudgingly respect him, recognize him as the great quarterback the Bears never had, and be thankful he's no longer roaming the backfield in Green Bay.
At the very least, they hate him. Can't stand the little tics. Can't stand the stupid scruff and the faded t-shirts and the Wrangler commercials. Hate the Everyman routine. Want to pull hair out every time John Madden says something combining the words "Brett Favre" and "having fun" "like a little kid" and "out there" and "just loves the game." If the media gripped Brett Favre any tighter, he'd be a third-party candidate for president.
Those that hate Favre with such passion ought to really be enjoying themselves right now. Not only did Favre prove himself to be non-comittal and whiny in the offseason, he's since treated Aaron Rodgers and the Packers like a scorned ex-girlfriend, gossiping about them, refusing to laud them for a solid start -- the whole works. The best was a report by Fox Sports Sunday that said Favre called the Lions in the hopes of giving away Green Bay state secrets before the big Lions-Packers match up. The intrigue!
Even better, there's more of this to come, according to Pro Football Talk.
The cumulative effect of all this is a realization by many -- whether they consciously admit it or not -- that all the Favre love was misplaced. The whole time, he duped them. John Madden and Peter King and Brian Baldinger and everyone else: duped. We Bears fans, the ones who have summoned the true hatred necessary to find satisfaction in Favre's spiral, knew all along. That is incredibly, perversely satisfying. But we're not afraid to admit it.
