the reasons that brett favre must come back

Of late, every breath of the hated Brett Favre has been reported upon by all sports media. Nationally and locally. Television, internet, radio, smoke signals...you can't get away from hearing about Favre. We're just shy of a story where people speculate upon the meaning of Favre's breakfast:

"The key isn't so much that he had pancakes, but that he had blueberry pancakes - once again indicating a strong intrest in playing quarterback for the Vikings."

"How's that?"

"Well, blueberries - especially when cooked into a pancake - are actually more purple in color than blue. Naturally, since the Minnesota Vikings wear purple..."

"WHATASCOOP!"

But an end to the inane speculation isn't why I want Favre in a Vikings uniform as soon as possible. After all, if Favre does decide to play football again this season, it mearly means we'll have to play "will he/won't he" in the next NFL offseason as well. Here are the actual reasons for Favre to get back on the field:

1) Consider the record. As you may have heard me point out before once or twice, Brett Favre has thrown more interceptions than any other quarterback in the NFL's history. That said, I wouldn't mind him padding that stat just to make sure that a player I have absolutely no love, admiration, or even basic human respect for always has that distinction. And if he's throwing the ball to the other team a lot in a Vikings uniform? Well, that only helps the Bears, doesn't it?

2) On the field means not in the booth. I hadn't considered this, but I heard on the ol' radio this morning that Brett Favre would consider a broadcast job. His only reluctance to get into the booth is that he doesn't want to wear a tie (they apparently don't go with his Wranglers), which the Monday Night gig he was apparently rumored to be considered for would require. Still, there's no shortage of people bending over backwards for this guy, so allowing him to drop the tie wouldn't be that big a deal. This guy mustn't...HE. MUST. NOT...be allowed anywhere near an NFL broadcast with a live mic. Between the accent, the almost certain constant self-promotion, and the awkard transitions (a man with this many INT's in his career would probably mess up "throwing it down to the field" so a sideline reporter can ask a horrid and obvious question); it could cripple the NFL's broadcasting.

3) I want to record the reaction he gets the first time he steps on to The Frozen Tundra of Lambeau Field wearing purple and watch it over and over and over again.

scott walker figuratively punched boston in the eye, and i loved it

The second-best thing about this series going seven games is that I found a way over the course of it to give the Bruins the same amount of hateful ire that I can throw the way of the Patriots, Red Sox, Celtics, and whatever Major League Lacrosse team Boston my have. That is to say that, while I will always hate other teams more and wish more misery upon their players and fans, I have a principal that allows me to give them just enough hate to enjoy their downfall on most occasions.

The best thing is that, after achieving that kind of hatred, it feels extra nice to have Scott Walker rip their hearts out in a game seven overtime.

It also doesn't hurt to know that this sends the 'Canes back to the Easter Conference Finals. Oh, NHL playoffs, I wish you could last forever. Or at least until the start of football season.

i kind of hate that i'm aging

The upcoming 30th birthday. Not excited about it. There's a desperation about me as I evaluate where I am that I suppose isn't entirely unlike a midlife crisis. Except this isn't that, because it's way too early for this to be a midlife crisis. Also, how could I have a midlife crisis when I can't even come close to affording the sports car?

When I worked at Camp Rockfish, my favorite co-worker (other than Laul Peeland) was a girl who would hang onto my every word and laugh at my every joke. Sometimes, she'd even look at me and say "you're going to be famous."

Not too incredibly long ago, I ran into one of the counselors at my high school. She asked me what I'd been up to. After telling her, she seemed profoundly disappointed and threw in a quick "I thought you'd be famous by now."

My mom is an avid How RDU Doin'? reader, and recently sent me an email telling me how witty I am and how I've clearly missed a golden opportunity if I can't find a way to get someone from the Daily Show to take a look at it.

I tell you all of this, in the sort of "woe is me" style post that I kind of hoped never to feel compelled towards ever again, to say one thing. For my 30th birthday, I'd like to be as talented as people think I am. And I'd like the stones to do something with that talent.