I’ve often wondered what I would do if I met Brett Favre.
What would I say — or do — to one of the top five quarterbacks I ever saw play in the NFL? Would I look him in the eye and call him all the names I screamed at him through the TV for the better part of two decades of torture he put me through as a Bears fan?
I always kind of envisioned myself attacking Favre like I was Ralphie beating up Scut Farkus while crying and yelling over and over about the quarterback forever ruining Halloween.
Assuming I was strong enough to do that to Favre, who is much bigger and stronger than I am, the latter just might end up getting me free tickets to a luxury box at Soldier Field. (More likely it would end up with me receiving a severe beating and jail sentence.)
Likely, I probably wouldn’t say anything. I’d just stand there, mutter under my breath and glare daggers at the cause of so much personal pain. That’s what I did when I had the chance to meet John McNamara.
McNamara was the Red Sox manager who blew the World Series in 1986. It wasn’t Bill Buckner’s fault. I blamed the baseball torment that I suffered until the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004 completely on McNamara.
One night in 1999 or 2000 I found myself within a few feet of McNamara when I was writing about another Butte Copper Kings loss at Alumni Coliseum.
McNamara was a roving instructor for the Los Angeles Angels, the Copper Kings parent team, and it would have made a nice sidebar piece to tell the readers a manager of six different major league teams was in the house that night.
Knowing I would have nothing but mean things to say to the old manager, I kept my distance, muttered and glared.
That’s probably what I would do if I ever met Favre. At least that’s what I hope I would do because I am definitely not a fighter.
I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t — at least I really hope I wouldn’t — pose for a lovie-dovie picture with Favre and post it on Facebook like Billy and Davey Dunmire did last week when they surprisingly ran into Favre in Seattle.
The Dunmire brothers are nutty Bears fans just like I am. To me, they are a couple of the few Bears fans who really get it. For one thing, they are among the few Bears fans who actually understand that Jay Cutler being on the team is a good thing.
They are two people who I know that truly love the Chicago Bears. I know they still love the Bears, and always will.
So I never dreamed that they would ever show up on Facebook — along with their children who don’t know any better — smiling with Brett Favre.
It was as shocking as if my dad, a loyal Democrat, would have showed up on Facebook with a smiling photo with Ronald Regan, Oliver North or George W. Bush.
The Favre anguish began for me on Halloween in 1994. On a rainy, miserable Monday night in Chicago, Favre ran for a 36-yard touchdown and the Packers embarrassed the Bears 33-6 on the night they retired the numbers of Gale Sayers and Dick Butkus.
I think about that horrific night every time the calendar strikes October 31.
That was the first of 10 straight wins for the Packers over the Bears. It was the first of 11 straight Packers wins in Chicago.
It was the win that started the transformation of Packers fans from likable people into the type of smug folks you’d expect to see at a Carroll College game.
Still, there was star-struck Billy and Davey posing with Favre as if they were life-long Packer backers Bernie Boyle and Bill Melvin.
I know it is probably hard to pass up a chance at having a photo taken with a future Hall of Fame quarterback.
I would probably jump at the opportunity for a photo with Peyton Manning, John Elway or Joe Montana. Not Favre. Not ever.
Sure, Davey told Favre that he doesn’t like him, and I’m sure Favre knew he meant it. But I’m also sure it was followed by laughs a list of compliments as to why he doesn’t like him as a football player.
To me, it is too personal. What he did to me and so many of my Sundays is unforgivable.
The conversation was apparently good enough that Favre offered up that new Green Bay defensive end Julius Peppers — the former Bear who played all-out four or five plays a game the last four seasons — is garbage.
OK, so Favre might be a genuinely nice guy, and apparently he is a very good judge of lazy, underachieving defensive lineman. He was gutsy, tough and gritty on the football field.
Favre also should have won an Academy Award for his role in the 1998 film “There’s Something About Mary.”
That doesn’t make up for that 99-yard touchdown pass to Robert Brooks in 1995 or the 85-yard touchdown in 2000 — both against the Bears. It doesn’t make up for Favre’s 22 wins and 10 losses against the Monsters of the Midway.
It doesn’t make up for the grumpy Sunday and Monday nights, and it certainly doesn’t make up for the smug look on the faces of Packers fans on those Mondays and Tuesdays.
I’ve often wondered what I’d do if I ever met Brett Favre.
Through it all, though, I knew committing an act of treason was never on the table.
—Bill Foley, who would also never pose for a photo with Derek Jeter, Zola Budd or Earvin “Magic” Johnson, writes a column that appears on ButteSports.com on Tuesdays. Email him at email@example.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74. 1 comment