Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word.

Dear Brett:

On behalf of the entire state of Minnesota and the entire Vikings nation – I apologize.

I’m fairly certain we told you there was going to be a team when you got here. 

And that’s the thing about Minnesotan’s Brett. We’re not really that good at saying anything, that you, well, you know could upset someone or anything.

So (make sure you read that the correct way, loooooong “oooooh”) so, we told you we were going all in this year and we were going all in with you at the helm.

It’s not like we lied.

I mean, “all in” in Minnesota can really mean anything from adding a little extra Durkee French Fried Onions on the top of the Thanksgiving green bean hot dish to electing Jesse Ventura to lead our great state.

So what if “all in” for the Vikes this year happened to be bringing Kendra to Minneapolis in a clever attempt to create enough media buzz in town to get that stadium built? (And as a side note, yes, this is, in fact, the reasonable explanation I’ve crafted in order to convince myself there was some reason to sign Hank Baskett. Just go with it.)

Fact is Brett – you’re here. And you’re still the closest thing to a Super Bowl Championship this town has seen in a long long time.

So what are you supposed to do buddy?

I’ll tell you what you’re supposed to do…

You’re supposed to not give a shit. You’re supposed to not care. 

And you’re supposed to, against all odds, and against all critics figure out how to Buttermaker the hell out of this rag tag excuse for a football team we’ve got.

Now I know this is the part of the inspirational letter where I’m supposed to give you the insight into my own life that will really help you get through this next step. 

You know, propel you to action in leading us to a Championship.

Yeah. That’s the thing. I totally would have bailed on this shit by now.

True story. 

And in fact, I was fairly certain about 30 minutes ago that not only wasn’t I ever going to send you another public letter in the guise of a blog, I was never going to utter your name or the name of the Minnesota Vikings. Ever again.

Ever again.(Work with me Brett. Obviously, I’ve got a drama issue. We get it. Not the point.)

The point is Brett, up until about 30 minutes ago I had given up. 

Another lost soul from the frozen North ready to lay down hope and just accept what I’ve heard for so long. The Minnesota Vikings will never have what it takes to win a Super Bowl.

And then a little angel. Ok, not actually an angel, more of this loud mouthed guy I used to work with, again, not the point.

The point is – I asked Jon how to pull out of the tailspin – how to get back to bleeding purple.

And you know what Jon did?

He laid it out. Very simply. In a very non-Minnesotan way. The case for bleeding purple that is.

“Sarah, You've gotta pop an NAOI and pull your big girl panties up. We've got Detroit this week.”

And that's when it hit me. It was time to stop thinking about this like a Minnesotan, and time to start thinking about it like a fan.

So Brett – it’s time to pop a Vicodin and put your bad ass on. We’ve got Detroit this week.

I don’t know how you’re gonna do it – but I know you will.

Because you’re Brett Fucking Favre.
Get in there. 
And get filthy.

Seems to me it was round 'bout this time last year you found magic with Sydney in the back of the end zone against the 49'ers. And yes, the extended double entendre is entirely intended.

So how about you get out there at least try see if you and that Playmate's husband can't light a little spark?

I beg you Brett. Toss me a bone.

Love, Sarah

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