Shakespeare Pro Touch
Shakespeare Pro Touch
 |
Brett 'It's Only a Flesh Wound' Favre (and a little Rasputin)
I'd like to talk for a moment about Brett Favre, the Minnesota Vikings quarterback, not Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, the Russian mystic and political manipulator. Almost two weeks ago, he (Favre, not Rasputin) had two fractured bones in his left foot, was walking around in a boot . . . but managed to suit up the following Sunday at QB, his 291st consecutive start, by far the longest streak for anyone at that position, a streak that former quarterback and now ESPN analyst Trent Dilfer called (correctly, in my opinion) the greatest streak in sports, hands down – you can keep your Cal Ripkenseses and your Lou Gehrigseses, whose streaks were achieved while playing a game in which hardly anyone ever touches anyone else, and when they do, it usually means being tagged (tagged!) with a swipe of the glove. Seriously: How do you start 291 consecutive games, in each of which contest there are dozens and dozens of times (more than one football player has likened each NFL play to a car crash) you have mere seconds to get rid of the ball before several of the most agile, ripped, two-hundred-fifty-plus-pound, Mack-trucks-masquerading-as-human beings are doing everything in their power to flatten you, crush you, knock you down and out? On one play this past Sunday, in New England, Favre was hit, cut his chin (needed eight stitches), knocked woozy . . . and still he appears ready for this Sunday's start, Consecutive Game #292.
The man has a problem. The problem is also his gift. (The problem is also his off-the-field scandal – allegedly sending lewd photos to a woman once employed by the New York Jets – but I'm not even going to get into that here.) He is relentless. He is also incapable of knowing when to stop. It's hard to watch him. It's painful to see someone in this kind of pain. At what point does he stop? What will it take to get him to stop? If it's so hard for even ardent fans of his to watch him move around now (except maybe for those who prefer watching that kind of thing), couldn't he maybe quit for our sake?
He's broken every important passing record, thrown for forty miles, put in two decades in a league where the average stint is under four years, won a Super Bowl, earned every accolade, established his place in the pantheon.
He has been battered, slammed to the ground more times than anyone would want to count, been squashed, mauled, roughed up, gone through multiple surgeries, a vicodin addiction, and often having no running game behind him. Watching him play, watching him get up after a hit, watching him limp off the field after a three-and-out . . . is this enjoyable for anyone? For Minnesota Vikings fans? For his children?
This refusal to stand down is something we love about athletes. There is New York Knicks center Willis Reed, on horribly battered knees, hobbling out to the Madison Square Garden floor to take his place as starter in Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals against the Los Angeles Lakers, and leading the team to the title more by inspiration than by any more tangible contribution (he scored only two baskets, in the opening moments of the game). There is Gabriele Andersen-Scheiss, the Swiss runner, suffering heat prostration at the end of the 1984 Olympic marathon, waving off medical assistance and, while staggering and weaving, finishing the final quarter-mile lap in 5 minutes and 44 seconds, good for 37th place. There is Michael Chang, who, despite severe leg cramps that eventually forced him to serve underhand, upset Ivan Lendl in the 1989 French Open semifinals. There is the hobbling but game gymnast Kerri Strug, landing her final vault at the 1996 Olympic Games to help the American women win the team gold, despite a seriously injured ankle. Even more amazing is the excruciating case of Shun Fujimoto, the Japanese gymnast in the 1976 Olympics who dismounted from the rings with a broken leg that he had told no one about. He scored an astonishing 9.7 on the exercise, dislocated his knee on the dismount, and finally received medical attention and withdrew. Had Fujimoto withdrawn earlier, the Japanese team would have been out of the running for a team medal; with his help, they won the gold. For anyone who saw him land on his dismount – wobbly at first, then wincing to steady himself – the image is ineradicable.
Favre has been at this for two decades. He, too, will not stand down. Would cyanide do it? Unlikely. If he's lost the use of one leg, he'd say 'tis but a scratch. If he suffered a helmet-to-helmet hit and an almost certain concussion, he'd call it a flesh wound.
Mario Lemieux, one of hockey's greatest-ever players, came back from back surgery, then a rare bone disease, then a nodular lymphocytic form of Hodgkin's disease, then another back surgery, then the after-effects of his radiation treatments for cancer. Olympic equestrian competitor Konrad Freiherr von Wangenheim of Germany suffered a broken collarbone when he was thrown from his horse during the steeplechase portion of the two-day team event in 1936, but to keep the German team from being disqualified, he re-mounted and finished the remaining 32 obstacles without a fault. The next day, he arrived in a sling, which he removed for the jumping competition. Again, he was thrown from his horse, got back on, and again finished without a fault, helping Germany to win the gold.
Do we like this in a person, an athlete? Of course we do. Absolutely. We love it. But after a time, does the needle point less to admirable and more to pathetic? Is it Shakespeare or farce?
A day before his competition – the 200-meter freestyle in the 1972 Olympics – swimmer Steven Genter was released from the hospital after surgery for a collapsed lung; though less heralded than the man who would win that race – Mark Spitz – Genter's silver-medal finish would appear the more impressive. With a broken foot, American diver Laura Wilkinson competed in the 10-meter platform event at the 2000 Olympics and won the gold.
When will Brett Favre say uncle? At 41, he's a grandfather but does he even know what an uncle is? Why are so many sportswriters so certain that this season, seriously, will be his last, when he's threatened to quit year after year after year, and never has? Since he started his pro career, he has never missed a game. Can I say that again? As an NFL quarterback, the most fragile position on the field, maybe the most fragile position in the known sports world, he has never missed a game. Isn't the burden of proof on him to show he can walk away?
For heaven's sake, George Eyser, gold medalist in the parallel bars and vault in 1904, had a wooden leg. Harry Greb, world middleweight champion, was blind in one eye. Tim Tam finished second in the Belmont in 1958 after fracturing the sesamoid bone in his right leg while passing the quarter pole.
But they shoot horses. They don't shoot quarterbacks. When can we put this guy out of our misery?
About the Author
Author of ten books (and counting), as well as stories in numerous magazines and newspapers, he has riffed on a wide range of subjects, including sports, the environment, love and sex, health care reform, dying, pop culture, computers, fatherhood, reality TV, travel, numbers, odd symmetry and more. His father Neil thought the best opening line to a novel was found in Rafael Sabatini's Scaramouche: He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad. DayRiffer feels no reason to disagree.