Lando 
Lando
Lando
great, great post. Leader, indeed: the "anti-victim."
Favre and the Green Bay fans are the reason I started enjoying football again. The players don't give up because the fans don't give up. 12:30 AM, cold as hell in overtime, even if Green Bay is losing the stands are still packed with loyal fans. 62,942 fans showing up for a scrimmage game is the type of support that you can't disappoint. Brett Favre is the only sports figure I admire and respect.
Amazing. Just when I think the Journal-Sentinel is a completely worthless piece of fishwrap and a waste of innocent trees, they print something like this. Is it just me, or does anyone else think the only decent writing left in the local daily newspaper is that which you find on the sports pages?
A Great Book! I couldn't put it down until I finished.
GO PACK GO!!!!!!!
One of my brothers is a Bear fan, my other brother was a rabid Packer fan - I'm a girl and a Cowboy fan with a soft spot for both of my brothers' teams.
But when the Bears and Packers play, I find myself spontaneously cheering for the Pack. Just love them.
I hope I'm not the only one who has noticed how really good Favre is in commercials? Remember the one where he's walking with his wife and always wants to give advice to situations he sees in the street?
My point is - wouldn't it be great if he could go on to have a movie career? We need an actor that plays a convincing hero SO bad!
Class is class and Bret is class.
Lando
Favre already stated that he would like to play for another 2-3 years. That means he'll break the all-time record set by that one Vikings player in the 70s, I can't remember his name but I know he played for the Vikings.
Raised on grit - Favre was toughened by brothers, dad Every legend has a beginning, and the legend of Brett Favre began right here, in the backwoods of southern Mississippi, on 52 1/2 acres of pine trees and meadows tucked between Mill Creek and the Rotten Bayou.
Brett Favre got his toughness from his father and his three brothers.
| Brett Favre: The making of a legend |
| Continuing each Sunday through the NFL season, the Journal Sentinel Sports section will chronicle the life of Green Bay Packers quarterback Brett Favre. The series will follow his journey from boyhood to high school to college, his years with the Atlanta Falcons, and then his ascendance with the Packers into the premier quarterback in the National Football League. Irv Favre's toughness was legendary and undoubtedly rubbed off on his impressionable sons. Ravaged two weeks ago by Hurricane Katrina, the Favre homestead was, in the 1970s and '80s, the ideal place for three rough-and-tumble sons of a high school football coach to play their games. Scott, Brett and Jeff Favre, inseparable by blood and isolated by geography, could fish and swim in the bayou, hunt in the woods and play football and baseball on makeshift fields between barns and outbuildings. "We didn't grow up in a subdivision or a populated area, where you have neighbors right next to you," said Jeff Favre, the youngest brother and the third of Irvin and Bonita's four children. "We couldn't call buddies and meet up in a park or field and in 15 minutes you've got some game. That was not available to us, so we played with each other." They were always throwing something, those Favre boys. Rocks, potatoes, balls made from rolled-up wads of duct tape, whatever else was handy. They were always competing, too, their spirited games sometimes ending with one brother wrestling in the mud with another. "There wasn't no sissies around here," said David Peterson, a cousin whom the Favres treated like a fourth brother. "We used to go in that old barn and everybody would hide and we'd throw rocks at each other and see if we could knock each other out. I tell you what, I don't know how Aunt Bonita and them made it with us. Whew! We was wild. "It's probably a good thing we didn't live in the city because we would have tore things up." In the evenings, they'd come tumbling into the modest ranch house, dirty and bleeding from this cut or that scrape, laughing and bragging and needling each other about home runs and touchdowns and game-saving tackles. Bonita invariably had a pot of something going on the stove. "God, did they eat," she said. "You put it there, buddy, they ate it." They were good athletes, too; strong, raw-boned boys who always threw harder, swung harder, tackled harder and played harder than the other kids in Pee Wee football and Little League baseball. "We were always better than everybody else," said Scott Favre, not so much bragging as stating a fact. Born to playBrett, the middle son, weighed 9 pounds 15 ounces when he was born on Oct. 10, 1969. "The doctor said he was ready for a hamburger," Bonita said. He was preordained by genetics to grow into a strapping 6-foot-2, 230-pound man. He was nurtured in an environment of intense competition with his brothers and extended family members. He soaked up the lessons taught by his late father, a widely admired and hard-nosed coach. But could anyone around Kiln, the one-stoplight town nearby, have predicted that Brett Favre would one day rank among the greatest quarterbacks in National Football League history? Could anyone have predicted that he would be a three-time league MVP who would lead the Green Bay Packers to victory in Super Bowl XXXI? Could anyone have predicted that he would rack up 225 consecutive starts, an NFL record for quarterbacks that he will extend today, when he takes the field against the Detroit Lions to begin his 15th professional season? "No way," said Rocky Gaudin, who coached Brett from the fifth grade on and was an assistant coach under Irv at Hancock North Central High School. "I told him when he came through that he was the best quarterback we ever had at that time as far as being a competitor and a good leader. "But he was not necessarily the best quarterback we'd had in terms of his accuracy. Even though we didn't throw much, he was pretty erratic." Not even his brothers pegged him as a future NFL quarterback, let alone a surefire first-ballot Hall of Famer. "It wasn't that early that I could sit here and say, 'He's going to be a professional football player,' " said Scott Favre, who was regarded by some as the better quarterback prospect of the two. The truth was, Brett probably was a better high school baseball player than he was a football player. He started for Hancock North Central as an eighth-grader and earned five varsity letters. "When he was in the eighth grade, he was probably the second-best player on the team behind me," Scott Favre said. "I was a junior at the time." Once, in an American Legion baseball game, Favre doubled in his first at-bat, homered in his second and came to the plate a third time with the bases loaded. The manager called for an intentional walk. "They threw three pitches outside," said Mike Ross, the home-plate umpire that day. "Before the fourth pitch, Brett turned to me and said, 'Do you think I'm going to let them walk me?' I said, 'You don't have much choice.' "They threw the fourth pitch outside and he reached out and hit it for a ground-rule double over the right-field fence." In football, Brett was big and strong and loved the physical part of the game. He might have made an outstanding high school linebacker or safety but rarely got the chance to show what he could do on that side of the ball. That's because all three Favre boys were quarterbacks at Hancock, not so much because they were indispensable athletes (though that was largely true) but because Irvin knew he could depend on them to show up for practice. "Back then, there were days you'd have 18 or 20 kids to practice with," Gaudin said. "If one of them missing is your quarterback, you can't hardly do much. So Scott was a quarterback when he came through and it was obvious Brett was going to be a quarterback. "Irvin got flak about that. People said, 'He's the head coach. He's just making his kids the quarterbacks.' He'd talk to me about it and say, 'You know, the reason I do this is because I know they're going to be at practice. They ain't got no choice.' There was a lot of logic to that." Big Irv, as he was known, was a good athlete himself, a former star baseball player at the University of Southern Mississippi. As a coach, he was no-nonsense, a man whose authority was unquestioned. He told Bonita, in no uncertain terms, that if one of their sons was ever hurt, she'd better not run down on his gull-dang football field. "I always thought he was straight out of the Marines," said Stevie Haas, who owns the Broke Spoke bar in Kiln and knew the Favres because Haas' parents owned a grocery store. "He reminded me of a drill sergeant. He had that deep voice and wore a flat-top (hair cut)." Haas went out for football at Hancock. He lasted just one day. "It was 95 degrees and we ran and ran and ran," he said. "I asked Irv if we were going to run less the next day. He said, 'We'll probably run more.' That was all I needed to hear. "I didn't show up for practice the next day and he came looking for me in my parents' store. I was stocking shelves and he came back there yelling, 'Candy! Where's Candy?' " Said Jeff Favre: "Dad was hard on everybody. Old school. He'd run a lot of people off the team. He didn't put up with much (expletive), that's for sure." Big Irv's toughness was legendary and undoubtedly rubbed off on his impressionable sons. "Irv was up on the roof one day doing some stuff at the house," said Clark Henegan, one of Brett's best friends. "He fell off the roof and landed on his head on the concrete. He got up, dazed, blood running down his face, and wouldn't go to the hospital. I saw it happen myself. "Brett thinks when you get hurt, put some ice on it, you'll be all right. That was Irv's patented move right there. Broken leg? Put some ice on it, you'll be all right. Get back out there." In the early 1970s, just after he took over the football program at Hancock North Central, Big Irv attended a coaching clinic conducted by Alabama legend Paul "Bear" Bryant. He came back to Hancock and installed Bryant's version of the wishbone offense. Like the Bear, Big Irv did not believe in throwing the football unless it was absolutely necessary. Though his sons had exceptional arms, he wasn't going to change his offense just to accommodate them. "People always say, 'Man, y'all could throw. Why didn't you throw the ball?' " Scott Favre said. "Dad wasn't going to do it. He believed in his offense and he wasn't going to showcase his sons." Brett, in fact, rarely attempted more than five passes in a high school game. After Irv begged his alma mater to take a look at his son, Southern Miss dispatched offensive line coach Mark McHale, who sat in the stands as Brett led his team to victory but threw only a handful of passes. When McHale told Irv he couldn't recommend that Southern Miss sign Brett as a quarterback based on what he had seen, Irv asked him to come back the next week, promising to open up the offense. "So McHale went the next week, and Brett threw it six or seven times," said Regiel Napier, the former sports information director at Southern Miss. "To Irv, that was airing it out." Once, during Brett's senior year, Scott returned from college to watch a game and was standing on the sideline. Hancock North Central was ahead by two or three touchdowns, and Scott told Brett he was going to try to talk their father into letting him throw the ball. "I eased over to Dad: 'Hey, Dad, why don't you let Brett throw it a little bit?' " Scott said with a chuckle. "He turned and looked at me and said, 'Who's coaching this damned team? Get your ass up in the stands with your mom.' I looked over at Brett and said, 'I think you're on your own, buddy.' " When Brett did get a chance to show off his arm - mostly in pick-up games at home or on the baseball diamond - he left onlookers shaking their heads in amazement. While pitching in a Little League game once, he hit a batter in the helmet with a blazing fastball, knocking the boy down. The next batter got halfway to home plate, dropped his bat and started sobbing. "There were kids who wouldn't bat against him," said Bonita Favre. "They'd start crying because he threw so hard and, I mean, he may hit you." Later, as the starting third baseman as an eighth-grader at Hancock North Central, Brett cleanly fielded a sharp grounder and proceeded to overthrow the first baseman by five feet. The ball sailed over the dugout, flew through an open window on the opposing team's bus and pin-balled around the interior. "I looked at Brett and said, 'What the hell was that?' " said Scott, who was pitching. "He said, 'Hell, I caught the ball.' I said, 'Yeah, but you think maybe you could get the throw to first base?' He said, 'I'm working on that.' " Though Brett rarely got the chance to show off his arm during football games, there was no question he was blessed with one-in-a-billion talent. One of his elementary school teachers, Billy Ray Dedeaux, recalled Brett throwing 50-yard passes in the fifth grade. "He could chuck it," Dedeaux said. "The kids who caught the ball from him said it was like a bullet." Favre sat out his sophomore football season with mononucleosis. He begged Bonita to take him to the doctor every Friday for blood screenings; every Friday the doctor told him he wasn't ready to play. (To this day, Bonita said, Brett refuses to drink out of another person's glass, believing he caught mono by sharing water bottles at football practice.) That fall, Brett took out his frustration by throwing passes to the junior varsity players. Chad Favre, a cousin, recalled being on the receiving end of those passes, which usually resulted in two rows of tiny bruises on his chest - marks left by the eyelets of the shoulder pad laces. "Me and a couple of other guys were playing with one of those little junior varsity footballs once," Chad said. "Brett came out and said, 'Go deep, go deep.' I'm running, I'm running, I'm running. He was in one end zone and when I finally caught the ball and staggered a couple steps, I was in the other end zone. So he threw that ball about 90 yards. He just had a cannon." An unwavering confidence in his arm strength has enabled Favre to make throws few other quarterbacks would even attempt. It also has gotten him into trouble on occasion, when he has forced the ball into coverage. "When we used to play, somebody might break loose 50 yards down there, wide open, and somebody else might come across the middle with a guy all over him," Peterson said. "Where do you think Brett is going to throw? He's going to throw to that guy who's got 16 inches between him (and the defender). He's still like that, you know?" Signs of things to comeBut a strong arm and a stubborn streak will not get you 225 consecutive starts in the NFL. Favre displayed other traits as a youth that would serve him well throughout his career. First and foremost: his ultra-competitiveness. "He's always been that way," Peterson said. "It don't matter if he's playing ping-pong or throwing marbles. He wants to win." Once, Favre talked Peterson into entering a Punt, Pass & Kick contest with him. When Peterson won a trophy, Favre could barely contain his anger. "He was so mad," Peterson said. "He was fired up." After the high school football season ended, Gaudin supervised once-a-week touch football games in the winter. He picked one team, Favre picked another, and they'd go at it. "You'd have thought we were playing for the Super Bowl," Gaudin said. "It was just touch football but we were getting after it. Drizzling, rain, cold, it didn't matter. Me and Brett would get in arguments if my team beat his or his beat mine. "That was the No. 1 thing: his competitiveness." Favre also was dedicated in the off-season. During a time when high school athletes rarely trained for a sport year-round, he lifted weights three or four days a week. Friends remember him throwing the ball alone, over and over, or enlisting Deanna Tynes, then his girlfriend and now his wife, to catch passes. "Brett would throw the ball so hard, Irvin would come out and fuss at him," Bonita Favre said. "Deanna wouldn't let on. She was going to catch 'em." Years later, Bonita can scarcely believe what her son has achieved on the football field. She attended a Packers pre-season game last month and shared a luxury box with the mother of a soldier who had been killed in Iraq. The subject turned to heroes. "The mother said, 'They call your son a hero, and my son is a hero,' " Bonita said. "I said, 'I know, but I just can't see it that way.' She said, 'I looked it up in the dictionary and a hero is an ordinary person doing an extraordinary job.' So I guess that's true." Favre returns regularly to his hometown, never putting on airs or bragging about his exploits in the NFL. He still enjoys throwing the ball around with his brothers and took great delight a few weeks ago in spraining one of Peterson's fingers with a bullet pass. Haas, wiping down the bar at the Broke Spoke just days before Hurricane Katrina smashed through Hancock County, paused to reflect on the local legend. "Brett ain't changed none," Haas said. "He seems like the same what I can remember from high school. He was just Brett then and he's just Brett now."
Lando |
ping
Me too, Lando. Me too...