Brett Favre: The Chimercal Trickster of American Sports

by Guest Contributor invisman52, originally published at Max Protect

After Brett Favre threw an interception at the end of the NFC Championship Game–a fatal mistake that cost his team a chance to make the Super Bowl–I knew that if the Saints would go on to win the game in overtime, many in the media would bemoan the end of Favre’s incredible, improbable season.  (At age 40, he had the best statistical season of his career.)  Since the Saints did win the game in the extra period, I was immediately attuned to how those in the football punditry would react to the game.  To be fair to Favre, with the exception of that crucial late-game turnover, he played remarkably.  Yet, in a twisted sort of poetic football justice, and if Favre retires, his last pass as a Minnesota Viking will be an interception.  His last pass a New York Jet: an interception.  His last pass a Green Bay Packer: an interception.  For all of Favre’s success, he has also thrown more interceptions than anyone in the history of the league.

Many will attribute this fact to his longevity and durability, that Favre has played so many games.  This argument is often coupled with the notion that Favre is a “gun-slinger,” risking whatever it takes to help his team win.  But what underlines most of this line of defense is a love affair that many in the media have for Favre; and it is much more than a so-called “man crush.”  What is clear to me is that what courses through pundits’ constant approbation and excusing of Favre is a deep, racialized identification.  That is, many white pundits in the media are quick to absolve Favre of any kind of blame because of his particular brand of whiteness–a whiteness that I argue is consciously performed.

First of all, Brett Favre plays with the kind of selfless abandon that a coach at any level would hope to get from each of his players.  Favre sacrifices his body and is a dedicated worker.  He does not care about flash, only success.  This is seemingly evident even in the ways in which Favre carries himself: he is often rugged and unshaven, shows up to press conferences in dirty hats and “regular clothes” (i.e. not tailored suits, but jeans and t-shirts off the rack), constantly talks about working on the farm and driving his tractor.  He does commercials, but they are not for glamorous products.  (See above: Wrangler Jeans is probably his biggest campaign.)  In sum, Favre emerges as a kind of regular joe, an everyman that through study and perseverance made it to the highest levels of his profession.  Ostensibly, Favre is a model of what self-determination and a tireless work ethic can achieve.

Yet this is only part of the story.  Underneath the scraggly beard and crusty, three-year old baseball cap is a man who is extremely spoiled and selfish.  For instance, when he played with the New York Jets two seasons ago, his teammates described him as “distant.” They were not only talking in psychological terms, but in literal physical ones as well: Favre had a separate locker room from the rest of the team.  Furthermore, Favre is hardly an everyman (even in the world of professional sports) as his Minnesota Vikings’ salary and contract perks attests. When the Vikings reached out to Favre and he agreed to join the team–and after an ongoing back and forth which produced the worst kind of media speculation and titillation–the head coach, Brad Childress, met him at the airport as the quarterback emerged from the owner’s private jet.  This is not what happens to an everyman, but rather to a special man, to an uber-man.  Favre gets singular treatment because, well, he often deserves it.  It is too bad, though, that the media refuses to acknowledge the whole picture.

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