A Love Letter to Brett Favre From ... 'The Paris Review'?

By Ray Gustini

Like most NFL fans, we've been reluctant to voice an opinion on the final act of Brett Favre's career without first hearing from the editors of The Paris Review. This is just common sense. The magazine's Miranda Popkey finally got around to weighing in on No. 4 this week, calling him "the saddest man in professional football." Favre, in Popkey's analysis, is the NFL equivalent of Dean Martin—talking about him is infinitely preferable to having to be him. What other player can provoke sentiment like this?

Brett Favre can play perfectly without being perfect. He has—still—one of the best arms the NFL has ever seen, but he isn't a Tom Brady touchdown-making machine. He's not a robot from the Manning factory. He's just a guy, trying to do his job, who often forgets to shave in the morning. He's played hurt, he's played sad, he's played bearded, and yes, he's played terribly... Last year he led the Vikings to the NFC conference game. It was a close one. He threw an interception in overtime, but his team lost. I cried because, at this point, watching Brett Favre play football may be the only thing sadder than being Brett Favre.

She obviously hasn't watched the Redskins much these last few years.

Read the full story at The Paris Review.

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http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2010/09/a-love-letter-to-brett-favre-from-the-paris-review/63713/