What your view of sports and life would be if you had too many concussions
Some dates are forever burned into your memory. July 4th, 1776. December 7th, 1941. September 11th, 2001. In Minnesota, you can add August 18th, 2009 – the day King Brett I ascended to The Throne of the Court of the Purple.
If you found yourself in Minnesota on that day, a little after 10 a.m., your life changed forever. Just a few moments before, you were enjoying a bit of “The Price Is Right,” perhaps chuckling at Drew Carey’s sheer likability and noticing that you enjoy this show so much more now that the odds of hot college-age chicks spinning the big wheel have increased so much more since the Bob Barker days. Then it happened.
You weren’t quite sure what had happened yet. All you knew was that lazily pondering the cost of a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew was suddenly thrust aside by a visibly excited Mark Rosen yammering almost incoherently about King Brett I finally agreeing to play for the Vikings.
From the amount of media coverage that was suddenly being electronically ejaculated into your living room, you would think a war had just started. Instead, you were treated to live video of King Brett I stepping off the private jet of Vikings’ owner Zygi Wilf. Then, you were treated to footage reminiscent of the O.J. slow-speed chase; an SUV cruising down a stretch of freeway delivering King Brett I to his new purple monarchy. Their was even the obligatory “sky-cam” shot of the new King stepping out of his royal carriage at Winter Park.
You might have just started to comprehend what you were seeing…a new monarch on his way to the coronation. You were a bit surprised that the King’s crown was on old ball cap that looked the King may have just done a lube job on his pick-up truck in it. But you went with it; after all, the King is from Mah-sippi and folks just do things differently down there.
Yet, the King wasted no time putting on the trappings of his new office; a crown of purple and a robe reminiscent of the traditional red practice jersey worn by a mere quarterback. The King humored his new subjects with a going-through-the-motions attempt at some warm-up drills, flung a few balls around the practice field, then traded his new red robe for the red carpet walk to the obligatory press conference.
Naturally, by this time, the streets around Winter Park are twenty-deep in Viking fans, noses pressed against temporary security fencing in hopes of even the most fleeting glimpse of their new royalty. If you were like me, you were in all the way now. You weren’t really quite sure what to make of all this, but even though you aren’t really a Viking fan, you’re watching knowing this is your water-cooler conversation for the rest of the week. In fact, you may have made it all the way through the press conference. I wasn’t so lucky. About midway through the presser, it hit me.
“WHAT THE HELL!!! ALL THIS OVER A 40-YEAR OLD “HAS BEEN” WITH A THROWING ARM HELD TOGETHER WITH SCOTCH TAPE AND HAPPY THOUGHTS?!?! My cries mattered little; the statewide Favre-gasm had already passed the point of no return.
Most in Minnesota will remember the day the Favre-gasm finally came to be. But only time will tell if Viking fans will be wiping…er…uhhh…egg off their faces come January.
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