Fair Weather Friends

I have been trying to figure out how it is that people can think that Brett Favre is a traitor.

He gave us sixteen years. Sixteen years of getting his ass slammed to the ground every Sunday. Two Super Bowls. He played sick, hurt, broken. He played in Americas un-friendliest stadium for Monday Night Football in front of the world, the night after his father died. He never missed a start.

But now, Favre isn’t a Packer. He went to the competition, so he’s the enemy. Never mind the fact that never once in all those years did he show us that he was anything but a straight shooter and a stand up guy. Or that he is his own man with his own set of fingerprints, who should be free to be the architect of his own life and his own legacy.

We expect him to remain faithful to his Packer fans, who throw stones when he plays the game he loves over the state line. He doesn’t throw them back. We loved him for his edge of your seat sensibility when he was here, but we hate him for it now. But did we ever love him, if we can turn so fast? Maybe we are the fair weather friends, who only cheer for him when he stands on our soil.