Okay Brett, I’ve come down here to Hattiesburg to meet with you. I hope we can come to some sort of peace agreement and end this whole unpleasantness.
Unpleasantness? What’re you talkin’ about? Ain’t
no unpleasantness out here, Mr. Murphy. I just wanna get out there on
the football field and have some fun.
Of course you do. But if you showed up at Packers
camp right now, it would just be a huge distraction for everyone
involved. We need to decide the future of our relationship and proceed
from there.



‘Relationship’? That’s some pretty fancy talk. Brett Favre don’t know
from fancy talk. He’s just a simple guy who wants to toss the pigskin
around and have some fun. Just like in this here advertisementation.

Yes, that was a cute ad. But where do you want to
toss the pigskin around? If you don’t want to be a Packer, just let us
know and we’ll work on a trade.



‘Trade’? ‘Pigskin’? You gotta slow it down for me, perfessor. I didn’t go to no fancy book learnin’ college like alla y’all.


Yes you did!


Brett Favre don’t know nothin’ about the finer
details of his own past. He just wants to go out there, fling around
the old sausage sleeve…


Brett, listen to me. I’m going to ask you a yes
or no question. You can only answer this question with a yes or no. You
can not answer it by saying you just wanna have fun out there, or that
you’re looking forward to slinging the ol’ pigskin, or that you’re just
a simple country bumpkin. Do you understand me?


‘Course I do, Mr. Murphy. I ‘preciate you bein’
plain with me. You’re a right stand up fella. All Brett wants to do is
hurl the ol’…


Bup bup bup! Here is the question: Do you want to play football for the Green Bay Packers this season?


Hold on there, Mr. Murphy. I’m afraid all them
20-dollar words have hurt this ol’ bean farmer’s puzzler. See, my
brain’s all filled up with slant patterns and play action fakes and two
minute drills and whatnot. I ain’t got no more room left for your
equations and test tubes and fax machines.


Oh, fuck me. Listen up, you brain dead hick. Maybe this shit works on a worn out corporate husk of a human being like Greta Van Susteren, but not on me. I
got a horde of fat fucking cheese-heads burning me in effigy every day
because you can’t make up your stupid redneck mind. Gimme a straight
answer right now or so help me…


Hold on, Mr. Murphy. There’s no need for them
cuss words. When I was a kid playin’ sandlot football and somebody
started a-cussin’, well, I just took my ball and went on home. In this
case, I might be so inclined to take my ball and walk on over to that
there Solidier Field. Or how about that there Metrodome? You know,
their walls are lined with garbage bags.


There’s no way we’re trading you to a division rival. Why would we do that?


Well, maybe it’s just my simple redneck brainpan
misfirin’. But since I’ve filed my fancy ol’ reinstatement papers, that
means you got about 48 hours to take me back, trade me, or lemme go. If
you take me on, you gotta pay me a big ol’ bucket of cash. Twelve
million dollars American, or so I’m told. If you lemme go, that makes
me a free agent, and I just might go somewheres you don’t want me
goin’. And if you trade me, you get to go down in Packers history as
the man what done traded Green Bay’s favoritest player ever.


So you’re saying…


I guess a smarter man might could say he’s got
your ass over a barrel, Mr. Murphy. But what do I know? I’m just a
simple country QB, just lookin’ to fling some pork rinds.


I must be having the worst training camp in the NFL.

Meanwhile, in Oxnard…

You wanna catch a movie tonight, Jess?

NO, CHUCK E. CHEESE! CHUCK E. CHEESE!

IF MY DAUGHTER AND HER BODACIOUS TA-TAS WANNA GO TO CHUCK E. CHEESE, YOU BETTER TAKE HER, OR BY GOD I’LL BURN YOUR FACE OFF!

Kill me.