Interception: Part 3


(Brett Favre, Brad Childress and Bus Cook are in a dingy, dimly lit elevator that’s loudly creaking downward. Childress and Cook are dressed in street clothes, while Favre is wearing a dirty white T-shirt and red gym shorts.)

Brett where are we going — ? (Looks out the bars of the elevator door and sees the 2007 NFC Championship game at Lambeau Field, when Favre throws his last INT as a Packer)

I haven’t felt this uncomfortable about a place since I went to that party with Brett and Mark Chmura … (Down another level, they see Favre tossing the last of six interceptions against the St. Louis Rams in the 2002 playoffs)

Favre: (Face cringes) Come on, you gotta read the defense, guys!

(They pass another level where Favre tosses a needless interception to the Dolphins in his last game as a Jet in 2008)

Favre: Don’t know why that’s down here. I was happy to end that season!

Childress: Bus, this must be where Brett keeps the memories of all his stupid mistakes. Look, there’s him throwing that dumb Hail Mary against the Eagles in 2004!

Cook: (Exasperated) Jesus, I hope we don’t have to see all of his mistakes …

(Down another level, the three see Favre at a McDonald’s, grabbing a large soda instead of a medium)

Childress: (Turns to Favre) What the hell — ?

Favre: (Brow furrows) Thought paying a quarter to upgrade to a large was a good deal.  Wasn’t that thirsty as it turned out. Just wasted a lot of soda.

Cook: Yeah, that’s quite the mistake, Brett. Pretty much on par with all your season-killing interceptions.

(They see Favre throw a bad, game-changing interception against the Broncos in the 1998 Super Bowl)

Childress: Geez, why did Packers fans like him so much?

Favre: Because I was so loyal!

(They move down another level and Favre’s final play with the Vikings is under way. Childress’ eyes widen as he throws himself toward the elevator door)

Childress: No, Brett! Don’t let go of the ball, just hang on! (The three watch Favre throw the ball across his body and into the arms of Tracy Porter; Childress recoils, his face red with rage) Jesus Christ, Brett! No! (He does his best to hold back his tears)

Favre: I gotta try that throw. I’m a gamer.

Childress: (Seething) Goddammit, I want to give you a swinging neckbreaker right now.

Cook: Brad, the elevator’s slowing down. (The three look up and can feel the elevator coming to a stop; they look out the door and see the projection of Favre’s brain, sitting on a white chair in a luminescent white room, wearing a matching suit and tie. He isn’t wearing any shoes. Favre’s brain rests his chin on a closed fist, seemingly deep in thought)

Childress: (Gathers himself and whispers to Cook) There’s Favre’s brain, Bus. Remember the plan and we should be out of this creepy ass place in no time.

Cook: Gotcha. Should be a piece of goddamn cake. (The three approach Favre’s brain)

Favre’s Brain: (Looks up at the three) What are you doing here?

Childress: Brett … it’s us! Your pals, Brad and Bus!

Haha! You’re named after what poor people ride, Bus!

Favre’s Brain: You shouldn’t be here. Then again, maybe you should be … (leans back in his chair)

Cook: (Shoots Childress a wary glance) Brett, we just want to talk to you about football.

Favre’s Brain: No, no football next year. I can’t risk my health any more than I already have … although I do enjoy playing it …

Childress: (Taken aback) He’s speaking in full sentences!

Favre’s Brain: My play was exemplary last year, and I still have it what it takes to be among the league’s elite. Yet — was it all a fluke? Would I be able to approach that level of performance if I returned to the gridiron?

Childress: And using words larger than three syllables!

Cook: Goddammit, it’s like watching a monkey recite Shakespeare …

Favre: (Huge smile on his face) More like Shakes-queer

Favre’s Brain: I never much cared for Shakespeare, although his contributions to literature can’t be ignored.

Childress: This is where all his thought is stored, so it would stand to reason Favre’s brain is quite intelligent at this level of his dreams. He can’t access it when he’s awake because it’s buried so deep, though …

Cook: Whatever, let’s get this over with … (He nods to Favre, and they approach Favre’s brain)

Favre’s Brain: (Looking at Childress) Why did you come down here for me, Coach?

Childress: Because the Vikings need you to succeed, Brett. We can win a Super Bowl with you!

Favre’s Brain: Why do you think that? Have you seen what I’ve done my career?

Childress: Well, you’ve done a lot of great things, Brett. You’ve won a lot of big games –

Favre’s Brain: But the really big games – how have I performed then? The playoffs, the title games?

(Cook and Favre grab Favre’s brain and start pulling him out of the chair.)

Cook: (Turning back to Childress) Don’t listen to him, Brad! He’s messing with you!

Childress: You’ve … well … well, you’re due to do well in a big game, Brett. I believe in you.

Favre’s Brain: (Struggling with Favre and Cook) But why? What you saw last year was what I’ve been doing to Packers fans for 17 years. I’ve teased them with my natural skills, but then threw it all away with my selfish play. Do you really want that, Brad?

Favre: He’s handsome, but he’s squirmy! (Cook and Favre drag Favre’s brain over to the elevator; Childress is standing in the middle of the room, looking dumbfounded)

Cook: Come on, goddammit! If we can take him up in the elevator past all the negative plays weighing down his brain, we can convince Favre to come back next year!

Childress: (Staring at the ground) But … what are you saying, Brett?

Favre’s Brain: Let go, Brad. Let me go.

(Tavaris Jackson and Adrian Peterson stand in a field on Favre’s property. Jackson looks impatiently at his watch, then moves toward the football attached to the stops on the leaning chairs of Favre, Cook, Childress, Jared Allen, Peter King, Jon Gruden and Deanna Favre)

Peterson: Wait, don’t we have a couple minutes left?

Fuck it, I’m getting bored watching these idiots sleep. Besides, there’s no more room on their faces to draw dicks … (starts putting headphones on each sleeper).

Peterson: What are the headphones for?

Jackson: To warn them that I’m about to wake their dumb asses up. (Presses play on a CD player, which begins the opening bars of “Purple and Gold” by Prince. Jackson picks up the football) You ready?

Peterson: (Smiling) I am so there. (Puts on his helmet and Jackson hands him the ball)

(Gruden looks up as the lyrics “raise every voice and let it b known/in the name of the purple and gold” can be heard over the Metrodome loudspeakers as the multitude of Favres continue throwing passes on the field)

Gruden: Right on, almost time to go home! (Shoots his handgun in the air)

(Hundreds of flags float on a rising amount of toilet water in Favre’s private New York quarters as Allen tries to plunge the plugged toilet in the nearby bathroom while Deanna opens windows to let the water out. They hear the lines “we r the truth if the truth can b told/long reign the purple and gold” come from the radio)

Deanna: Try putting more flags down the toilet! Maybe more weight will force down the clog!

Allen: (Furiously stuffing more flags down the toilet) FUCKIN FUCK

Deanna: Who turned on the radio?

(Favre and Cook have Favre’s brain inside the elevator, but Childress still is standing in the middle of the white room, looking dumbfounded. Favre and Cook look up as they hear the lines “ready 2 celebrate every score/ready 2 fight the elegant war/ready 2 hear the crowd roar”)

That atrocious song is playing now, Brad! We have to go now if we want to get to get past all of Brett’s negative memories!

Childress: But … if I let you go, Brett … how will we win a Super Bowl?

Favre’s Brain: By developing your young quarterbacks, improving your play calling –

r spirits may b tired/r bodies may b worn

Favre: This song’s pretty good!

Cook: Goddammit Brad! We’re going to leave without you if you don’t get in here now!

Favre’s Brain: Brad, I’m not the player you think I am. You’ve forgotten all my imperfections, when I was a tool and publicly questioned your choice of plays …

Childress: You were really a tool, I remember that now. (The walls of the white room start rumbling)

Favre’s Brain: I’m too set in my ways. When it comes down to crunch time, I’m going to do something stupid. And I can’t be coached … that’s just the way it is.

but since this day is r destiny/r history – that’s y we must b

Childress: But I should … ?

Favre’s Brain: Let go. Let go of my waffling, hostage-taking ways. You shouldn’t have to trade texts with me all off season and drive me from the airport. Let go of my past mistakes, and move on with your life. (The white room is now shaking violently, the four men doing their best to stay on their feet)

Childress: And make Tavaris the starter?

Favre’s Brain: Well, hopefully you have someone better than that

Cook: Let’s go now! The song’s nearly over! Are you going to come with us or not?!

Childress: No … (Looking determinedly at Cook) Leave him here. The Vikings don’t need him.

Favre: Awww!

Childress: I’ll make my own legacy, build my team up from its solid foundation and developing young players instead of relying on the most unreliable person on the planet. I’m not going to be Favre’s hostage any more!

Cook: (Lets go of Favre’s brain, who scampers out of the elevator) Fuck it, I’m already rich. (Pushes Favre out of the elevator and closes the door. He presses a button and the elevator rises up, disappearing into the white ceiling)

4ever strong as the wind that blows the Vikings’ horn

Favre: But … how am I gonna play ball?

Childress: You figure that out, moron. (Heads toward the elevator shaft, where another elevator is coming up) You coming with? This place is pissing me off.

Favre: (Yawns) Naw, I think I’m going to take a quick nap. I’m dog tired!

But you’ll go into limbo if you – (thinks about it) Never mind, enjoy your nap. (Gets into the elevator and heads up)

Favre’s Brain: I have set Brad on the correct path … or was I supposed to convince him to bring me back? Shoot, I can never decide.

Favre: (Laying on the ground) Nighty night, Dictionary Favre!

n the name of the purple and gold

(Jackson hands Peterson the ball for the thirtieth time, who promptly puts it on the ground)

Peterson: Fuck me! (The stops on the chairs are pulled out, and the seven start falling)

(Gruden pulls out the blocking pads holding everyone up, even King, who smacks his head on the cement)

Gruden: Oops! Hope you weren’t still alive, Peter.

(Allen, carrying a load of flags over to the toilet in his arms, trips and falls face first into the desk Favre, Favre’s brain, Cook and Childress are sleeping on, knocking them into the rising toilet water)

Deanna: Good timing! I think the sewage is starting to come up the pipes.


(Back in Favre’s field, the chairs the group of seven were sitting in crash to the ground)

Cook: (Groggily) Aw man, $13 million down the drain …

Gruden: (Rubbing his eyes) So what happened? Are we getting Favre back or what?

Childress: (Sits up) No, but we don’t need him. There’s so many other great players in the NFL that love the game as much as Favre does, maybe more. We can’t dwell on him any more if we ever want to move on with our lives.

Cook: Brad’s basically saying he screwed the pooch because he’s a piece of shit.

Childress: I may be a piece of shit, but at least I have pride now. Say, did you keep King alive like I told you to?

Gruden: Uh … (Looks worriedly over at King, who is tiredly getting off the ground) Yeah, totally. Look at him, still alive and stuff.

Deanna: What’s all that stuff on all y’all’s faces?

Jackson: They’re big ass dicks in permanent marker.

Allen: (Pointing at Cook) HAHA YOU MUST GAY FAGGOT

Stop saying “faggot.”


Gruden: Well, Brett, at least we tried. We can always watch your career retrospectives every weekend like we did the first few times you retired … (Looks over at Favre, who is still sleeping) Brett?

Cook: Goddammit, he’s still sleeping! What happened down there, Brad?

Childress: (Solemnly) He’s in limbo now. Just like where he had the Packers, Vikings and the rest of the NFL for so many years …

Deanna: He looks so cute sleeping! Even with all the cocks on this face.

Will he ever wake up?

Maybe. It might be in a few hours, a few years or after the bye week. But he’s on his own now. (Stands up; flashes a smile at Jackson) T-Jack, you ready to handle the first-team offense?

Jackson: Fuck no, I’ve been screwing around here for the last couple of days. I don’t think I’m in playing shape anymore.

Childress: Well, pack your bags then! Time to go 7-9 on the season!

(Favre sits, drenched in water, across the table from an old, frumpy man in the main office of the Don Hutson Field facility)

Old Man: You’re trapped in limbo, Brett. You put the Packers here, you put the Vikings here. Further down the beach is your family, your friends; everyone you know you have put here.

Favre: (Tiredly) I know I can still play … but it’s hard …

Old Man: Why can’t you just let us go, Brett? I helped you revive your career in 2007.

Favre: But Coach McCarthy … (looks across the table, sees the name plate “Head Coach Mike McCarthy” in front of the old man) You were mean to me.

McCarthy: Brett … (grabs the Nerf Vortex football, throws a wobbly pass over to Favre) Just make up your fucking mind, will ya?

Favre: (catches the ball) I just … wanna play ball … (Eyes widen) I just wanna … play ball … (smile creeps across his face) I just wanna play ball! I wanna play ball! (Stands up and hugs McCarthy) I’m gonna play ball, Coach! (Sprints out of the room)

McCarthy: (Looking around) Uh, security? What the hell was that? When did you think the right time to jump in would have been? (The security personnel in the room shrug) Yeah, that was rhetorical, I know you don’t know.

(Favre races out of the practice facility, the wind whipping his loose clothing across his body. He runs toward a cliff edge, and five yards before the ledge, he throws the Nerf Vortex football. It sails wobbling into the ocean.)

Favre: Green 18 … (Leaps off the cliff) … set hut!

(Favre whips back awake in the field at his home, his beard long and frazzled and his face covered in permanent marker dicks. He looks around and sprints toward his house.)

Favre: (shouting) Deanna! I’m gonna play ball!

Deanna: (from inside the house) Oh good, you’re back! We were going to bury you in a couple days!

(Favre stands at a podium at a press conference, announcing his unretirement during Week 4 of the season.)

Favre: I feel I can play. Touchdowns and forward passes.

Reporter: How do you think your new teammates in San Francisco will receive you after you forced a trade from the Vikings?

Favre: Who?

Reporter: And why do you have a bunch of dicks on your face?

(Favre is sitting in his private office at the 49ers’ training facility, flipping dismissively through the team’s playbook. Mike Singletary walks in, a broad smile across his face)

Singletary: Sonofbitch Brett, we’re going Dallas with you at the helm! Whoever thought the guy to replace Steve Young would be one of his contemporaries?

Favre: So I start next week?

Singletary: Yep, I smoothed everything out with Alex Smith. Once he stopped crying, I think he understood where I was coming from. (Pats Favre on the shoulder) Glad to have you on board, man! And please, try to wipe those dicks off your face.

(Singletary walks out of the office. After he is gone, Favre tosses the team’s playbook over his shoulder and walks toward his window overlooking the training field. He pulls out his Nerf Vortex football, gripping it knowingly)

Favre: Packers fans must really love me now …

(He opens the window of his office. He looks one more time down at the football, then twists his body and rears back to throw off his back foot)

(The ball travels through the air down toward the field, flying in a perfect spiral. Favre smiles, yet again satisfied with his actions.)

(Suddenly, before the ball hits the ground, Tracy Porter sprints out and catches it)



About tlangton

Often imitated, never duplicated.
This entry was posted in brett, deanna favre, dreams, favre, inception, jared allen, peter king, Uncategorized, vikings, white people. Bookmark the permalink.

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