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Who Needs Who?

It’s early March, and for the first time in nearly four years nobody really cares what Brett Favre is doing right now. If that seems odd it’s probably because we’ve gotten used to having around the clock coverage on what the patron saint of Wrangler Jeans will be doing in the fall.

The speculative frenzy wasn’t exactly unwarranted; as a two-time league MVP, Super Bowl Champion, and holder of nearly every passing record known to man, Number 4 was an icon for achievement as a pro quarterback.

In fact, the increasingly operatic nature of his public behavior seemed to demand that we all paid attention. Unfortunately, the increased coverage combined with a “need to be noteworthy” meant that we also got to learn the sordid details of his personal life.

Whether it was through cell phone photos or contractual obligations, Brett Favre made a spectacle out of overstaying his welcome and in the process gained a reputation as someone who pushed himself on others on his own terms, regardless of whether or not he was wanted.

For contrast, it’s been two years since we’ve speculated on what another recently retired quarterback is doing, and I’m not referring to someone unsuccessful. Kurt Warner was also a two-time league MVP and Super Bowl champion. While he didn’t play as long or produce the same gaudy career statistics as Brett Favre, he was able to do something that Brett couldn’t… walk away clean.

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The Direction We Push

This child isn’t an actor, she’s a mimic.  What she’s saying isn’t funny, it’s heartbreaking.

As a pastor I’ve learned that if you don’t give people permission to be wrong, they’ll very rarely find their way to being right.  That’s why I’m OK with people choosing the life they want to live, even if that direction is biblically wrong.  It’s usually in our biggest trainwrecks that God shows up clearest.

What becomes difficult is watching someone clearly headed the wrong way down a one way, begin leading someone else that direction… which causes me to wonder about the tragedy that befell whatever woman that this little girl is parroting.
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Synchronicity Too

Had you taken the S.A.T. during the 1982-83 school year, you’d have only had two options available as answers to this question:

“Who is the worlds greatest rock band?”
A.)  Van Halen
B.)  The Police

If your No.2 pencil darkened the letter “A” on your scan-tron, both you and Jeff Spicoli would have been correct.  If you chose the letter “B”, Cameron Crowe might have paid your way through Stanford.

Literate, tasteful, and artistic, The Police were a thinking man’s pleasure, and in the early 80’s college students, college professors, and college janitors all agreed that they were creating the world as we would soon know it.   The Police made their name as a punk inspired trio that trafficked in jazz-tinged, white reggae the way Lando Calrissian traded favors with Darth Vader.

This was until Bassist/Vocalist/Narcissist Sting became a household name. Sting spoke like a philosopher, sang like an angel, looked like a model, and made barefoot awesome again.  His success as a pop icon initiated a musical tragedy of operatic proportion.

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