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By now you know that I am not a fan of Brett Favre. I think he is seriously overrated as an all-time great quarterback and that I have no patience for his deification by fans and much of the media.

So, as a Jets fan, I have to say it…..we’re done.

I understand the move totally. He’s a great player, no doubt, better than Chad “rag-arm” Pennington and Kellen “the Inaccurate Bazooka We Passed Up Matt Leinart For” Clemens. I can’t blame Jet management for doing it. But, there’s no way I can root for Brett Favre in a Jet uniform. Therefore, I am done.

In the best case scenario, he leads the long-downtrodden Jets to victory over the Patriots and all others in the tough AFC, wins the Super Bowl, and cements his reputation as the quarterback everyone seems to think he is (but isn’t). Great, I’m a hypocrite if I root for him wearing my number 4 jersey.

Middling scenario: he gets us into the playoffs as a wild-card, wins a first round playoff game, and then throws five of the most hideous interceptions you will ever see in your life in a 47-24 loss to the San Diego Chargers. When this becomes conveniently forgotten and he is handed the key to the city anyway, my head explodes as I run around sounding like a madman yelling at the columnists and talk show hosts ready to give him a full-body massage and conveniently ignore his final game as they throw rose petals on his way to the Hall of Fame.

Worst case scenario: the team finishes 6-10, ending with an ignominious three-interception effort at home versus the Miami Dolphins, with Favre getting booed in sideways, 39-degree sleet by the disgruntled and heavy-drinking Jets fans. In other words, the sad Jordan-on-the-Wizards type ending we all fear for any great, fondly remembered player. Not good. As much as I have come to not be very tolerant of Favre, even I don’t want to see him go out like that.

Breaking up isn’t easy to do, especially when you’ve poured your heart into a relationship for 25 or so years, but as long as Brett Favre is in this house, this relationship simply cannot be. I am now a football widower, a man without a team, just an impassioned observer of competition.  It’s not what I want, but it’s what I have to do.

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