Seriously??

I really didn't know this happened, as I was playing the game on Monday - not watching it.

Can ESPN really be this dumb?

What a bunch of idiots.

Esteban has it right...

Chad Ochocinco (The player formerly known as Chad Johnson) of the Cincinnati Bengals did something that can only be described as PURE GENIUS last year.

He changed his name.

You may ask why I view that as genius. It's simple, really.

Jersey sales = dollars.

Let's say you're a HUGE Chad fan. You've dropped the $300 to buy his authentic jersey. (Side note: Anything but an authentic, on-field jersey is crap.)

So anyway - you go to your local bar, wearing your jersey, and what do you know... Chad "Johnson" doesn't play for the Bengals anymore. Chad "OCHOCINCO," however, does.

Translation - you're about to be out another $300. (And Chad Ochocinco is about to get another paycheck.)

So what does everyone think? Dare I change my name to "El Cuatro?"

Vier?
Quatre?
Fyra?

Honestly, I could do this every year (for different teams, of course) and my jersey sales would SKYROCKET.

Chad - you are a marketing genius. Period.

Spa Day yesterday

After the thrashing I put on the Packers Monday night - I decided to take Tuesday off. No game film, no practice, no trainers - nothing. Hell, I earned it.

I spent my entire day at the Solimar Day Spa. What a totally fabulous day.

I got a facial, a pedicure, a "body & soak journey," and even treated my self to a little waxing. (Where, you ask? I'll never tell!)

I highly recommend their services. Be sure to ask for Kim Spinner.

Joe Heller - You little bitch

Joe Heller of the Green Bay Press Gazette has done it again...

You little bitch. You'll get yours. I can't wait to see the cartoon you draw on Tuesday morning.

Ed Gein? Seriously?

Check this out. I can't make this shit up.

So let me get this straight Chilly - you want me to kill people now?

Granted - everyone from announcers, to sports writers, to ESPN anchors have given me a pass on everything I've done - but I think if I really DO kill someone - I'll get called on it.

On an unrelated note - does anyone know where Ted Thompson's seats are for Monday?

Gotta Make the donuts...

So I decided to take the day off yesterday.

Let's face it - I don't need practice. I'm at the top of my game. I know it. Always did know it. It just took one stupid pass to win the game against San Francisco, and look at that. You're all on board now.

So I had nothing to do.

I took a ride to the Old Fashioned Donut Shoppe. (I love any business attempting to get the "old world feel" by adding an "PE" to the word "Shop." It's genius, actually.

Isn't it amazing that by adding 2 little letters, you get instant gravitas. (Kind of like adding "BF" to the Vikings. I'm just sayin'...)

So I walk in - and instantly the staff knows. Brett is here. We need to make this special.

So Joe, the owner, invites me back to see the process. It's really not a whole lot different than football.

You put a bunch of ingredients in a bowl, (locker room) mix them up, (training camp) mold all of it into a shape that you find appealing and discard the unnecessary, (roster cuts) and then cook it. (games)

What you get is really pretty good. But it's not done yet. You're missing one critical piece that separates it all.

Toppings.

Let's call it like it is. You could top a donut with sour cream (Sage Rosenfels) or you could top it with turkey gravy. (Tavaris Jackson) But realistically, who'd pay for that crap? (Season ticket sales)

No, no, no... You top a donut with the sweetest, most magnificent thing in the world. Icing. (Brett Favre)

Then - the donut is amazing. It's perfection in a circle. (Super Bowl.)

I'm not saying that I guarantee I'll win another Super Bowl this year. But I'm sure as hell not saying that I wont.

Has it been a month already?

Whoa. Seriously? It's been a month since I wrote on this thing? What can I say? It's been busy. Busy leading my team to 3-0!

I'll post something later - I'm sure.

I'd like to apologize (yeah, right) to Jets/Vikings/Packers Nation.

Team Building

So Chilly decides that the "cornerstones" of his offense need to get along better. I'm not sure what his deal was - I think I get along fine with everyone. (That is, as long as everyone knows who's in charge.) So he takes me and "All Day" out for a paintball outing.

Which begs the question - if his name is Adrian Peterson, his initials are A.P., right? So why the hell is his nickname All Day? I mean, MY initials are B.F. - which stands for "Best Footballer." His nickname should be "Allows Points," or something, right?

So, if you know anything about me, it's this. I like to hunt. Birds, deer, squirrels, chipmunks - whatever. Guns? I got 'em. Camo? I got that too. I've got ATV's, 4x4's, 6x6's - you name it - I got it. I have experience in outdoorsy stuff. I figure I'm going to rock this. Maybe I'll go pro. There IS a professional paintball league, isn't there? Readers - please help if you know of something, ok?

We get out in the woods, get suited up, and get matched up with some yahoos from Brooklyn Park. Nice enough guys, but they smelled like asparagus. It was weird.

They start the first round, and we scatter. I head for the tree line, and wait.

I'm sensing movement to the north.
I wait.
I see the tall grass move in an unnatural way.
I wait.

Then, from the tall grass, a figure emerges. I take aim, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, and squeeze the trigger...

I shoot Adrian. (Just another example of someone NOT following the play I call. He was NOT where he was supposed to be.)

He starts crying like Warren Sapp. Seriously. He's laying in the dirt, with these big tears rolling down his cheeks, sobbing like a damn 4 year old.

So Chilly runs over to him, cradles him in his arms, and says, "It's ok Ade - everything is going to be all right."

So I shot Chilly just on principle.

I can't stand whiners and crybabies.

His initials are A.P., right? How about "Always Pussing?"

Agents...

As everyone pretty much knows, my Agent is Bus Cook. People always ask me, "Brett, Why Bus? Why not Rosenhaus?"

Drew Rosenhaus is the MAN when it comes to sports agents. He just is. They based that Tom Cruise movie on him. (OK, not the Tom Cruise pantywaste character, but the Jay Mohr, shark character - you know who I'm talking about.)

Anyway - After I left Green Bay, I decided I was going to give Rosenhaus a shot. He wouldn't have had to do a whole lot, just make sure that I was able to feed Deanna & the girls. Pretty simple, right? Oh yeah - he also had to get me a gig in a Polka band. I don't know why - but I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the polka. It's beautiful.

Back when I was 13, I begged my parents to let me take Austrian Trumpet lessons. Dad didn't want to hear it. He coached football, and that was what I was going to do. Period. End of discussion.

That was fine, until college. I found a little trumpet school just outside of Hattiesburg, and went there after my classes. I got pretty good. Good enough, where I almost decided NOT to enter the draft. Dad would have killed me.

So anyway - to make a long story short, Bus made it happen, and Drew didn't. Here's a picture. I made Bus sit in for the picture holding the flute.


He's a decent enough guy, but after I signed with Minnesota, he stopped banging the accordionist sitting front center.

You don't want to know what THAT cost me.

Not funny...

I just got this sent to me from someone in Green Bay.

My legal team will be in contact shortly.

For the love of money...

So today is payday. Good deal. Then it occurs to me, I don't have a bank up here. Yeah - I know what you're thinking. Direct deposit? Debit cards?

That doesn't work for Brett Favre.

I'm certainly not going to trust a million dollar deposit traveling across phone lines. I mean, lightning strikes all the time. Drunk drivers. Overzealous snowplow drivers. Phone lines go down.

Can you even imagine the mess that would happen if someone veered off the road, and hit a phone pole just as my deposit was going through? All that cash would spill out all over the road, and there'd be mass hysteria. People slamming on their brakes to get out of their cars to pick up some of my money... Crazy stuff. If even one child got hit by one of those cars, I'd never forgive myself. Never.

I love children. Truthfully - I believe that they're our future. We should teach them well, and let them lead the way. But I digress.

So I walk into Wells Fargo Bank this afternoon, and slap my check on the counter. Sheila (pictured above) looks at the check, and her false teeth drop out. She grabs them off the counter, and asks if I have an account. I do not. She suggests I open one. Initially, I decline. Then I figure - what the hell. She asks me to sit down, and wait for a personal banker.

Stuart comes over, and asks me to come to his office. After some paperwork, a video chat with his kids, and pictures with the bank employees, I've got myself a checking account. Sweet.

They love me so much up here, then even game me an mp3 player. It's super cool. I have no idea how they fit the tape in this thing, or how I get it out - but it's awesome. I guess it holds something like 2 hours of music. Seriously!

Guess who's going to be the envy of the locker room on game day.

Yeah - that's right. #4. As always.

Dinner

As I tweeted last night, I was in the mood for real authentic Italian food. As far as I know, there's no better place for that, than the Olive Garden.

Where else can you go and get Alfredo sauce that tastes like it was flown in from Tuscany? Seriously people. I know it's kind of on the upper end of the priciness scale - but save your money, and treat yourself to a little taste of heaven.

I get there around 6:30 last night, and a hostess named Jeanne told me that I'd need to wait 55-65 minutes. Apparently, she didn't know who I am. Strange. She must not own a TV. I asked for the manager, and a large, physically unattractive man named Russell came out. Russell owns a TV. I was immediately shuttled to the back section of the restaurant, and seated in the corner.

Interesting fact about Brett Favre. I always sit in a corner, with my back toward the rest of the place. That way, nobody sees my face. I get left alone, and TMZ doesn't get a picture of my with food in my mouth. It's a win-win for me.

Anyway, after about 5 minutes, my waiter - though I guess you have to call them "servers" now - comes over, and gives me a complimentary glass of the finest wine in the house. Principato something-or-other. When Brett Favre is happy - everyone is happy.

Truth be told, I'm not really a fan of wine. I'm more of a tequila shot guy.

As always, I order the tour of Italy. It's a vacation for your taste buds. Fettucini alfredo, Chicken Parmesan, and Lasagna. If you can scrape up the cash, I highly recommend it. I realize that not everyone is the same tax bracket as me. Trust me, it's worth it.

I finish my dinner, and once again, Brett Favre is nourished. The thing that you need to know about Olive Garden, is that their chefs go through years of culinary training. It's as if they pick the "chosen ones" at birth. How else can you explain the consistency of their food from restaurant to restaurant.

The food was perfect - it's as if I was back in Hattiesburg. Swear to God.

Chiefs

It's always nice to win a game - preseason, or not.

From a personal standpoint, I think I was in Pro Bowl form. I dropped back well, scanned the field well, and delivered the missiles that I always do.

Now, if I could just get these no-names to actually catch the ball - we'd be in business.

It's incredibly tough being the most gifted player in the NFL. People always expect that you can take everything on your back, and deliver week after week. After last night's win - It's obvious that's true.

Great players do great things. I think I proved that again last night.

Payback...

I guess this is what happens when you hang up on John Madden.

Unbelievable.

The Mall of America

So check it out. I had to take Deanna into the city last night. You need to know that all the stuff I spew about coming back because of my kid crying, my love of the game, the camaraderie, blah blah blah - it's all bullshit. Total and complete bullshit. Don't tell Bradshaw, k?

It's all Deanna. It's ALWAYS been Deanna. I kinda owe her.

The indiscretions, the vicodin, the college binges, the road trips, the back room at a bar named "O'Danny's," - I could go on, but you pretty much get the gist.

Athletes are given special treatment. Period. We get into clubs first. We get sponsorship deals. (speaking of which, Wranglers kinda irritate my ballsack - shhh!) We get scouted out of college, where we're kings of the campus. Agents visit us, and shower us with everything. Cash, cars, women, booze - you name it. We get it. Then we're drafted, and we're shuttled to our new town. We're treated like kings there too. It's tough on you. (Ya right!)

If you have success, you're glorified more. If you bring a franchise back from extinction, and win a Super Bowl - hell, you're canonized. With all of the accolades, comes even more cash.

Oh yeah - I forgot. Deanna.

Deanna loves cash. She loves counting it, folding it, ironing it, and even bathing in it. She loves spending it more though. She says that it's her payment for staying with me through everything.

So I take her to the Mall of America last night. She goes completely apeshit. Every fucking store. American Express loves me. Visa loves me.

Here's a secret - or maybe not. I hate shopping. Despise it. Personally, I think that because of who I am - people should just send me stuff gratis. I mean, I'm pretty much a white Oprah. What I wear, people buy. (Look at all the morons still wearing #4 jerseys from the Jets or Packers.) You want your product to take off? Give it to me. I'm serious.

Anyway - while Deanna was shopping, I hung out at Legoland. Fucking sweet.

Before you say it - I know. The shorts suck. Another penance I have to pay for dragging Deanna, as she puts it, "Through hell and back."

Again - Whatevs.