“All right,” I said. “Lay it on me.”
“It’s the snowmobiling,” he said. “Those people love their Ski-Doos.”
His arm was around my shoulder and he smelled of Mississippi clay and possibly chewing tobacco.
“Oh Brett,” I said. “It’s all right, as long you know that we loved you first.”
I awoke from the dream not at all unnerved by its homoerotic undercurrents, or the fact that my vitriol for the once Packer had faded like a mirage. Instead, I lay in bed broadly smiling, even laughing out loud. My wife woke from her slumber and stared at me groggily.
“What’s your problem?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
I told her about my dream.
“Should I be worried?” she asked, a look of mild disdain on her face.
“Not at all,” I replied. “But I’m going to slip on some blue jeans.”
What I always liked best about Brett Favre, and what that Wrangler commercial so magically evoked, was the man’s on-the-field joviality. (His new Sears commercial, while being hilarious, is a more sardonic and post-modern Favre. A cynical Favre, a tongue-in-cheek Favre.) The Wranglers commercial captures a kind of sincere joy found only in dogs and children. Goofy smiles, unrepentant grab-assing, and a carefree jocular philosophy towards sport that, despite all his recent negative press, is still utterly unparalleled.
When I analyze my dream, I don’t spend much time on its possible Freudian subtexts, but rather that sensation of unmitigated bliss, that feeling that must sometimes infect his teammates when they see the man smiling, all white teeth and gray beard. They too must feel that energy.
If you have ever watched a dog dream, its paws and legs moving as if in a secret and magical marathon, its mouth agape and panting, then you understand my dream. For once I was detached from my true body’s limitations. My relatively short stature, slight paunch, and inability to run 50 yards. Brett Favre made me feel like Superman. And now, Brett Favre, I forgive you. Go win a Super Bowl. Win two. Melt the tundra of Lambeau. Capture Soldier Field. Make the Lions tame. Be the gunslinger-cliché you’ve always been so entertaining to watch. Scratch your plays in the dirt. Play for free. I’m your fanatic once again.