Hayseed Turned Diva

But of course Pennington and Clemens are supposed to make way for Favre, the way Favre expected Rodgers, the Packers and the NFL to make room for him again.

See, Favre is not just making a cameo in "There's Something About Mary" this offseason, he's the lead in "It's All About Brett," and the protagonist is a guy who has no use for the needs of the many or even the few. He's out for the one.

This is harsh because it hits home, because Favre stood for everything the approaching- or over-40 jock represented -- the guile and grit, how he impressed upon the kids that their boundless athleticism alone can't get the job done.

He was George Foreman dropping Michael Moorer to recapture the heavyweight title he lost to Muhammad Ali more than 20 years earlier, Ryan throwing his seventh no-hitter at age 44.

Favre played masterfully last season, flinging passes and touchdowns from all angles, escaping doom weekly, playing Indiana Jones like he had for two decades. He turned back time the way Jimmy Connors belied his age at the 1991 U.S. Open, beating back a 24-year-old kid named Aaron Krickstein in a five-set heirloom to make the quarterfinals at age 39.

But when the general manager everyone is excoriating for how he has mistreated Favre puts the defense and skill offensive players around an aging quarterback for one last run, and Favre can't deliver in the frozen tundra of the NFC title game -- against Eli Manning, no less -- well, memo to No. 4:

You had your shot. A young, unproven Giants team in freezing temperatures on your own field with a shot to go to the Super Bowl is as good as it's going to get.

Ted Thompson and the Packers, no question, should have handled a transplanted civic treasure like Favre with more couth and class. Knowing Favre's history as an emotional, impulsive guy, how do they not have a Plan B in case their Hall of Famer in waiting wants to come back?

And Favre isn't done physically. Magic came back to the Lakers after his HIV-induced first retirement, faking Latrell Sprewell out of his jock the very first night at the Forum, making all the old-school cats proud about putting the young, disrespectful kid in his place. Same with Jordan, the night he pinned Jerry Stackhouse's layup try against the glass.

But they both came across as out-of-touch geezers at the end, whose respect among their teammates waned -- so much so that not one of Jordan's Wizards teammates wanted to chip in on a retirement gift.

We don't get to write the final act for the great ones. It's their ending, not ours. And if they want to scratch that itch -- no matter how inglorious it is for us to watch -- so be it. It's their right.

And although imagining him in a Jets jersey seems out of kilter now, Favre will still be fascinating to watch in New York, breaking free, rolling out, considering possibilities no offensive guru imagined. He seems forever trying to pull off the saw-the-lady-in-half trick. More often than not, she comes out in one piece. But every now and then, the career interception leader ruins the magic and the memories.

Here's hoping that doesn't happen with the Jets and the unforgiving environment that goes with playing pro ball in Gotham. Especially to Brett Favre.

Before the messy breakup with the Packers, Favre stood for something in a greed-driven sports landscape. His back story was too authentic, it seemed, to ruin the go-long myth.

Blame Favre. Blame Green Bay. But foremost, blame the addictive lure of the game and its accompanying fame. That's an intoxicating cocktail for any elite athlete, even a homespun legend from Kiln, Miss., who couldn't give either up before his final act as Broadway Brett.