When the story first broke in Wisconsin that Brett was going to retire and I watched the Thompson/McCarthy press conference, I was pretty angry and disappointed.

Was he really going to end it without even coming up to Green Bay to announce it? Not even a press conference from Mississippi? I was ready to blast our football hero into oblivion. Sure, he gave us a lot; innumerable starts, wins, touchdowns, interceptions and best of all, nailbiting excitement, but we gave him a lot, too. Like immediate forgiveness when he came out about all of his drug issues. Like the undying support you can only find in Green Bay. Would New York have been as patient with Brett in the early years? We bought the Favre memorabilia. We bought Deanna’s book. As much as he did for us, we did for him, too. He owed us a goodbye.

Then a few days later he gave it to us. I wasn’t angry anymore. I wondered how this announcement could have been so botched, with Packers brass looking like they were caught with their pants down, Favre appearing to have disappeared in the Mississippi woods never to return, then I remembered: he has hillbilly brothers. The story broke when the sports guy at the Fox affiliate in Milwaukee got a text message or some damn thing from one of Brett’s brothers. Knowing his own family, I don’t know how he even told them in advance of the announcement. Or why he didn’t tell them a hit was going to be put out on anyone who leaked it. I’m guessing it was either Cletus or Cooter Favre who let this bomb out the bay doors early. That leak forced everyone’s hand, made the Packers look like idiots and Brett look like a jerk, if only for a few days.

I’ve had a few days to let it all sink in, and I’m still a little sick to my stomach. Not because of the hardened titanium cog he’s removed from the center of this young, fast-improving Packer machine. I think Aaron Rodgers showed some real mettle in the Dallas game in November, and if he stays healthy (*looks to sky with fingers crossed and holding hands together in prayer), I don’t see the Packers not making the Playoffs next year.

I’m feeling sick for my own, selfish reasons. I’m a year older than Brett, and my occupation is one that’s physically demanding, too. I don’t have 400 pound lunatics trying to crush my head every 40 seconds for three hours on Sundays, but I’m out there in the hot. I’m out in the cold. My hands hurt. My back hurts. My right knee is shot. But when Sundays roll around I think “If this guy can play at this level at my age, then I can suck it up and keep going at my job, too.”

But a few days ago, Brett said he couldn’t do it anymore. Wha? My age-related motivational north star is going dark? Why go down to the basement and press out a few reps on the bench? Brett won’t. Why spend 45 minutes on the treadmill? Favre won’t.

Brett was showing me the way to being physical and vital into what is feeling like my older years. Now that he’s retired, I’m feeling downright geriatric. I’m now reduced to looking up Jack Lalanne’s feats of strength for motivation.

This sucks.

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