CSI-style, I’m going to dig into the causative factors for the birth, life and death (some day) of the Brett Favre epic. This is part 1.

First, some Ted Thompson history. Thompson was a linebacker in the NFL, playing 10 years with the Houston Oilers from 1975 to 1984. As if that isn’t enough punishment to push you out of football, his stats are uh, less than stellar. Either they didn’t keep records of defensive players then, or Ted really sucked as a player.

The uncles-kissing-on-cousins relationship that is the NFL brought Ted Thompson, formally a staffer in Green Bay but more recently a player personnel guy in Seattle, back to the Packers as the general manager. If you recall, Mike Sherman had been left alone in the ice cream shoppe that was Packer personnel responsibility, and when Ted got there, Sherman was ass deep in melted Superman, wearing a smeary double-chocolate grin that would even make Heath Ledger’s Joker look tame. Remember BJ Sander?

So Thompson cleared out the cap mess, and as is most often the case when someone new is put in charge of an operation held together with duct tape, the adhesive gave way and the team fell to the ground, going 4-12. Thompson had seen enough and cleaned house of the coaching staff, sending Mike Sherman and his ice cream bandits far away from Lambeau.

But the thing that remained a constant, before Sherman, after Sherman and before Thompson was Brett Favre. Now maybe playing linebacker for 10 years hard codes an expectation of mental toughness in you. Never being on the glory side of the football or playing a skill position, you feel a little resentment for all those guys on your team that played offense; they got all the big money, the media requests, they were the ones scoring all the tuna. Fuckers. “I bust my ass every year an what do I get? A busted ass. These guys get the honey, the money and the fame” might have been a few of the thoughts Thompson had as a player. Thoughts that may well have carried into his post-playing days, having to work with the egos of stars players.

So when the rumors of Brett Favre retiring started floating in early 2005 and grew in intensity and duration each successive year, maybe Thompson wondered what was wrong with this Favre guy.  The pouting and indecision just didn’t compute for a former linebacker, and frankly, it pissed him off.  Guy’s got everything but it isn’t enough - he wants a “voice” in personnel decisions, drapes the franchise in a wet woolen blanket with the threat of retirement.  Prima donna.

I think that if Thompson had really wanted Favre to stay on board for as long as possible, he would not have left him on an island to make his decision, because let’s face it:  that island is crawling with women, all of whom have been filling his head with their opinions for the last umpteen years.  I think this is like the “lunatic friend” scenario.  You have this lunatic, who’s a friend, who likes to do really stupid things.  Like jumping in front of cars.  Or doing backflips from altitude.  You tell him not to, but only enough that when the police ask you later how your buddy died, you can honestly tell them “I told him not to do it.”

If Thompson had really wanted to keep Favre around for as long as possible, he’d have preempted the end-of-season drama by kissing Favre’s ass a little.  Maybe coke and peanuts delivered to his Green Bay home.  Maybe an all-expense paid shopping trip for the women in his life for like a month, during which time he’d be forced to listen to the voice of John Facenda.  But it looks like he didn’t do those little things to make Favre want to stay.  Push him out?  I guess, if Favre is the wimp at the beach that gets sand kicked in his face.  I think Thompson only did as much as he had to in order to not appear on paper to be guilty of pushing Favre away.  Football is football and there are 53 men on the team, but maybe a few extra shoulder massages for Brett would have made him feel better about coming back.

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