"Hey Ya'll... Watch This...."

For 4 months now, Brett Favre has been ridin' dirty on punks like me.

But ain't karma a bitch, Brett?

This is what you do. It's how you roll. Even your buddy (enabler) Tom Jackson said on ESPN: "Brett Favre is not afraid to throw picks. That's what I like about him."

Does that mean it's okay to say "Adrian Peterson is not afraid to fumble. That's what I like about him."

Or perhaps: "John Calipari is not afraid to put a program on probation. That's what I like about him."

The backbreaking INT by Favre - the hopefully concluding movement of the Favre Playoff Gaffe Opus - was certainly not the only reason they lost the game. But it was so typical Brett.

To riff off of the self-evident phrase "Big time players, make big time plays", I give you the Favreian version: "Narcissist quarterbacks, make narcissistic plays."

Why didn't Favre just throw the ball away? Or hobble ahead on his bum ankle for a valuable 5 extra yards and a shot by Ryan Longwell from distance?

You know why.

Guys who don't have to show up for training camp, never have to say they are sorry.

Completing that pass, across his body, on the run, with an 800-pound bag of beat-down given to him by the Saints during that game, would have set up the game winning field goal and a gusher of "can you believe this ol' legend did it again!?" commentary from his adoring media.

Would have been sweet for HIM, no?

But it didn't happen, so, um, sucks for YOU.

"By the way, fellas, please don't call me this off-season. I'll call you. And then not call. Then call and hang up. Maybe I'll call, imitate a voice, pretend I've got the wrong number, and then put you on hold for 4 hours while I go play golf.

Then I'll leak rumors to Peter King, Jay Glazer, and Ed Werder. Each one will be somehow triangularly contradictory. I'll leave all that up to wild speculation by everyone, and then pretend to not know or care what's going on as I live my simple agrarian lifestyle in Mississippi."

Hating Favre, post-Packer divorce, has been the easiest thing in sports. The guy has shown himself as an indisputably dishonest, manipulating, me-first diva, who carries a petty and vengeful streak that defies all common sense.

The full concerto is now complete. The overtime balloon-ball in Philadelphia in the "4th & 26" game, the overtime pick in the Ice Bowl II, and now this.

Ah, how sweet it is. Suck it, number four!

Maybe it's time to re-mix your favorite song with new lyrics...

"Balls on the ground.... balls on the ground..."
"Lookin' like a fool with those balls on the ground..."

"With the stubble on your face..."
"Hat worn out"
"Call yourself a gunslinger... looking like a fool."

Was that wrong? Because it felt so good.