If you are a right thinking American, or indeed a person of any nation with a lick of sense, you care about the decision making process of Brett Favre to the sum of zero.
Sadly, I am not a right thinking American in this case. I am in a fantasy football league. As my game playing friend Jodi says, fantasy football is Dungeons & Dragons for the guys who beat up people who really play Dungeons & Dragons.
So now, all my Poindexter dweeb calculations are up in the air because Favre may or may not return to NFL for the jillionth time, especially because my league is having the draft on Sunday, two full weeks before the season begins. If he returns and if his ankle is healthy, he should be a starting quarterback for one of the twelve teams in the league in which I play. The returning part looks pretty obvious as of this morning, given that he is following his coy routine of the past few years. The ankle surgery is the big if.
With any luck, I'll pick up one of the quarterbacks that should be better than he is and let somebody else pull the trigger on adding this high-strung prima donna to his or her roster. But regardless of that future event, I am now drinking the Hater-ade when anybody mentions Brett Favre.
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