The Feisty Favre

Much has been made of Mr. Favre's heat-ed comments over the past week.
One can't hardly go to the butcher-shop or the pharmacuetical counter or the local tavern-den these days without hearing an ear-full about the great Number 4:
What do these ghostly and threatening statements mean?
Has Mr. Thompson gone too far in his apathetic (and sleepy) team-building philosophy?
What does the future hold?
And so forth...
Well, dear readers, I had plenty of time to think about this while fishing the other day, and I wouldn't be too worried. Anybody who thought Favre was going to be traded off for a future draft pick and a barrel of dill pickles just needs to take a step back from the Mississippian's feisty geiser of victory-lusting. That' all this is, dear readers - just another fine example of our favorite Senior Field General letting the toothy competitor in his soul get the best of him-self.
Just as you don't fault the Muskie for decapitating a furry bucktail, you don't fault the Favre for getting hot-n-bothered about the upcoming season. As I cast my line across the spring's young cabbage weeds, I imagine Favre in this predatorial role, in this vicious state of victory desires. Randal Moss, it seems, was nothing more than a gigantic, fatty, red-horse sucker driting by with the wind. The thing is, Mr. Favre, during the off-season, is like a ferocious muskie anchored to the rocky bottom. He can't attack with a laser beam spiral. He can't lead another fourth-quarter comeback. He is restrained and without control. During the off-season, you see, only Mr. Thompson gets to eat the suckers. And Mr. Thompson only eats the bait-fish he choses, at a time of his choosing. This GM is a wily vet of the sea, and perhaps it's for the best that he restrained himself from the allure of a shiny and troublesome bucktail thumpin' beneath the waves. Sometimes, when you eat a bucktail, you get a mouth full of hooks.
And I should know, I tried it once.
Boatside, I wrangle my lure through a spiralling figure-8. But no-body is biting to-day. So instead I sit myself down and adjust my favorite hat and enjoy myself a few sips from my smoking pipe as the waves push me across the lake.
Ahhhh, yes, dear readers; there is no reason to worry about a thing on a day like to-day.
Instead, let us look forward to the upcoming season, to a time when Mr. Favre can once again pounce with hungry intensity. Until then, we'll take the drift again and change lures. Make another cast and retrieve with a hopeful heart.