Johnny Cash, Tom Landry, Nolan Ryan, and Roger Staubach are my Mount Rushmore.
Outside of family, these mortals were, and are, giants in my life; redwood trees that helped define my landscape as a zealous and passionate fan. They impacted their vocational sphere with such thunderous force that when they left, the void was deafening.
Cash, of course, never called it quits as he poured himself into his music and stayed devoted to his wife and family until the day he died. His music was a staple in my house and every car that I have ever driven to this day. His rebellious, edgy, and jet black persona with a guitar welded to his torso brought honesty and significance to the music industry, and his impact is still found in songs today. When he passed away, I was numb, achy, and wistful.
Tom Landry was forced off the NFL sidelines when Sheriff Jones rode into town and demanded change. It was like evicting an old-timer from his home, where he had lived his whole life, due to his land being cleared off for a shopping mall. He was a man of integrity, grace, and ingenuity and accepted this unannounced transitional phase of his life with such impeccable class. His departure from the game and life was a very solemn and dispirited time for me as a Dallas Cowboys fan.
Roger Staubach’s elusiveness, fearlessness, and leadership set him apart from the other NFL quarterbacks in his day. His undying commitment to winning led to a series of concussions which brought this unheralded career to a premature ending. When I heard that he was no longer going to lead my beloved Cowboys, I had equilibrium issues. Boy, did I fight tears when I watched Staubach’s retirement speech as he cried and paid tribute to “…the nuts and bolts of the Cowboys…the man who wears the funny hat on the sideline.”
Nolan Ryan defied all sports logic by dominating batters after the age of 40. He hurled his his 6th no-hitter at age 43 and his 7th when he was 44. At age 46, rookie Robin Ventura of the Chicago White Sox charged the mound after being nailed by a Ryan fast ball. Ryan grabbed him in a head lock and pounded his face six times with his pitching arm. Nolan said afterwards that it was the same maneuver that he used on his Texas ranch when trying to brand steers. Every time I watch this incident, my eyes get a bit misty as I remember Nolan Ryan and what he meant to the game of baseball. His work ethic, character, standard of excellence, and respect of The Game was unique to anything that Major League Baseball has seen to this day.
The fabric of all four lives are woven with the same eternal qualities and coated with an unbridled sense of manliness that was instrumental in my upbringing as a toddler singing Folsom Prison Blues, reading my Tom Landry comic book, and collecting my Roger Staubach and Nolan Ryan trading cards.
What made all four men special and anomalous is that their career didn’t define who they were. Despite their accomplishments and stature in the eyes of the fans and media, they had the fortitude and dexterity, if they so chose, to walk away and invest themselves in their family and other ventures all the while not needing their previous livelihood to give them their identity. It is this one single trait that, I firmly believe, is the difference between a star and a legend.
These same attributes are found in another individual who re-wrote the book on his profession and position, and brought tears to my eyes as I watched him retire this past March 4th.
Statistically, you could compare Brett Favre’s career records to that of The Beatles in the music industry. He is the all-time NFL leader in TD’s (422) and completions (5,377) averaging one TD pass for every 12.7 completions. He’s also thrown the football more times with 8,758 attempts which explains his dubious mark of most INT’s thrown at 288. He also holds the quarterback “Iron Man” record of 253 straight starts (including playoffs) and during that streak he has more regular-season wins (160) and has won more NFL MVP awards (3) than any field general in NFL history. Favre has also thrown for a little more than 35 miles.
But, if you peel back the numbers, you will reach the core of this human being whose life and performance on and off the field is comprised of the same parameters as these legends before him.
Much like the Man in Black, Favre battled alcoholism and pain killers early in his career, but found grace and redemption later on that saved his life and career. When he was drafted by the Atlanta Falcons in 1991, he quickly landed in coach Jerry Glanville’s doghouse due to his reckless behavior and wild lifestyle which included, as Favre later admitted, “drinking up Atlanta.” This led to arriving to meetings late and rare appearances in pre-season games despite his immense talent. Packers GM Ron Wolf was more concerned about Favre’s talent than his lack of character enough that he was willing to risk a first-round pick for him in February of ‘92. After a shoulder separation, he took his first Vicodin and what soon followed was his uphill battle with drugs that put him at a critical juncture in his life.
His turnaround and maturation began with his wife, Deanna, starting a family, and surrounding himself with virtuous men such as Mike Holmgren, who once said, “The thing that impresses me the most is what kind of a man and leader he has become off the field since I have known him. I have taken great joy in watching him develop as a person and father - perhaps even more so - than as a coach watching his quarterback.”
If I had a dime for every time Brett Favre avoided a tragic ending to a play by escaping out of someone’s grasp, twisting and turning like a hyper kid avoiding a shot at the doctor, and/or getting rid of the ball in a very unconventional way, I could buy Scotland. His Houdini-type tactics brought to mind the play of Roger “The Dodger” mixed with the dexterity of Landry. His enthusiasm, competitiveness, and nerve was a lethal combination for defenses as he only knew one way to win: Win at all costs and have fun doing it. When he got in a tight spot, his aptness and creativity would take over and then it was usually always followed by a grin as long as his list of accomplishments…no matter the outcome.
Tenacity defined Brett Favre. His toughness and grit in pure Ryan-esque nature were the ingredients for his long career in such an ultra-violent sport. These elements, for a lot of athletes in different sports, resulted in short careers and taking up golf.
Not #4.
His ability to shine bright while staring down uncertain and inconceivable odds is what set Favre apart, and that was illustrated in HD-quality on December 22nd, 2003. His father, Irwin, passed away the day before after suffering a heart attack while driving near his home in Kiln, MS. Favre was in Oakland with the rest of the team preparing for the Monday Night Football game vs. the Raiders. He decided to not desert his football family and started his 250th straight game. He was cloaked in stomach-gnawing emotion but also with a grace and fire to pay tribute to his father who had raised a great boy and had not missed one of Favre’s games since fifth grade. What resulted was the single-best performance that I have ever watched one player have as Favre passed for 399 yards on 22 of 30 attempts with 4 TD’s and zero interceptions. He buried his father the next day.
Another demonstration of Favre’s intestinal fortitude was his exploits on the frozen tundra. In Lambeau Field during his career, Favre was 40-5 when the temperatures were 34 degrees or lower. There was something about hypothermic conditions that transformed this warm-blooded, Mississippi boy into a thermal machine. A falling sheet of snow with the faint outline of a #4 green jersey and “FAVRE” inscribed above it with a geyser of steam shooting from the nostrils and mouth of this superhuman QB will forever be etched in our memory.
When you look back on Brett Favre’s career, you see a man who started out thinking he had the world in his hand only to watch that dream take a nasty spill and land in ICU. There appeared to be a higher calling for Favre as he found a path of healing and redemption that led to him making a meteoric impact in the sport that he loved growing up along the Gulf Coast. After 17 years of getting the hell beat out of him, Favre has decided to return to a different way of life; the kind of life that reveals who he really is — a man who loves being a husband and father, hunting boar, being immersed in his small town, and enjoying life to its core.
Brett, congratulations on entering this new, and much deserved, phase of your life. The NFL is not going to be the same without you.
