Steve McNair retires, thinks he's Brett Favre

Steve McNair retired a few days ago, concluding his overrated career which features a co-MVP (along with the somewhat more famous Peyton Manning). Don't get me wrong, McNair was definitely one of the quality, classy quarterbacks of the league and I once even called him my favorite football player during his on-and-off-injured-reserve days. Coming from the less than illustrious Alcorn State University, he's also probably one of the best small school stories in professional sports.


The "Air" ends his "Airness"

But McNair should've retired years ago because A) his body basically retired a few decades ago, B) he was transitioning from a legendary career in Tennessee into the ever-disappointing Ravens squad, and C) KYLE BOLLER!!! So really, this was old news. Bleh.

Thanks McNair for the memories. And always remember: don't regret, just blame Kevin Dyson.

- K.H. (THE Alcorn State University)

Brett Favre pretends like he's actually retiring this time

Packers quarterback and Manly Man Brett Favre finally announced his retirement earlier today after 17 years as the face of the historic franchise, the bored city of Green Bay, the entire state of Wisconsin, and the football in general.


Brett Favre is the reason Jesus was born in Green Bay.

I was one year old when he was drafted by the Falcons (as Brett "Fav-row") and two when he started his legendary career with the Packers. So it really is extremely difficult to imagine anyone else under center for the Packers, throwing long bombs in that Lambeau snow which perfectly camouflaged Favre's graying beard. The man owns some of the most impressive records in all of sports (seriously, 253 consecutive starts? I can't even think of a witty joke to follow that).

My best memory of Favre was one of his famed Monday Night Football performances a few years ago against the Raiders, in which he passed for 400 yards and four touchdowns only hours after his father had passed away. I specifically remember him throwing an insanely accurate deep ball to one of his many receivers in double coverage, probably one of the most godly plays I've seen in football. I also remember not being surprised because, after all, it's Brett Favre. Millions of people hate Michael Vick, even more despise Tom Brady, but there aren't many that really dislike Favre. With that humble Southern drawl, fatherly looks, and BAMF swagger, there's not much to hate. Oh yeah, and he's got three MVP awards, biotch.

Anyways, this is starting to sound like a eulogy. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of Favre as a disappointingly awkward analyst on ESPN or Fox Sports, but until then, I'll remember him as easily the best quarterback of my generation. Thanks for the memories, Brett. Maybe now you'll have some time to reconsider the spelling of your name.

-K.H.

To An Eli Dying Young

I don't really mean everything from this post. Of course, I want to see Eli under center next for the Big Blue. But anytime I can relate sports to quality literature, I'm on it. Enjoy:

A.E. Housman's poem "To an Athlete Dying Young" beautifully recounts the story of a heralded athlete who died while in his prime, after setting a championed record. Instead of mourning the young man's death, the poet congratulates him:

"Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After Earth has stopped the ears"

So yeah, the poem pretty much solidified my opinion on Vinny Testaverde (because we all have opinions on him, right?). I mean, I really am tired of all these old geezers - and in today's sport, being able to legally consume alcohol is now considered "old" - clawing to hold on to something they lost long before they were being considered future Hall of Famers.

Because how often do we see gifted, celebrated athletes slowly get sacked into obscurity? They fall deeper and deeper into the abyss known as "aging," trying to reach for the heyday they once enjoyed, without ever taking a look in the mirror. For some, the pinnacle of their careers may lie in Superbowl rings, and for others, in high school yearbooks. A sick knuckle ball or bulls-eye right arm earned the chance to be a man amongst children, to literally be hoisted on the shoulders of zealous disciples. Above politics and arts, sports is the best medium of immortalizing any man of any origin or age. Seriously, when your hair is gray and retirement is going great, you'll remember Joe American, the star quarterback, more than Tom Goody, the class president.

But like all things in this world, nothing lasts forever. Peaks ultimately peak and muscles eventually grow tired. And the man with the flashy slam dunks is now riding the pine of any team that can give him a chance, desperate to "go out with a bang." But unfortunately, time is never on an athlete's side. Disciples quickly convert and talented rookies immediately fill the void. Now, with two busted knees, a jersey with the wrong colors, and a paycheck worth as much as Lebron's new shoes, memories of the glory days are exactly that: memories. And instead of the bang, the lasting image frozen on ESPN is a wrinkled, old man shagging balls for the Mr. Now. I think it's what the kids today call a "has-been." But look on the bright side, he's a "great locker room presence!"


While it's good, Elisha, while it's good.

So, what does Eli Manning have to do with all of this?

Eli has the opportunity that only few before him have held. A Superbowl MVP, a historic upset, a play for the ages, and a jealous big brother. This is Jordan's buzzer beater against the Jazz, Bettis's unlikely championship in his hometown, and even Zidane's headbutt on the world's stage. Eli is on the plateau that has rarely been reached, just short of Jessica Alba's husband.

So, really, there is only down for Eli. He will never conduct an upset as significant and will never throw a pass as ridiculous. But he does have the chance to buy lasting real estate on this near-godly heaven. Here, he can forever enjoy the status above the endless other athletes who could no longer pay the mortgage. He can forever enjoy the company of buddy Tiki Barber and Barry Sanders, while looking down from the cliff and rightfully laughing at the Shaqs, the Testaverdes, the Karl Malones, the Craig Biggios, and yes, the Brett Favres (Yeah, I said it).

Housman also writes in his poem,

"So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup."

A Lombardi trophy and a key to immortality in hand, Eli has the choice to forever keep his smiling baby face glorified in the long-term memories of the world "before its echoes fade." Or he can be diagnosed too late and "die" too old. David Tyree can come too.

-K.H.