It’s been fun recently getting into movies a bit and hearing your thoughts, and that’s coincided with a little bit about the recent football playoffs, so I had a little rare extra time this morning (okay, now it’s evening) and thought I’d start us off with a little bit about… football movies.
First, though, I must say, I’ve been a little saddened about the ungenerous character of much of the commentary I’ve heard and read about Brett Favre after the wonderful Saints-Vikings game, and the fine seasons both of them had.
Let’s take a step back to review. I’ve never gotten the trash-talking way of some football fans, where if your team loses on any given Sunday, they’ll come in Monday morning and buttonhole you with a kind of malignant glee. “Ooooh, Cowboys lost again, ooooooh, how do you feel today, ooooooh.” Now, I have my — not even likes or dislikes — my preferences about teams, but I always return to sincerely thinking, “Hey, these guys are all pros, they’ve worked very hard, they’re risking life and limb every week, they all deserve respect, and it’s interesting to follow who rises and who falls.” I learn as much and feel as much — and respect as much — watching teams like Detroit or Chicago. They’ve been great before, and it’s instructive to see what the difference is between pros, top pros and teams that coalesce into, well, super-top-pros.
Maybe it’s that I get to travel so much to all these places, and I really like the people wherever I go. I like seeing how much pride they have in their area (Someone just wrote in about “coming up to our great Pacific Northwest sometime”, and that’s a perfect example. People should love where they live), and how often they use teams as a focal point for hope and growth. Obviously the Saints were and are a big example of this. They’ve never been in a Superbowl, and the domed stadium they play in, their home, was the horrifying container of so much sadness during the first week and more of Hurrican Katrina. How wonderful that the same place now rings with happiness.
QUICK ASIDE: Speaking of pride, it’s always stirring to see how much and how quickly we Americans respond to a situation like Haiti. I’ll bet most of you have given money and prayers, and so have I and my family, and I hate to sully that with a nice shiny veneer of bitterness…
BUT HERE GOES. I couldn’t help but think, “Hmm, during Hurrican Katrina, did anybody send us money or prayers or aid or doctors, or crews? Probably not.” By the way, a few days ago, the Israeli rescue crew in Haiti found two people still alive in rubble, and it’s another lesson about techniques of life that arise out of war. They use balloons to gently lift the rubble, rather than shift it around with cranes. Smart. Well, if anyone has experience with collapsed buildings, it’s they. (I really wanted to say “them” there, but “they”, as you know, is grammatically correct. Plus, if you’re going to use “them” there, you should probably go all the way and say, “them thar,” and if you’re going to do that, you need to hook your thumbs in your suspenders. Anyone remember the difference between suspenders and braces? I’ll wait. Doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo… {the Final Jeopardy Theme Song; and who remembers to use brackets inside parentheticals?} THAT’S RIGHT! Suspenders clip on to the pants, and braces BUTTON on. I’m pretty sure it’s time to close this parenthical. Yeah. No, wait: I’m scared to admit this, but I — okay, I’ll just say it — I’ve moved to LOVING both a belt and braces on my suits, but I’m so mortified I always keep the jacket buttoned. Remember Henry Fonda calmly shooting the informer in the wonderful Once Upon A Time In The West and saying, “How can you trust a man who wears both a belt and suspenders?” I think of that every time I put them on, BUT IT FEELS SO RIGHT. Okay, now, if there are no further objections, I’ll close this parenthetical. Anyone? Bueller? Okay. As a heckuva guy once said, “It is… done.”)
And speaking of the delicious taste of a spoonful of bitterness, I wonder how many rescue teams Yemen and Syria sent to Haiti? Unless they consider the guy who tried to kill all those people on that plane Christmas Day a “rescue team”. Hmm, interesting word-bending.
ANYWAY… I’ve just been shaking my head about a lot of the backhanded sneering and snarkiness that has followed Brett Favre the last few days, how that last pass of his was intercepted with 19 seconds was “typical of Favre, he had to do it all himself instead of run it, that in the end, it was all about him, that he did pretty well for a hired-gun-type of quarterback who had no feeling for his team, a carpetbagger,” etc. It was worse, and it seemed sports writers from across the country just couldn’t help painting him as a villain.
God, I just don’t get people, folks. To me, this is one of the great narrative moments in American life. Here’s a guy who has a hall of fame career in Green Bay, is edged aside for a younger guy, steps aside without whining (all of it correct; Rodgers is terrific and deserves his team’s support). Then, a couple of weeks later, he decides, hey, I’d still like to play, asks his home team, gets the brush (again, all fine), goes to the Jets and has a fine year for them as well as him, though he was injured, then comes to the Vikings — again, a good move for both, I think — and leads them through a beautiful season that just ended.
WHO, IN GOD’S NAME, HAS ANYTHING BUT ADMIRATION FOR THAT? OR FOR USING CAPITOL LETTERS WHEN MAKING A POINT? OR KNOWS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CAPIT”OL” AND CAPIT”AL”? SHOULD I GO BACK TO DAS PARENTHESESES? OR DAS KAPITAL?
Okay, I’m having too much fun with words. Even Wodehouse and Perelman are saying, “Move on.”
And, if you noticed, he (Favre) plays ALL out and leaves it all on the field; he was really beaten up in that game. He was absolutely knocked out in the third quarter, and the Saints all said, “We thought that was the last of him,” and they were all stunned to see him back a few minutes later for the rest of the game. He almost did it, too, he almost led them to a last second field goal try.
PLUS: I saw an interview with him a couple of days before the game, and he was talking about how much he admired the Saints and Drew Brees and what they’d built, and how the city suffered, and he said, with a smile, “Hey, what can I say, I’m a Saints fan. I have been all year. I hope they do well.” I thought that was so sincere and, well, CORRECT.
How do you not love a forty-year-old man who stops drinking as a younger player because it was ruining his life (and his family, too, right, but they’re back together, right?). Anyway, he plays his heart out, he leads from the front, he inspires his team to achieve, and his fans to cheer. What giant sin am I missing? Why do so many of us need to backhand him? How do you not love this guy?
More importantly, was his drinking worse than yours. Er, mine?
Am I missing something deep and dark, or is this not the exact perfect example of quiet achievement and commitment and desire, and a miraculous ability to say, “Hey, I love this game, and I think I can still play, and as long as someone wants me, I’m going to take it right to the end.” I may be crazy, but this is exactly the type of public figure we should be pointing out to our sons and daughters. Not because he’s rich or an athlete or some kind of star, but because he’s weathered his own storms, used his gifts, refused to give up, and has decided to squeeze every drop out of his life; and to go into the locker room — the metaphoric locker room, as well — spent. Well spent.
You and I should do half that well.
SO: Tomorrow, or the next day, I’m going to Raleigh, N.C., to a dandy place I havent performed in a long time. I think I may be the luckiest guy in the world. I had a good day on a show I love, my family is well, I’ve been relaxing (drinking: two martinis) and I’m writing to people I like very, very much.
The point is, we’ll get back to football movies, and movies in general, when we speak next. Until then, who knows how great Sam Peckinpah is? Who knows how great Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott are in Ride The High Country? Who knows who understands friendship better than Peckinpah?
REMEMBER: IF YOU WALKED OUT OF BED TODAY, AND HAD A THOUSANDTH THE HEART OF WARREN OATES WHEN HE SAID, “WHY NOT”, IN “THE WILD BUNCH”… FOLKS, THE GAME’S OVER, AND YOU’RE BEN JOHNSON.
