He played the game like it should be played, the way we’d all like to think we’d play given the opportunity. His first completion for the Green Bay Packers, a batted ball he caught himself, set the tempo for what would be a whirlwind career. He was the cowboy, the gunslinger. He ran around the field like it was any neighborhood in America. Whether it was a deep ball, shovel pass, a laser-guided pass on a crossing-route thrown so hard it would bruise his receivers under their pads, or some pass he made up on the fly, he found a way to make it work.
Watching him play a near flawless game against the Oakland Raiders on Monday Night Football the day after his father died showed his character. He was flawed, admitting his addiction to pain killers and problems with alcohol in 1997. But when a father shows his son how to play football, he can tell him to play like Brett Favre.
He was a warrior. He was revered. He played the game, absolutely, flat-out harder than any player who ever put on a pair of shoulder pads. There are some who would say that Jim Brown or Barry Sanders were better running backs, but there was never a better overall football player. He started a game at quarterback. He threw nine touchdown passes in his career. He is one of only three players in NFL history to run for a touchdown, catch a touchdown pass, and throw a touchdown pass in a single game. He delivered devastating blocks. He never ran out of bounds unless forced out. He ran the ball like a linebacker looking to make a tackle – punishing those who sought to punish him.
His life was cut short by cancer, but his legend will forever live on. His records may be broken, but no one can ever take away the way he played the game. He set the standard by which all running backs, in particular, and all football players, in general, must follow.
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