Imagine one of those picturesque Saturday autumn afternoons, Martha Stewart style; the air is crisp, the leaves are changing color, mom was cooking homemade apple pie in the kitchen, and me and my best chums were playing a game of schoolyard football in the empty lot across the street. I was in the fifth grade at the time so I was about 11 years old.
Out of nowhere, this man emerges on the field. Right away, I was on my guard.
“Hey, you’re Ben Wollin right,” the man said.
“Who wants to know?” I replied smugly.
“I’ve been watching you play here and I just have to ask. Where did you learn how to throw such a tight spiral like that? You’ve got an arm that I’ve only read about in books.”
At this point, I started chuckling to myself. “Listen, guy, you’ve got a lot of guts coming here and interrupting my game here with my friends. I like that. It shows you got courage. If you stick around I’ll show you the secret to the perfect pass.”
After the game, the stranger stuck around so I went over the finer points of where to grip ball, how to pump fake, and pretty much all the basic arm mechanics for throwing the ultimate spiral. I could tell he was impressed. The sun was starting to set but the stranger insisted that we get it right.
“Alright one more, and then I have to go home for dinner,” I said.
The last throw of the evening was a stinger. I caught the ball and then shook out my hands because it burned a little.
“There it is,” I said. “That’s the pepper I’m talking about.”
The stranger smiled sheepishly at me. “Thanks, kid. Thanks a lot.” He then took off into the night in the same mysterious fashion that he appeared. I never thought I would hear from him again.
The very next day, my old man took me to watch Don Majikowski and the Packers play the Cincinatti Bengals in a now legendary game at Lambeau Field. The “Magic” was injured in the first quarter and all hope was lost. Then to my amazement, the strange man I just saw the previous day came trotting onto the field. The man was, you guessed it, Brett Favre.
The rook was a bit shaky at first, you could tell the crowd did not have much faith in the new quarterback. The situation looked bleak for the Packers as they entered in the 4th quarter down 14 points. Brett Favre started scanning the crowds, looking for somebody, anybody, to get him out of the quagmire.
Then Brett Favre saw me and a big smirk, the same smirk you see every time he throws a touchdown, came across his face. I gave him that look, that nod of approval that just says, yeah, you know what to do. Brett Favre gave me the thumbs up, then put his helmet in and ran out to the huddle, a few inches taller, a little more spring in his step.
The rest, as they say, is history. Brett Favre engineered a stunning defeat against the Bengals which eventually paved the way for him to become the greatest athlete in the history of sports. I wish I could take more credit for his numerous titles and records but I had absolutely nothing to do with his innate talent to read the field, his almost mutant-like super stamina, or his preternatural ability to look awesome and grizzled all the time. The man is a champion and no one can take that away from him.
What can I say, I’m a modest guy, I want to give credit where credit is due. You know that actually reminds me of the story of the time Steve Jobs stole my idea for the ipod…
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