An Open Letter to Brett Favre from his Friends in KC

By ERIC BARTON

Dear Brett,

No doubt, 17 years in the NFL will turn what’s between your ears into scrambled eggs, so nobody would expect you to remember every game. But think back, old timer, to November 8, 1993.

You were just a year into the starting gig in Green Bay, and people were still wondering if the kid from Southern Miss who could never seem to throw off his front foot could really lead a team. You were in Kansas City, and on the opposing sideline was none other than Joe Montana.

As you might recall — okay, after who-knows-how-many concussions later, you probably don’t — Montana didn’t play that game. He was old then, too, and unlike you, he sat out when he had an injury.

But you must have seen what he was here. You had to notice the Montana jerseys in the crowd. Remember in 1994, when the 49ers came to Arrowhead with Steve Young at the helm? A sign in the crowd said it all: “This is Montana Country, Where the Young do not Survive.” Forget barbecue or fountains, Kansas City was Joe’s town.

And now, as you’re debating a comeback, isn’t that what you want? A town to idolize you?

What you don’t want is what’s going on in Green Bay. A coach that says you’ve been giving him mixed messages. A front office that’s promised you nothing more than a backup role. Brett, follow Joe’s lead and come to a town that, for shit’s sake, needs you.