When I first started watching NFL football in the early nineties, Brett Favre was just starting his illustrious career. Although I was never a big fan of the Packers, I respected his tremendous skills and passion, in particular his wide-eyed excitement at playing a game he loved.

Over the years, I adnired his leadership skills, although it became disconcerting when analysts began to refer to him as 'old man Brett' (he's a about year younger than myself). His indecision on retiring was a bit comical, but completely understandable.

His apparent rejuvenation with the Vikings this past season was thrilling; it seemed as if Brett was actually turning back the clock with his trademark determined squint.

Last night's NFC championship game broke my heart. Brett played his heart out, but was left hanging by an outmatched offensive line and running backs who couldn't secure the ball. The Saints were wildly outplayed, yet a single play turns perhaps the greatest quarterback in many years into a goat. If Brett would've had more confidence in his supporting cast (and would've been less shell-shocked from having been slammed to the turf so many times), he never would've made that questionable throw; if he would've been more of a team player, he would've scampered a few yards instead, setting up the probable game-winning field goal.

I'm left with a bitter taste in my mouth with regards to Brett's amazing career; it astounds me, how a single bad decision can tarnish a legacy. In the end, the Vikings didn't deserve to win that game, considering how they played and were coached; still, it would've been very cool to see Brett try for the brass ring one more time, which would've left me with a much brighter image of this man that I respect, rather than the one I'm left with.