Posted by: Mark Wierzbicki | October 17, 2010

A Favrian Cosmology


Young Brett: So much potential, for idiocy

In theoretical physics there exists the “Many Worlds” theory of alternate realities. It postulates, for reasons that I neither understand nor care about, that every event and decision represents a point of divergence from which new universes are created, each inhabited by one possible result. For instance, you’re at the mall and decide to grab some lunch, so you go to the food court. After a moment’s deliberation, you decide on Chinese food. According to Many Worlds, at that second new universes are created in which you decided on Greek, sushi, Taco Bell, Subway, Cinnabon, and every other possible option. Since every person faces hundreds if not thousands of decisions each day, this means that the number of universes in existence is far beyond our comprehension.

It also means that there somewhere exists a universe in which Brett Favre, instead of texting a picture of his penis to Jets Gameday host Jenn Sterger, decided to text a friendly, “Hi, how are you?” instead. Or a smiley face. Or anything, anything, other than his penis. There is also one where he is smart enough to realize that texts can be seen by people other than the person you send them to, and that tossing around dong shots is not a smart PR strategy.

Going further back we realize that there is a universe where Favre kept his word about retiring after the 2007 season and remained a universally admired living legend. In this wonderful, magical place Favre neither destroyed his reputation as a reliable, principled and loyal man nor humiliated his saint of a wife who stuck by him through Vicodin and alcohol addictions and recently survived breast cancer.

Oh and it also means that in some worlds he’s not such an unbelievable choke artist.

The beauty of Many Worlds theory however is that even though it reminds us of a lifetime of poor decisions and missed opportunities, it also opens up a future where Brett Lorenzo Favre quietly leads the Vikings to two or three decent, winning seasons, throwing for high yardage with relatively few interceptions followed by a prompt, unpublicized retirement which he spends working in obscurity on his farm with his family, and only re-enters the spotlight when he saves a class of kindergarteners from a burning school bus.

That universe will exist just as surely as will the one in which he keeps acting like the spazzy dumbass we have come to know and love/hate. But with our luck the way it has been thus far, we’ll probably stay in the dumbass universe.

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