What is an athlete's legacy at the end of their career? As a fan, do you watch your favorite player's retirement ceremony and think, damn, what a great hitter that sonofabitch was, he had the broadest shoulders, squarest jaw and dirtiest uniform I did ever saw? Do you think about his character, his willingness to block shots, hold the line, and take a hometown discount? Do you associate him, or her, with their greatest victory, their first memorable appearance or their fall from grace?

I ask these questions of you, the reader, because it's pretty clear that to athletes it doesn't matter what you think. It's not to say they ignore you with any degree of disrespect, but that clearly an athlete has a different mindset entirely from what their legacy should entail. That paradigm doesn't fit into the heroic or legendary or larger-than-life motif that fans place athletes into, but rather one that's perhaps more akin to you with your career. For athletes, the sport they play is a job, a preposterous one that could only exist within our weird little world, but still a job where you have to show up every day, work overtime, miss your family, and get yelled at by your boss.

The idea that I have any kind of insight into the mind of a pro athlete is absurd; the closest resemblance I have to a friendship with a pro athlete was serving Dan Hamhuis sweet and sour pork once. Hey, it was a small town. I defy you though to argue with the assessment that an athlete's understanding of their place in history (well, sports history anyway, which exists in a parallel universe) is pretty damn different than how the rest of us would like to place them. Especially in light of Brett Favre's public displays of indecision that would make a social sciences grad shake their head. This is, of course, the catalyst for this little ramble, but it really illustrates the point that athletes live in their own little world.

And not a bad world to live in, if you can. Oh, in case you were wondering, this IS a blog and not an essay, and if I want to start a new paragraph with "And," or ":-)" or the Batman symbol then BOOYA for me. Favre finished the 2006 season on a down note, his completion percentage and his touchdown/pass ratio was the worst of his career, and his quarterback rating was 72.7 (25th in the league, all stats here). So when he hummed aloud about whether he was coming back, people seemed quite reasonably bummed out that he'd be leaving after a bad season. Not a great way to remember a sure thing Hall of Fame player. But Favre did come back, and 2007 was a tremendous year for him and the overachieving Packers. His QB rating was 6th in the league at 95.7, 4th in passing yards, 6th in yards/game, posted the BEST completion percentage of his career and nearly doubled his TD/pass rating (more stats here). His name was tossed around as an MVP candidate as he took one of the youngest teams in the NFL and brought them within one OhGodPunchMeInTheFace interception (his own, obviously) of going to the Super Bowl. Heady days for the Cheeseheads as the great Favre had proven he wasn't finished, was still great, and left the loyal Wisconsinites in a perfect position regarding his future and their memory of him: if he retired, he did so near the top of his game, if he came back he was doing so in a position to lead his team, not drag it down just for one last painful hurrah.

Then he did retire, and people were surprised but seemed pleased and impressed. It's hard to leave something you love, and Favre was doing it not far from his peak years. Aaron Rogers could now take over, once three years' worth of clipboard splinters heal. Favre would fade into memory and legend, wearing a cowboy hat or a cheesehead, a big belt buckle and flannel shirt while driving a combine or something. Anyone from Wisconsin? Is that right, or offensive?

Favre is now back, wants to either play for the Packers (which means Start, not Backup like that chump Rogers, who's only been prepping all summer to be the starting QB for one of the most notable sports franchises in North America) or be released to play elsewhere. Some in the media do not seem to agree with Favre's decision, and that's kind of the point. NOBODY wants Favre to come back now, and certainly not this way, forcing the team and management into shuffling around the deck chairs to accompany the way-too-late requests of Combine Belt Buckle Man. So Favre said, presumably in the same voice as the captured alien in Independence Day, "release me," and the Packers said No. This "legacy" stuff is pretty hard for Favre to grasp obviously, not quite realizing that when you move on to other things, other things won't be there when you come back. Who can say if a player should be able to unretire and play until they absolutely suck, like Rickey Henderson or Tom Poti, if they really want to? Fans and media can't, and wouldn't be listened to anyways. It's a different world they play in. It's their job, not ours.