Favre . . . Favre . . . let’s see: Carve? Starve? Le Havre? Marv!
That’s got to be what the tabs will say this morning after the blockbuster news that Brett Favre, the most likable good ol’ boy in the NFL, has been traded to the Jets.
New York’s supposedly rough press — it’s a large cackle of hyenas instead of a small kendle of kittens — will purr.
At least until the highly entertaining quarterback probably past his prime starts heaving up interceptions from his aging arm.
Because you have to see things through the lens of racism (still American society’s top problem), you have to say that Favre represents progress.
If this small-town boy from Kiln, Mississippi, had been around in 1947 when Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier, Favre would have openly and joyfully embraced him and scolded any teammate who balked.
For the city’s sports fans in 2008, Favre will be the anti Alex-Rodriguez: Warm instead of aloof, great in the clutch, charismatic, a genuine fan favorite sure to have one of the longest honeymoons in NYC sports history.