http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evu1g4XKq_0
By now most Viking fans, and every living organism from here to Alpha Centauri, has seen the most Favrian throw that was ever Favred to Greg Lewis for a game winning touchdown. Most analysts have thus far enjoyed breaking the play down for their viewers, focusing on the veteran pocket savvy of Favre as he danced around his protection, the innate sense of Greg Lewis to follow his quarterback’s eyes into the endzone, and the detailing of the other receivers running patterns shy of the goal line. While this analysts is predictable and boring, Purple Jesus Diaries has instead decided to use futuristic organic based technology to delve deep into the head of Brett Favre and transcribe the brilliantly complex thoughts that were running through the mind of the Silver Fox during that last play … With 12 seconds left on the clock, Vikings quarterback Brett Favre idles into his shotgun position and looks towards his center John Sullivan. His eye catches a bulge directly above the actual football. “Gol’ dang! Is that his junk? Look at there how big that thang is! Do offensive linemen wear cups down thar? Geeze, you’d think afta 19 years playin’ in this here NFL that Ah’d know somethin’ like that, but nope. Ah sure don’t. Ah wonder if that one there’s big enough that it’ll get in the way of the ball when it’s snapped. Let’s see … HIKE!” The ball is hiked cleanly through from Sullivan to Favre. Favre catches it and thinks as he begins his drop back: “Wowie! That was done pretty cleanly! Him and Visanthe should have a cock off! Ok, ok, what am Ah doin’ here now?” Favre scans the field during his planned five step drop. He initially looks left to find an two yards past the line of scrimmage, with approximately 10 seconds still left on the clock. “Hurr. B sure is open thar. Ah could throw to him, but that fat lug McKinnie looks like he’s already blown his block in this five step drop, so Ah’ll probably have to move a bit to my right so that defender don’t break mah spine, and then Ah’d have to throw acrost my body. That will probably be an interceptiontime then, and Ah don’t want to do that yet. Ah’ll save that throw for the end of the season when it’ll be more achy breakey heartin’ to the fan base. So let’s keep lookin’ around here, ol’ man.” Favre begins to move away from the pressure that has melted the left side of his offensive line. Rolling right, he keeps his eyes downfield. “What the hell? Why are thar more people in purple jerseys standin’ around not movin’ on the field then thar are in them stands? Is that Sidney just standin’ thar with his arms open, like he expectin’ me to throw the ball to him at the 15 yard line? That would be dumber than buyin’ a product not John Deere approved! That sure ain’t gonna work. What else we have?” Favre continues to look down field but quickly sees a San Francisco defensive tackle stunt and come around the right end. Chester Taylor occupies the defender just long enough for Favre to stop his momentum and start moving back to his left. The defender still gets perilously close to a sack. “Sweet Motherin’ Moonshine! Get that thar evil man out mah way! What’s going on, blockers? Do somethin’ or get the fuck outta mah way!” Favre dodges the defender, keeping his eyes downfield the whole time and sees a purple jersey streaking in the endzone. “Nah! Is that who Ah think it is? Bubba?! Antonio?! Donald?! Oh … right, wrong team. Aw shucks, Ah’ll just throw this here ball real far and see whata happen. Ah think Ah feel some guy comin’ in to mock rape me anyway so … Here’s one from the gun slinger!” Brett Favre steps into a 35 yard throw that sails on a rope through the air into the back of the endzone. The purple jerseyed receiver is Greg Lewis, Bears fan and Favre detractor, who nimbly catches the ball and athletically gets both feet down in the endzone. Favre sees none of this though, as a 49ers defender pummels his back and knocks him to the turf: “Oof! Ah, com’on man! That one sure stung! Now mah face is planted in this here turf field and mah back feels like it’s on fire! Sweet Baby Nascar driver this hurts! What the hell even just happened? Do I dare look up? I mean, people are a cheerin’, but that could be because I just broke mah back. I still don’t know if ah trust these here Minnesotan people er not. Ah, hell Brett, just take a glance.” Favre peels his face off of the turf and looks down at the endzone to see the officials signal a touchdown, and essentially, a Vikings win. “Ha! You have gotta be spittonin’ me! That was actually a touchdown? What a joke! This league is stupid. Ah bet they’re gonna say it’s just some more Favre magic. The only magic ah know is how to make mah penis disappear in a frosted muffin. Wait, who the hell is that? 17? Is that a quarterback? Is he even a Viking? HEY STEVE! Who is that guy? …. Greg who? Ah, whatever, let’s just add to mah legend. NICE CATCH GREGGY!” Favre is lifted to his feet and throws his customary touchdown signal into the air. He looks just like a kid out there, having fun. “Thank the Viagra maker that this game here is over. Now ah can hit the showers and get to Denny’s before the Early Bird Dinner Specials expire. Come on gang, get off the dang field, ah got me some plans fer tonight!”
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