They warned us. Remember?
The embedded Packers fans amongst us warned us that Brett Favre would break our hearts, whether on the field of play or in the absurd theater of his mind. He would throw the killing interception when you least wanted or expected it, would turn our summers into melodramas that teased, then annoyed, then infuriated us.
Could they have been more right? Could they have asked for any more reason to say, "I told you so?"
From mid-August through early January last season, Favre gave us the most remarkable season of any quarterback in franchise history and the most efficient season of his stunning career.
If we dare take him seriously amid his latest threats of retirement -- and history tells us we should not -- he will have devastated a franchise that treated him with deference and reverence and betrayed the trust of his teammates and coaches.
He will have done so in just the manner Packers fans predicted, by throwing an inexplicable, championship-losing interception on his final play in purple, then turning his decision on retirement into a sad serial of self-indulgence.
If he indeed retires, he would no longer be the Hamlet of Hattiesburg, but something more akin to Iago, who left destruction in his wake.
Favre has earned comparisons to boxers who retire only to announce their comeback, but the comparison is not apt. Boxers are individuals. Favre plays the position at the nexus of the most intricately choreographed team sport in existence.
If he indeed retires, he will have betrayed everyone in purple from owner Zygi Wilf to aging defensive tackle Pat Williams, who might not have even returned if not for the promise of a Favre-directed championship.
When I arrived on the practice field Friday morning to watch the Vikings' first training camp practice, I ran into Wilf. The conversation was not for the record, but I can tell you that he was optimistic, almost buoyant, while chatting about his team.