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Turns out it was Sidney Rice’s fault for not coming back to the ball like Favre thought he would.

“As a player you’ve got to pull the trigger,” Favre told Men’s Journal. “You can’t say, ‘Well, is he going to do what I think he’s going to do?’ He wasn’t wrong, and in some ways, I wasn’t either.”

OK. Now that we’ve got that cleared up, the Favre countdown watch can officially begin.

There will be breathless reports out of Hattiesburg, where the 40-year-old Favre is shedding a few pounds and limbering up the ol’ arm in practices with a local high school team. Expect Favre to talk one day about whether he still has it anymore, then the next about how he really wants to lead the Vikings to the promised land.

As the days turn into weeks and his teammates swat mosquitoes at the team’s training camp in Mankato, Favre will let everyone twist in the wind. Then he’ll begin making some noises about how a 20th season might just be possible, after all.

At some point all eyes will turn to the skies to see if the private jet sent by Vikings owner Zygi Wilf is on the way.

It will be, of course, and Favre will get the obligatory hero’s welcome he so desperately seems to want. Then he’ll put on the pads and, barring injury, play better than any quarterback his age has a right to play.

So far, the campaign is unfolding just as planned. About all that’s missing is a LeBron-like television special for Favre to announce his decision.

But while James held a city hostage to stoke his massive ego, Favre has him beat.

He has a whole state to toy with to satisfy his narcissistic desires.


Tim Dahlberg is a national sports columnist for The Associated Press. Write to him at tdahlberg(at)