royalsandcelebs

I decided to take a break from my usual Kansas City Royals analysis/crying in the fetal position due to, well, being out of things to write about.  The Royals have won four games in a row, and, as usual, some people (mostly 610 AM) have started talking about how things are “turning around” and that we’re 10 games out with the White Sox coming into town.  That said, we will promptly lose 2 out of 3.  I know–we just swept an Oakland team that’s traded away, what, their entire rotation in 6 months?  It’s a pretty daunting task, I know.  Despite that drastic “change of fortune” for the Royals, I don’t really have an interest.  I had a thought about Brett Favre that I wanted to share (and no, it has nothing to do with the Chiefs because, if we tried to trade for him, it’d only be a sign that we will never, ever, EVER blow this team up and truly rebuild).

I don’t know exactly how I came up with this comparison, but while driving home from my dad’s earlier today, hearing the latest update today on “Favregate” or “Favrewatch” or “Days of our Favre” (I prefer “General Favrepital,” personally), I came to the conclusion that Brett Favre is the NFL equivalent of the lead character on “The Wire,” Jimmy McNulty.  For those of you unfamiliar with the show, I’ll try and catch you up the best way that I can without ruining anything for you.  “The Wire” was an HBO show focusing on the Baltimore drug trade, as told from the perspectives of everyone involved: the cops (all levels), the dealers (all levels), the dock workers (stevedores) who traffic, the prison system, the politicians, the schools, the journalists–everybody.  The show uses frank and realistic dialogue, which results in frank and realistic actions.  An episode by itself can seem somewhat lifeless and boring, but if you watch the show all the way through, and let the situations and the tensions build upon themselves, the payoff is GI-GANT-TIC.  It’s an example of excellent storytelling, like an old 1930’s serial set to contemporary times.  Sure, it takes a while to get into, but once you see that first payoff (and it is MASSIVE–watch the first season until about halfway through and tell me you’re not blown away).  This was one of the greatest shows to ever air on TV, and if you’re looking for a show to Netflix, this is it.  You will not be disappointed.

The main character on the show is Jimmy McNulty, a homicide cop who has dedicated his whole life to doing whatever the hell he wants to do.  Is he good police?  Yes.  Is he a good person?  Maybe.  He certainly understands his job is to protect civilians, and that’s good, of course.  That’s more of a long-term, universal good that will make the world around him a slightly better place.  Now, as far as being a good person to those directly around him?  He’s a jerk.  He’s flawed.  He’s an extremely selfish guy.  He sees his own way to try and get the most solid arrests possible, and he will backstab everyone around him in order to accomplish his goals.  It’s the whole “Ends justify the means” approach, and McNulty will forever have to deal with the consequences he lays out for himself by burning bridge after bridge.  He’s also a massive drunk who habitually cheats on his wife.  I’d love to give you examples, but hey, that would be ruining things, now wouldn’t it?

This finally leads me to Brett Favre.  While not identical twins, Favre and McNulty share painstakingly similar personality traits.  Example number one would have to be their undying loyalty to “the job,” and putting that love over everything else.  McNulty “needs” to be police–real police.  If he’s not working on an important case, the man is a disaster, even a waste on society.  Give him something important to do, and he sees purpose in his life once again.  Basically, if he’s in the line-up, there’s no problem (could have also made that comparison with Jose Guillen, I suppose).  Brett Favre shows this same type of respect for “the job,” too, although, if he doesn’t play, he’s not nearly as self-destructive.  Then again, we wouldn’t know if Favre were self-destructive if he missed a start–he hasn’t missed one since, what, 1994?  1993?  I guess that proves my point somewhat, too.  Favre demands to play.  Through thick and thin, slight injury after slight injury, year after year, he insists.  He probably bullies, I don’t know.  Why wouldn’t he after 14 or so years of consistent play?

This need to work segues into my second example into the two men: they are both extremely self-centered.  They think very highly of themselves, and believe that, if they’re not in on the plan, whether it be a wire tap or a first-round playoff game, they don’t see any way it can get done.  There are positives and negatives to thinking this way.  The positive, of course, is that if you’re on their side, you obviously want them there, because they’re good at their jobs, and will help you reach your goal.  The largest negative to this is, well, if either one of them believe they can succeed without you, they will stab you in the back.  They will manipulate any little tear in the system to get what they want, and if that means bouncing your butt out of their, they will.  If McNulty can only enter an investigation by dumping a huge amount of bodies on a friend that will shatter his clearance rate and possibly cost them their job, he’ll do it.  If Favre feels he can only win the Super Bowl if his hold-out wide receiver shows up to training camp, he’ll call him out, even if the wide-out (Jevon Walker) hasn’t been conditioning as well as he could and should have been (Walker tore his ACL in the first game of the season).

The most glaring example of their similarities has come this off-season, where Favre has gone back and forth as to whether he wanted to play.  By the time he made up his mind, it was too late, and instead of taking the high road, Favre started talking secretly in behind doors meetings, making demands, trying to spike interest from rival clubs, and somehow feels as if he has control over his own destiny, even though he is still under contract for only one employer, and only the Packers control whether Brett Favre will ever play football again.  McNulty employs the same sort of haphazard, bulletproof approach to his everyday life, going over the heads of his bosses for short-term successes but, in the meantime, committing career suicide, with fear that he’ll be removed as soon as the next case is over.  McNulty could be let go at any second, but feels like that doesn’t matter, and, quite honestly, doesn’t see any way for him to get let go if he clears a massive, 18-point buck of a target.

The final point I want to make here is the two character’s most unifying trait: they are both very good at their jobs.  That’s why they can do whatever they want.  As Homer Simpson would say about TV detective McGarnicle, “It’s because he gets results!”  Then, Lisa would tell him to sit down (My first Simpsons reference on this site–thought I’d have at least one by now).  McNulty is a driven, passionate, thorough detective who knows how to get true charges, how to build evidence, and how to complete objectives in his job.  Brett Favre has the instincts and the ability to win football games, to lead men into scoring opportunities, and how to make his team better.  He wins football games.  He knows how to complete objectives in his job, too.  What the two fail to see is that no matter how many dealers you put away, or how many games you win, there will always be more, no matter if you’re there or not, and that you can easily be replaced.  Their pride blinds.  The only difference here is that one of them has scripted consequences, while the other has penalties awaiting his decisions, and there’s no writer to try and help him escape.