Chapter One
world champions
As Dan Aykroyd, John Goodman, and James Belushi gyrated
through their halftime performance as the Blues Brothers, I
grinned at my sister, breathed in the scent of hot dogs and
popcorn, and resisted the urge to pinch myself. We were
halfway through Super Bowl XXXI, Green Bay was leading
New England 27-14, and I was sure we'd beat the Patriots .
despite the fact that my husband had been sacked on the final
play of the first half.
Brett and the team had worked hard to earn this trip to
New Orleans. The Packers had just completed a phenomenal
season, and their 13-3 record was the best in the NFC.
Led by Reggie White, the "Minister of Defense," the Packer
defense that season had allowed only 210 points while the
offense, led by my husband, had scored an NFL-best 456
points. Seven times they had outscored their opponent by at
least three touchdowns.
I took quiet pride in the Packers' accomplishments, because
Brett had won the NFL's Most Valuable Player award for the
second straight year. During the season, he had thrown for
3,899 yards and thirty-nine touchdowns (at the time, an NFC
record).
But as outstanding as his athletic victories were, I was
even more proud of his personal accomplishments. In May
1996, I had stood with Brett and his coach, Mike Holmgren,
as Brett told a crowd of reporters that he had developed
an addiction to the painkiller Vicodin. Brett voluntarily
entered the Menninger Clinic, a rehab center in Topeka,
Kansas, where he remained for forty-six days. Now, eight
months later, Brett looked and felt good. He and his teammates
wanted to win the Super Bowl-and with all my
heart, I believed they would.
As the halftime show ended and the teams ran back out
onto the field, I told my brother and sister that I'd see them
later. Because we weren't playing in our home stadium, we
weren't sitting in a skybox-in fact, our tickets had been split,
so I was sitting near the 20 yard line, with my friends Kristin
and Dotsie, while my family and Brett's sat in other sections.
And because New Orleans is only sixty miles from Kiln, our
hometown in Mississippi, Brett had lots of other friends and
family in the stadium as well.
I couldn't help but feel proud as I peered over the sea of
heads and spotted Brett on the field. After going public with
news of his addiction, he had lost a couple of endorsement
deals, but I felt he was more of a role model now than before.
He could have kept his addiction quiet and no one would
have known-in fact, most people had trouble believing that
an MVP who played as well as Brett did could have any kind
of drug problem.
But Brett had told the world about his addiction, and then
he'd done what he had to do to confront it. I knew that his
public stance took a special kind of courage, one that doesn't
come naturally to me.
I've always been a behind-the-scenes sort of person, and
Super Bowl week had been a challenge. We'd traveled to
New Orleans a full seven days before the game, and I'd spent
most of that time avoiding the official events while I sought
out kid-friendly activities for our soon-to-be-eight-year-old
daughter, Brittany. It's not that I'm antisocial-it's just that
I'm shy; and amid all the hype, the crowds, and the media
frenzy of the Super Bowl, I felt like a fish out of water.
Because the quarterback is the most visible player on a
team, and I was the quarterback's wife, I had been asked to
appear on the TV show Extra. I agreed, and then wondered
what in the world had possessed me to accept the invitation.
It was one of the first times I had ever been formally interviewed,
and it was one of the more uncomfortable experiences
of my life. Brad Goode, the interviewer, was an honest-to-goodness
celebrity, and I felt like a redneck country girl who'd
stumbled into a formal ball.
To make matters worse, I'd come down with a bad case of
strep throat while we were in New Orleans. The team
doctors had diagnosed my illness and given me antibiotics, but I
was still feeling as sick as a dog when Brad showed up with his
camera crew. He thought he'd be interviewing me in a suite,
but when he arrived and saw that Brittany, my two friends,
and I had been crammed into a tiny hotel room, he decided
that we should do the interview out in the hallway-like
he'd just happened to bump into Brett Favre's wife in a New
Orleans hotel.
So there we were, walking and chatting in a dimly lit
hallway. I was struggling to remember not to look at the
camera, while smiling and talking like I had a brain in my
head. That's harder than it sounds, because I was completely
intimidated by Brad Goode. He behaved like the professional
interviewer he is and did his best to set me at ease. While I
tried to smile and not trip over the trailing camera cords, Brad
asked all the usual questions: "What's it like being married
to Brett Favre?" "How do you feel about being at the Super
Bowl?"
Well, I had no idea what to say. I had no idea how I felt
about anything. I was sick and nervous and scared and felt
like the most witless person in America. I said something and
Brad looked at me like he was waiting for me to say more,
but I didn't have a clue what he was expecting. I suppose his
job is to encourage people to rattle on so they can get enough
footage, and then someone can edit out the stupid stuff, but I
kept thinking that if they edited out my stupid stuff, there'd
be nothing left.
I'm sure I wasn't the most vivacious guest that Brad Goode
has ever interviewed. He's lucky I didn't pass out on camera.
To this day, I've not seen that interview, and I could die
happy without ever seeing it. For someone as shy as I am,
answering questions on camera isn't easy. Brett and I are from
a small town, so we're not what you'd call glittery people.
We grew up in a rural area near the Gulf Coast, and we're far
more comfortable in the country than under city lights. Brett
may not feel at home in a tuxedo, but he's always felt perfectly
at ease in a football stadium. As for me, I'd go anywhere to
watch him play.
I'm always a little anxious when Brett's on the field.
Professional football players don't hold anything back, and it only
takes a split second for someone to be seriously injured. I
hold my breath practically the entire game, praying that my
husband will make it through four quarters without another
concussion or any more broken bones.
After the second-half kickoff, the Packers pushed the
Patriots to their 37 yard line, but the drive stalled and New
England took over on downs. After an exchange of punts, the
Patriots drove fifty-three yards in seven plays and scored,
cutting our lead to 27-21 with just under three and a half
minutes to go in the third quarter. But on the following kickoff,
the Packers' Desmond Howard returned the ball ninety-nine
yards for a touchdown. Then Brett tossed a pass to tight end
Mark Chmura for a two-point conversion, making the score
35-21, which proved to be the final margin of victory.
After Brett completed the two-point conversion, I glanced
at a blue-and-silver-clad Patriots fan seated behind me and
resisted the urge to gloat. Near the end of the first
quarter, after Drew Bledsoe, the Pats' quarterback, had thrown
a touchdown pass to give New England their only lead, this
same fan had stood up and yelled, "Go back and get some
Vicodin, Favre!"
I seethed as his words echoed over our section of the
Superdome. Then I turned, looked the guy in the eye, and
lifted my chin. "That's my husband," I told him, "and I'd
appreciate it if we didn't go there today."
Startled, the man flushed and apologized, but not all fans
are that civil . or that sober.
I'm older and wiser today, and I've learned that when you
stand up and say anything to defend your team or a player,
people usually don't apologize-they typically get louder and
even more vicious. I was fortunate that day at the Super Bowl,
because nobody else said anything nasty about Brett.
My first instinct is always to stand up and defend Brett,
because he's my husband and my best friend. I think it's just
human nature to do that sort of thing. But over the years I've
learned that people are going to say negative things, and it's
something I have to put up with-even if I don't want to
grin and bear it. I've learned that those kinds of comments
can't hurt me, and they don't hurt Brett. His play, his
character, and his career speak for themselves, and I don't have to
defend him.
But I'm not saying that rude comments can't make me
uncomfortable. Two years after Super Bowl XXXI, Brittany
and I were pelted with ice and cookies by 49er fans in San
Francisco after someone recognized us as Brett Favre's wife
and daughter. In stadiums all over the country, I've heard
grown men shout childish, vulgar comments about the
opposing team and their own team-and after that game against
the 49ers, I vowed I would never again bring my children to
sit in the stands at one of Brett's games. They don't need to
be subjected to that kind of abuse and those kinds of vulgar
comments.
At the San Francisco game, I put my arms around Brittany
and told her to ignore the people who were harassing us-but
the language was so bad, we probably should have left. I've
been back to San Francisco since then, and I've had better
experiences-I don't mean to blame the city, because any
stadium experience can be bad or good; it depends entirely on
whether the people seated around you are decent people.
At Super Bowl XXXI, when Reggie White sacked Drew
Bledsoe for a third time, with less than two minutes to go
in the game, and the Packers went on to claim their victory,
I wasn't focused on the crowd around me. My husband, my
childhood sweetheart, had found his niche and had scrambled
to the top of the game he loved. Our daughter was healthy,
beautiful, and brilliant. We had a lovely home, and Brett had
conquered his addiction to Vicodin.
After the game, I shouldered my way through the crowd
and made it to Brett's side. There were so many reporters,
it was almost impossible to get to him, but I managed to
get close enough to give him a hug and a kiss and tell him
I was proud of him. He held Brittany for a few moments
while I stood and basked in the glow of his well-deserved
victory.
"We're champions today because we overcame a lot of
adversity," Brett told a group of reporters during the post-game
media crush. "Winning the Super Bowl so close to
home makes it extra special because I had so much family and
friends in the stadium watching."
We were on top of the world.
Married to Mr. MVP
The next season, Brett's sixth with the Packers, passed in a
wonderful and busy blur. Brett signed a seven-year contract
extension and became the first NFL player to win the MVP
award three times. He and the Packers battled through the
playoffs and again earned a spot in the Super Bowl, this time
in San Diego.
Brett had enjoyed another great season, leading the
league with thirty-five passing touchdowns. The defensive
line, again led by Reggie White, was an awesome force. The
Packers went into the Super Bowl as odds-on favorites,
especially considering they were the defending champions and the
Broncos had made the playoffs as a wild-card team.
More than ninety million fans watched the game on
television, a larger audience than any previous Super Bowl. I
knew Brett was pumped up about the game, and he started
well, completing three of his first four passes on the opening
drive, including a twenty-two-yard touchdown pass to
Antonio Freeman. But the Broncos answered with a touchdown of
their own, and by halftime they held a 17-14 lead.
The second half opened with a fumble on the Broncos'
first play from scrimmage, giving us the ball at the Denver 26,
but after a couple of penalties hampered the drive, we ended
up settling for a field goal to tie the score.
Denver took the lead again with a touchdown near the end
of the third quarter, and the Packers fumbled the following
kickoff and lost the ball. But then Eugene Robinson intercepted
a John Elway pass in the end zone, and Brett led the team on an
eighty-five-yard, four-play drive that tied the score again with
thirteen and a half minutes to go in the game.
The teams traded punts for most of the fourth quarter, but
just before the two-minute warning, the Broncos completed a
pass that put the ball at the Packers' 8 yard line. After a
holding penalty set them back ten yards, the Broncos ran the ball
down to the 1 yard line with 1:47 left in the game.
Hoping to conserve time on the clock to increase the
team's chances for a potential game-tying drive in the final
seconds, coach Mike Holmgren told the Packers to let the
Broncos score on the next play, bringing the score to 31-24.
On the Packers' final drive, Brett completed four
consecutive passes, moving the ball to the Denver 31, but his
next three passes were incomplete, and the ball went back to
the Broncos on downs. John Elway took a knee on the final
play of the game, and the Broncos had their first-ever Super
Bowl victory.
We were discouraged-it's hard not to be after such a
big game-but we were happy for John Elway, the Broncos'
quarterback. He was nearing the end of his career and hadn't
yet won a Super Bowl, and we have a lot of respect for him.
Most of the Packers went to the big postgame party, but
Brett and I didn't feel the need to celebrate the loss. Instead,
he and I took Brittany,
my sister, Christie, and
her husband, Josh, to a
little restaurant where
we could sit and simply
enjoy being together. At one point during the meal, Brett
stopped eating and looked at me. "Thank God," he said.
"Thank God I have you and Brittany."
At that moment, I knew that my husband had begun to
realize that family was more important than football, and that
we'd be there for him when he was finished with the game.
He hadn't always felt that way.
He later told a reporter, "There was a time when I thought
football was the most important. Football will be over at some
point; the family goes on. When you lose someone, or when
there are setbacks, it kind of puts it in perspective. You can
lose a game . it's a tough loss, you're down, two weeks later
you forget about it But when you lose a family member
or something tragic happens, that stays with you forever. You
never get over it Football is important, but not as
important as you once thought it was."
For me, football has never been the most important thing.
My world has always been centered on family.
(Continues.)
