By: Lovie ‘Faux’ Smith

Damn you Vikings. For once, we was generating some serious quarterback buzz in the Midwest. Jay Cutler donned more headlines than Fred Smoot on a boat in Lake Minnetonka.  Now Green Bay fans are following Mike Florio on Twitter with bated breath while Brad Childress pulls Favre’s chicken-scratch Herbie Hancock out of his back pocket every 20 minutes to remind himself he’s not dreaming. Doesn’t anyone care we’re going to take the division by storm in just two months?

I woke up this morning to a briefing from Larry Mayer, our PR guy. He tells me this contract between Favre and the Vikings is so inked, that all they’re waiting for is timing with reduced media reaction.  Reduced? That’s like taking Dolly Parton in for an aesthetic reduction. Are you kidding yourselves?

Mayer told me come July 3rd, fireworks won’t be loud enough to drown out the hum of ESPN satellite trucks camped out in both Minnesota and Mississippi. Did you do that for us when I tried to leak Cutler’s signing the day prior? You national reporters told me Cutler would go the Bears the day Ted Thompson traded up the NFL Draft. Ours came first and Ted still got more interviews about Clay Matthews.

Not only do the Vikings steal the most QB sensationalism we’ve had since Jim McMahon, they’ve decided they’re gonna do it on Independence Day? Apparently more reporters will be on vacation or taking unpaid furloughs?  Not anymore.

Our founding fathers are going to roll over in their graves when Sherman Williams issues its red, white and blue sale for purple paint and Fathead starts selling Viking Favre cutouts to boot. I hate purple. Grape juice and raisin bran boxes are lame.

What’s going to happen when you ask Minnesota, Green Bay and New York reporters to play nice at a press conference on July 6th? Is Peter King going to take out Ed Werder?  Is Rick Schwartz going to throw elbows at Rachel Nichols? Will Rachel Nichols make the Guinness World Book of Records for using the word ‘exclusive’ and the phrase ‘I spoke with Brett’ when all she really did was squeeze one question in during a stick-the-mic-in-#4’s-face session in a parking lot?  I’m pissed, but this convergence of numb-nose reporters may become as entertaining as 50 malnutritioned pitbulls fighting over a porterhouse. By the way, I, Lovie Smith, do not condone any cruelty to animals, period.

I feel so third-rate and we’re nowhere near exhibition. It’s not just at the office. My wife kisses the dog on the lips, but she won’t even drink from the same glass as me. I tried to cuddle with her last night and she said she was tired. Then she stayed up to read “For the Record” by Chris Havel. So I went to a message parlor but they told me it was self-service. If I can’t win or even generate media sympathy for trying, how will I get the Bears to the Super Bowl?

I’ve been trying so hard to fabricate an image of leadership and maturity for Jay. Now Favre’s gonna to make Cutler look as though San Diego’s Ryan Leaf befriended Joe Namath. Curse titanium shoulder prosthetics.  Curse things that come in fours; namely ninja turtles and barbershop quartets.

I hope Ray Edwards calls Brett a prima donna, then executes the pink slip prank to make fun of Favre for dressing in a separate area in the Vikings locker room. I hope Favre meets Urlacher and a near-senior-age body part fails, allowing Tavaris Jackson to recreate an ironic Don Majkowski moment. Wouldn’t that be the career/storybook ending to this wild ride? Until then, I’m going to devise ways to make more Cutler headlines and get Orlando Pace on the cover of Sporting News again. Won’t you help me?
-Overheard by and transcribed by Melissa S. Wollering

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