I can’t wait for the Super Bowl. But it’s not the game or greasy snacks I’m looking forward to. The buzz is that Brett Favre will finally end his waning career following the Big Game. It’s not Brett I dislike–it’s the almost sexual infatuation everyone in Wisconsin has with the senile Favre.

Kiosks in Wisconsin malls offer childhood pictures of Brett. Cheeseheads across the state are still convinced No. 4 can bring the Pack a Super Bowl victory on Sunday. What terrifies me most, however, is imagining what the Almighty will do after football. Governor of Wisconsin? Ruler of the world? I even heard NASA wants him to replace rocket launches–Brett will simply THROW the shuttles into orbit. And I truly loathe the folklore. Did you ever hear about the time Brett solved a Rubik’s cube, wrestled an alligator, and lowered gas prices–all while throwing a touchdown pass to Sterling Sharpe?

For the health of this entire state, I implore Mr. Favre to hang it up. Go back to Mississippi, embrace that painkiller addiction, and never show your ever-unshaven face again.