The rest is history, right? Not quite. Packer Nation was not always 100 percent behind its new golden boy. Favre’s first regular season completion—thrown in mop-up duty during a Tampa Bay-delivered ass-stomping—was laughable. Flushed from the pocket, he tossed a pass directly into the path of a Buccaneer defender, who swatted it back into Brett’s arms before tackling him for a five-yard loss, giving Favre the bizarre distinction of catching his first professional completion. Although he delivered three straight 9-7 seasons, Favre played unevenly during those early years, often enduring the wrath of Mike Holmgren and the scorn of frustrated fans. With two promising backups in Ty Detmer and Mark Brunell, Favre had to fight hard to keep his job.

This is what fans, and a presumably conflicted Holmgren, came to love about Favre: His fight. He could be maddeningly reckless at times, but his willingness to risk an interception—and his ability if he threw one to shrug it off—makes for useful symbolism in the lives of mere mortals. His willingness to fail is probably his most noble quality. We all come to those moments when we can take a shot, and perhaps we score, or perhaps the ball is taken away from us. The truly regretful among us know that they did not take that shot. Those of us who failed, who fell down, know we can get the ball back. Could there be a better lesson drawn from 288 career interceptions? Brett Favre, touchdown king and interception king, Super Bowl champion and third string scrub, teaches us to try.

It’s fitting that a man who never phoned it in on the job is retiring because he can no longer honestly dedicate himself 100 percent to his job. No doubt, many fans think this is unfair. Coming off a 13-3 season, a hairsbreadth from the Super Bowl, how could Favre quit now? But his decision is more than fair—to play one more year without the burning desire to attain excellence would cheat millions of Cheeseheads. It’s painful that his final play was a game-turning interception, but how much more painful would it be to see Favre back on the bench in 2008, or dragged off the field by a physician? Or—perish the thought—spending his final season in Viking purple or Dolphin teal?

In the post-Lombardi ‘70s and ‘80s, the Green Bay Packers were a horseshit franchise, a perennially terrible team whose very existence in modern sports seemed like an accident of luck, or a sick joke. Since Favre started his first game in 1992, the Packers have gone an NFL best 160-93, with seven division titles, eleven playoff berths, and one Super Bowl title. And they’ve had the same man under center for 253 games. Brett Favre has earned his place in football lore. And, like millions of hard workers, including my father, he’s earned his rest. Let’s give him that in return.