Vikings Lose to the Saints: Coming in from the Cold

Many in Green Bay's front office worried that their secret agent had been left out in the cold too long, that time had turned him from his objectives, that the allure for personal glory had grown more tempting than the role of the goat, no acronym.

When Ted Thompson and Mike McCarthy hatched the idea, even they had their doubts about its plausibility for success: "I told Ted the idea was ludicrous, joked about it, and then couldn't shake it. I stayed up all night, and then around three in the morning I started laughing, hysterically laughing. My wife thought I'd lost my mind, but I told her, 'honey, your boy Mike's never seen things so clearl.' The next day I told Ted, 'let's do it.'"

Ted Thomspson backs up McCarthy's story, recalling, "Mike came into the office the next day just giddy. He grabbed a doughnut and started rambling about how we'd have to make it look like all hell broke loose, that Brett hated us, and we hated Brett. I saw where he was going with it, but I thought there's no way we get the whole state of Wisconsin to turn on the immortal Brett Favre. . . and if we did . . . who would buy it?"

Wisconsin bought it. Number four jerseys were used as doormats, buried like time capsules without boxes, and burned in summer bonfires; the snare was laid, and ESPN stepped right smack dab in the middle of it, reporting on everything from text messages to grocery and gas receipts, watching Brett Favre's every move from Lambeau to Mississippi to Minnesota like a hawk. In fact, it was ESPN's persistence in covering the story that made Thompson and McCarthy back off from their original plan.

Initially, according to Thompson, Favre was to be traded immediately to Minnesota, but Thomspson and his co-conspirator worried that ESPN might notice something afoul if Green Bay traded the face of its franchise to a bitter rival, so they devised a more elaborate plot. "We sent his ass to the Jets is what we did," brags McCarthy, displaying a smile that is confident amidst turmoil. "We sent his ass as far from the NFC North as possible, and you know what, it worked damn it--the whole thing worked."

According to Thompson and McCarthy, the change in plans had to be sealed in a manilla envelope and taped underneath a park bench beside Lake Michigan in Milwaukee, where Favre read them, before burning them, ironically, in a neighborhood bonfire of number four jerseys. Then Favre spent a year in exodus with the Jets, dressed in a separate locker room and faked an injury in order to get cut, allowing him to sign with Minnesota and enrage Packer fans everywhere without a shred of suspicion that this whole chain of events was contrived by the two men the public believed him to despise.

Still, as perfect as the plan had gone to date, events during the season caused McCarthy and Thompson to doubt their mole within the Viking franchise's loyalty. "He was supposed to suck," cites Thompson. "The whole reason we had him fake the injury in New York was so it would be more believable when the iron man fell apart in the Metrodome, but Favre kept playing, whooped us twice, and even refused to go out of a game against Carolina when that schmuck of a coach tried to pull him, even though they had a lead. Seriously, it's amazing we had to sabotage that franchise. One would think they'd do it to themselves, letting a mustache with spectacles coach their team."

Thompson takes a deep breath, allowing McCarthy to interject, "We really thought we'd lost him." McCarthy drops his head. "We really did, especially when they rolled over Dallas. He never beat Dallas when wearing green and yellow, so why now? We thought for sure he was playing us. I mean, you lose contact with a guy, and how are you to know what he's thinking?"

Then, in a 28-28 tie against the Saints with a chance to make the Super Bowl, Favre had nothing but open field in front of him. He looked like he was going to plow ahead on an ankle that may or may not have been broken when he pulled up, forgetting that the Super Bowl was only steps away, remembering a much older promise, made to a small franchise in Wisconsin, he heaved the ball across his body, off his back foot, into the hands of the nearest Saint defender, completing his duties as Green Bay's Manchurian Candidate.

"It couldn't have been more perfect," ponders Thompson. "It was better than we ever dreamed it to be. He got all those purple and gold fans to actually believe and hope and . . . well . . . to hurt. We hadn't thought of that. We didn't realize we would break their hearts as well as their dreams, and part of me wonders what that means."

Favre's response to it all: "We'll see what happens. I like it here."