After the literal snapping of his streak, it feels safe to say that all football's iron man has left in his life is an embarrassing ruling on his texting habits and the grave, which is exactly what LCB asked the gun slinger whose pistol couldn't make it out of its holster to face the New York Giants on Monday night: "What now, Brett?"
"Oh, me, I'll be fine. I got um plenty of stuff I can do." He pauses. He may be choking up. "Yeah, you guys like to focus on 'the streak,' but it's not even the one that impresses me most." At this point we stop taking notes and look up. This is unexpected. How can this veteran of America's favorite game not be impressed with his own youthful vitality? What is it he's about to reveal or divulge about himself that could possibly cause us to view him differently than the patron saint of America's love for the blue collar working man?
"Yeah, I once balanced a spoon on my nose for three hundred and twenty-two seconds."
We stare. He's caught us off guard. We're not sure where he's going with this.
"Yeah, I even took a piss with that piece of metal hangin' from my nose like snot."
We feel like snot. Here we are interviewing one of the greatest quarterback's of all time, and he wants to talk about balancing spoons, not football, not toughness, not youth and mortality, but spoons.
"It's not just that, though. I've got lots of streaks. I once juggled oranges consecutively for three hundred seconds, and I can hold my breath under water for three minutes and twenty-two seconds." He grins like he just threw a touchdown pass.
"Hell, once I walked backwards three hundred and twenty-two steps before my phone vibrated off the night stand and tripped me up." He laughs at himself. "It was Ms. Sterner texting me. She didn't like the two hundred and ninety eighth photo of myself I sent her."
The man's face goes white. He knows he's tripped over something that's hard to take back. "Ooops! My lawyer's not gonna like this interview."
We're all taking notes again.
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