Thirty years ago (after I was quite grown up), while tumbling around in those big North Carolina waves, I got body surfing. And re-acquainted myself with the value of play; how important it is for me to have fun.
Play is the best antidote I've found for the kind of dreary maturity to which adults tend to condemn ourselves. No one can be quietly desperate, and body surf or fly a kite or play Frisbee football at the same time.
I was planning to take today off from blogging as I have to hit the road early for Washington. And yes, I know several important things went on last night: Richard Holbrooke died; Paul McCartney played the Apollo at last; the tax-cut package cleared a significant hurdle in the Senate.
But then, sports fan that I am, last night as I settled down to watch the Minnesota Vikings play the New York Giants, I saw Viking Quarterback Brett Favre, dressed in civvies, standing on the sideline and knew I'd be getting up extra early this morning to blog. Why? Because I just have to say thanks to Mr. Favre, whose phenomenal streak of 297 straight, regular season starts at quarterback (mostly for the Green Bay Packers) came to an end last night.
Brett Favre is one of the very few professional football players I've ever watched who actually seemed to be playing a game out there. He was flat-out fun to watch; his joy became my joy. When Brett Favre scored I'd throw my arms up and pump the air and then run down the field with him -- two kids together, jointly high on play.
The consensus this morning is that Brett Favre has started his last football game. Maybe even played in his last one. So, I just wanted to pause long enough in my headlong rush out the door to acknowledge how much I enjoyed all those years of playing with him. Whether or not you like football, you have to tip your hat to anyone who does what he does with such obvious joy.
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