Troy: You are my everything.
Brett: [peeing in the next urinal, remains silent but is visibly uncomfortable]
Troy: I like the way you move your body. I was watching you today, talking about you with my friends Joe and Pam.
Brett: [finishes (probably before he wanted to, but then again, he's kind of known for that)] What are you talking about?
Troy: I'm talking ab-
Brett: Wait, I recognize you.
Troy: You, you do? [blushes and giggles, the first of many fits of giggling in this encounter (a chance one, remember)]
Brett: Sure, I seen you on the TV.
Troy: [gazes coquettishly at Brett while slowly nodding, his index finger creeping towards the crease of his lip, which is gross because he is standing in a men's bathroom and had just finished urinating. Troy realizes the err of his ways when Brett sees this and begins to dry heave. He quickly inserts the offending hand deep, yet casually, in his back pocket, as if nothing had ever happened. Troy, what a guy.]
Brett: Yeah, you announce my football games! Aren't you the son of that famous baseball broadcaster -- the St. Louis Cardinals guy? You're on beer commercials, I seen you! "Slamma-lamma ding dong! Y'alls a funny guy. Can't say as much for your broadcast partner...Tom, Tim Aikman? [background on Brett: he's southern, born and bred in Mississippi, so imagine his dialogue in a smoky, Southern accent. Thanks.]
Troy: [obviously hurt] Like a dagger through mine heart and soul, Brett! Me hopes, nay, me knowest that thou words are in a jest most proper!
Brett: You know, where I'm from, talkin' like that will get you stuffed faster than an Easter pig. Sooey!
Troy: Sorry, I don't know what got into me. But you're mistaken, Mr. Most-Interceptions-Ever -- look at my fingers. Yep, one-two-three rings there. Look at the garish jacket I'm wearing. You betcha, it says NFL Hall of Fame on the breast pocket. Look at my BlackBerry [here, he looks in the direction of a non-existent camera and flashes that smile that only a Super Bowl MVP (4 TDs! 273 yards!) can smile, and shamelessly shills out for Verizon Wireless for the next 20 seconds.] Emmitt Smith? Yep, he's in my "Five". Michael Irvin? Ditto. Hell, even Darryl "Moose" Johnston is on my contacts list. Don't you see, Brett -- I'm Troy Aikman!
Brett: Well knock me over with a feather, it is you, Troy, how you doin'?
Troy: Welll, I was doing good, great actually. I just finished watching, with rapt attention, the most impressive, god-like athletic performance this side of Leon Lett. Imagine my delight when the object of my attention just happened to be in the same bathroom as me!
Brett: You were waiting outside of the home team locker room's bathroom.
Troy: Err, right, but the main point here, Mr. Lambeau Reject, is that I was so, so excited to meet you again, yes, that's right, we've met before! And what do I get, a veritable slap in the face from the object of my Earthly affection. All graces be to God.
Brett: Look, Troy, I'm sorry. I, I remember meeting you. It was after that game...Some years ago.
Troy: I'll have you know, Mr. I-can't-decide-if-I-want-to-play-another-season-aka-I'm-too-lazy-to-go-to-training-camp, that we met in all six Pro Bowls I played in and every other year, when my Dallas Cowboys, America's Team, no big deal, played your lowly bunch of meat packers. I could make a joke about fudge packing here, but I won't because I'm above that and if offends my sensibilities. But don't pretend that you don't know me.
Brett: I is as sorry as a broken dog after it let the cattle run free, Troy.
Troy: What, do you and Dan Rather get together and make these sayings up? Is that what you do? Are you secretly jealous of the life I and other Dallas Cowboys live in our retirement? Do you want to Dance With the Stars (8 ET on ABC) like Emmitt? Do you want to conduct hilariously non-ironic interviews with somewhat befuddled sports stars like Michael does on ESPN? Are you sad that you can't work with Kenny Albert like Darryl "Moose" Johnston? Is that what this is about?
Brett: [in what has become the past few years a regular affair, breaks into tears, the kind that grizzly men who aren't supposed to cry, cry] Troy, you're right! What am I doing in Minnesota? Am I like Robert Johnson? Was that salesman [Brad Childress] really the devil? Did I sell my soul for one more year with my former arch-rival? Oh, Troy, what have I become?
Troy: [taking on an other-worldly glow about his person, reaches out an touches Favre on the forehead, then moves slowly into an embrace, with his hand still on the sun-beaten forehead of the greatest quarterback of his generation] Brett, Brett, shhh. There there. You've seen the light, my brother, you have seen the light. And I mean this when I say it: it's time to come home. Hang up the spikes, quit showing us up.
Brett: Us?
Troy: Oh, yeah, I mean the guys: Steve Young [now doing Van Heusen-JC Penny commericals, still evading pass rush of Bruce Smith], Dan Marino [lost 20 pounds on NutriSystem -- you can too!], and Boomer Esiason [or is it Phil Simms?] -- we all have a weekly bridge game. It's time to retire Brett. For realsies.
Brett: Maybe you're right, Troy, maybe you're right.
[Just then, Brad Childress walks in, 12" butcher knife in hand, and stabs Troy Aikman in the skull. "Come on Brett, Troy was good, but he was no Brett Favre. And who is our little #1 quarterback [and Childress's career lifeline]? That's what I thought. Come on Brett, it's late. Let's hit up the Grill n'Chill.]
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