Two nights ago, as he lay on his TempurPedic mattress in his Mississippi home, silently caressing his ever-so-slowly aging championship ring, his visions returned. He rose from his aching body and floated through his roof, across the sky from star to star, and landed on the greenest football field on which he had ever laid his eyes.

He heard a faint noise in the distance...slowly building into a cohesive, echoing roar. "FAVRE! FAVRE! FAVRE!" "Everyone loves me," he thought to himself. Now a football is in his hand. Grunting Packers linemen are charging at him, seemingly from all directions. He spots an anonymous fast black guy in the distance, right sideline. Now everything is in slow motion. He cocks his arm back, and releases the ball, a trail of angel's dust trailing behind it. The ball disappears into the midnight sky...silence...the ball slowly descends, directly into the hands of his beneficiary. Deafening noise erupts once again. Fireworks explode. He runs forward, elated, and embraces the black man. Then to the sideline, where purple-clad teammates line up to hug him and thank him, one by one, for being their savior.

He was swiftly pulled from his vision, from the sky and back into his body. Then he got a hard-on and rolled over on his wife.

An egomaniac even by NFL professional standards.