Though I don't think I particularly take any satisfaction or pleasure at the continuing misfortune of my old college classmate Evan Montvel-Cohen.

Here is an official statement just (ed. note: Friday, Jul 11 2008) released by the Green Bay Packers on Brett Favre:

"The Green Bay Packers are aware of the latest developments regarding Brett Favre.

"Brett earned and exercised the right to retire on his terms. We wanted him to return and welcomed him back on more than one occasion.

"Brett's press conference and subsequent conversations in the following weeks illustrated his commitment to retirement.

"The finality of his decision to retire was accepted by the organization. At that point, the Green Bay Packers made the commitment to move forward with our football team.

"As a retired player, Brett has the option to apply for reinstatement with Commissioner Goodell. If that were to occur, he would become an active member of the Green Bay Packers. As always, the Packers will do what's right and in the best interest of the team.

"As with all Packers greats, Brett's legacy will always be celebrated by our fans and the organization, regardless of any change in his personal intentions.

"Brett and Deanna will always be a part of the Packers family."

Look, I'll miss him as much as the next guy and I feel like I was privileged to see him play, but it's a lot like on-again/off-again romances: in general, once you've broken up, the die is cast. One or both parties are forced go through something like the Kubler-Ross grief cycle, and once you've started that, it's pointless to return to the well of your grief. At least ONE party has already decided that things are over and - even if their minds change - the fissure has already been created and will always be there.

Or at least that's what I think.

At the insistence of the author's attorneys (and wife and neighbor/BFF) I must state that the tale previously told may have included some untruths and/or hyperbole and/or fantasy.

Probably.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how you can make one wrong move, one time, and it follows you around for life - and how that can change your life for good, there it is.

Like that time when I had just woken up and was starting to do the still-asleep zombie shuffle by the giant windows in the master bedroom that had sold us on the house in the first place. It's an older house, been on the city rolls since 1900, and there are some parts that are probably original, but that's okay 'cause they knew how to build things to last in those days, right?

Except this window, which was apparently the victim of some sort of an insidious & silent dry rot which had been subtly weakening its stoutness for decades probably.

So when my still asleep stumbled over themselves as I was climbing and I fell sharply toward the window and my right arm shot out to brace myself against the frame, it gave away with a sickening stop-time moment of thinking clearly to myself something like 'Hmmm, that's not right.' and then thinking to myself as I defenestrated myself 'Good thing that porch roof will break my fall - and maybe I can grab something there to stop my descent'*.

The porch roof slowed my fall, alright, but my hands clawed fruitlessly at the asphalt shingles as I slid down the angled roof and fell with a loud thud on the sidewalk outside.

I was understandably jarred for a moment and my breath all seemed to been forced out of my body with a huge grunt as I hit. Again, within that peculiar clarity, I remember being embarrassed that I had made such a loud noise - 'Great, now all of the neighbors are going to look and see', I thought with chagrin.

Then I remembered I was just getting out of bed when this unfortunate accident has befallen me.

And that I usually sleep in the buff.

And that was the state I was in.

And, because I had no clothes on, I had, obviously no pants, and therefore, no pockets in which my housekeys normally reside.

And, because I traditionally lock the doors before bedtime - out of the fear of the extremely unlikely fear that an unknown intruder would murder me in my sleep - that the doors would be locked now.

Which brought me back to my current state of nudity.

As I processed all of these thought, I turned my head and saw the first of my neighbors gathering at the edge of my lot, gazing slackjawed in a mixture of shock and hilarity.

And that is how I became known eternally to my shame as 'that naked guy', all because of a singular bad move.