A few more thoughts about Brett Favre’s move to the Jets. Playing pro football is very hard. Gross understatement, but bear with me. Just a few months ago, Brett Favre was done. Retired. On the golf course. In the last two weeks, he’s tried to force his way back onto a team that he’s held hostage for years, and said team attempted to pay him $2 million a year to stay home before reluctantly shipping out a guy who’s more popular in Wisconsin than Mr. Pabst and Mr. Miller put together. Now, he’s on a new team with all new guys in a city with the most ravenous sports media in the country. He has to learn an all-new offense and develop chemistry with all new receivers. My big questions are these: the first time a Jet offensive lineman misses a block and he’s got a mouthful of Giants Stadium grass, will he wish he was at home with his kids. The first time the New York media skewers him and the idiot talk-radio hosts/fans roast him for throwing a bad pick, will he wish he was on the golf course in Mississippi, sipping sweet tea and sucking down crawfish? I can’t get completely excited about having No. 4 on my team, because I think the answer might be yes.