Let us now praise No. 4: the greatness of Brett Favre.(PEOPLE)

BRETT FAVRE paused for just a moment before getting up. He was on his back looking skyward near the Minnesota Vikings' 40-yard line, with his feet on the ground in front of him and his legs bent slightly. The elbows of the white long-sleeved T-shirt he wore under his green No. 4 jersey were covered in mud from a cold rain earlier in the day. Now it was just below freezing, and Favre's short, forceful breaths were visible as he summoned up the strength to get back on his feet.

"Who hit me?" he shouted.

Moments earlier, Favre had released a quick pass to his right, half a beat before hard-hitting linebacker Napoleon Harris, coming on a blitz, shoved him with both hands. Favre had been following through on the pass, and the impact of the hit propelled him backward through the air. His butt hit the ground first, causing his head to snap back violently, smacking the not-quite-frozen tundra.

No one answered his question.

Favre jumped up and walked toward Harris. "Who hit me?"

Harris looked at Favre. "I eased up. I didn't even hit you, dog."

"That was you? That was you? I thought you hit harder than that," Favre said, laughing as he walked away while shaking his head in mock disgust.