Brett Favre is an egomaniac (like, duh). He feigns retirement like a narcissist faking his own death. He wants to attend his own funeral, revel in the eulogy, and ESPN is more than willing to pay for the memorial and comfort the grieving family. SportsNation once mentioned Brett Favre's name over 200 times in a single broadcast (for those of you doing the math, that's roughly one mention per fifteen seconds of air time). Rachel Nichols has become a permanent fixture on Favre's front lawn and Ed Werder's pathetic life mission has apparently been reduced to rifling clearance racks at the Men's Warehouse and shoving a microphone in front of the 11-time Pro Bowler's face. Favre's legacy has been tarnished by the overexposure (quite literally) when he allegedly sent a couple of awkward weiner pics to a Jets staffer three years ago.

If Favre is a cautionary tale in destroying a legacy, then Tim Tebow is an acid trip in creating one. Last fall the self-proclaimed “Worldwide Leader in Sports” began the baffling, wall-to-wall promotion of a guy who, well, wasn't very good at football. Nobody needed Chris McKendry, Michelle Beadle, or Merril Hoge to defend or attack him because any average fan watching the Broncos quarterback worm-burn slant routes and shot-put fades knew he couldn't throw the ball. The conversation was made especially asinine through simple analysis that, all too often, boiled down to “Tebow-magic.”