It's not about video clips or sound bites.

It's not about all the human dramas that have unfolded in his life since he came into our midst as quarterback of the Packers in 1992.

It's about this humbling reality: My younger sister, Teresa, would swap me out of the Baggot herd for Brett Favre.

She has indicated this to me more than once. The most recent occasion was Tuesday morning, via cell phone, when the news broke that Favre was retiring after 16 unforgettable, incomparable NFL seasons in Green Bay.

Me: "Seriously now, would you really trade me for Brett?"

Teresa: "Oh, yeah."

No hesitation.

Teresa went on to reiterate her three daughters would marry Favre if they could, and she would like to arrange for her two sons to someday marry into the Favre family.

Am I jealous?

Naw.

Concerned?

Yes, very much so.

But definitely not jealous and the reason for that is simple.

Favre will go down as the most lionized figure in Wisconsin sports history because, on some level, in some way, we all considered him part of our family.

When he was cut, we bled.

When he scrambled out of the pocket and flew by the seat of his pants, we felt the adrenaline rush.

When he was sacked, we winced.

When he pumped his fist after a touchdown pass, we felt his unbridled joy.

When he choked up, like the time he talked about playing on "Monday Night Football" the day after his father died, we sniffled and reached for the Puffs Plus.

When he said goodbye Tuesday, we were sucked into the same black hole of What Now?

To many Packers fans, Favre was either a son, a brother or a nephew who grew up before our eyes.

He started out wild and carefree, on the field and off, like a thrill-seeking teenager convinced he was bullet-proof.

He made colossal mistakes with drugs and alcohol, exposing us to a uniquely vulnerable side.

He experienced great triumphs, bitter failures and unspeakable personal tragedies, all while we were staring over his shoulder.

He seemingly became a better, wiser man, someone family members could be proud of.

Our family photo albums are filled with various mental pictures of Favre over the years.

Click: Him running down the field, helmet held aloft, in that Super Bowl win over New England.

Click: His gray hair cut the length of his gray stubble, done so to support his wife in her battle against breast cancer.

Click: Him hoisting wideout Donald Driver over his shoulder to celebrate one of their touchdown collaborations.

Click: Him wearing a battered baseball cap to press conferences, where his humor, insight and analysis were legendary.

Click: His expression of stoic grief as he walked the visiting sidelines, ready to play Oakland, hours after his father died.

The images go on, page after page, album after album.

My sister, her husband Dave and all their children proudly wear Favre jerseys. They've attended five games at Lambeau Field over the years, mainly to see Favre do his thing. The last time was Dec. 9 against Oakland when Favre passed for two TDs during a 38-7 romp.

Tickets to see the Packers at Lambeau aren 't just hard to get. They're pricey, too.

Teresa laughed when I asked how much was spent on what became an annual family pilgrimage from their dairy farm in Tomah to Green Bay.

"It was priceless," she said.

Teresa said you can 't put a price on what her children learned watching Favre play all these years.

"To appreciate football, to appreciate the Packers, to appreciate guts and failure," she said. "To appreciate trying to do your best on a big stage. And if you don't win, you come back and try again."

All are good lessons, but they stopped coming Tuesday.