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Brett Favre returns to Green Bay, unwanted and unloved. As he strolls through the locker room he comes across Aaron Rodgers, his longtime understudy and the man who now holds the job Favre feels is rightfully his.

Favre: You better watch your back, young fella. The gunslinger is back in town.

Rodgers rises from his card game.

Rodgers: Your time has passed, old man. There is a new sheriff in town. I suggest you accept that and deal with it, or you're in for a world o' hurt.

Favre: You best respect your elders, son. I own this town. Always have, always will.

Rodgers: This town has moved on. You're old. You're washed up! We don't want you 'round here no more. And we don't want your interceptions neither. Get lost, Brett Favre! Go! Or I'll throw you out. And take that pretty little Deanna with you.

Favre: Oh, now you've done it, Aaron Rodgers. I tried to do this the nice way. I just wanted to come back here and take what is mine. But now you've insulted me. No one does that. Ever. You will pay.

Rodgers: What are you going to do, Favre? Fake-cry all over me at a press conference?

The members of Rodgers' posse laugh behind him as they swig from sports drink bottles.

Favre: Laugh it up, Aaron Rodgers. Laugh all the way to your demise. I am going to take your job and take everything you love. We will duel at noon!

Rodgers: OK, Favre, OK. If this is what is necessary to get rid of you, gunslinging it is. At noon. On the practice field. Footballs drawn. Don't change your mind like you always do!

Favre: Not this time, Rodgers. My mind is set on destroying you.

The two part ways.

Three hours later, as noon approaches, a large crowd gathers on the practice field to witness the standoff. All the players are there. Ted Thompson and Mike McCarthy are there too, both looking impatient and nervous. Finally the youngster Rodgers and the old gunslinger Favre take their places 40 yards apart.

Rodgers: Prepare to lose, Brett Favre. This is your last hurrah.

The clock above the practice field strikes noon. Favre starts firing football after football with his legendary quick release. But his aim is wildly inaccurate, as though Favre has cracked under the pressure of the shootout as if it were a playoff game, and Rodgers stands unscathed. Then Rodgers calmly drops back, measures the distance to his nemesis, and uncorks a single pass. The ball flies straight and true and lands square on Favre's chest. He falls backward to the dirt, vanquished. Rodgers walks over to Favre's body and stands above it.

Rodgers: Ha-ha! It is over Brett Favre. You are done. This is my town now, and don't let nobody forget it!

Suddenly Favre opens his eyes. And a wry smile appears on his face. He rises from the ground and brushes himself off.

Favre: Not so fast, Aaron Rodgers.

Favre rips open his shirt to reveal that wrapped around his chest is a single piece of Wrangler denim, so tough and durable it negated the impact of Rodgers' shot.

Favre: I am as strong as ever, Aaron Rodgers! Not a scratch on me! Yeeeeee-haw!

Rodgers: That's not fair! I thought you were gone! You're bending the rules!

Rodgers tries to compose himself. He walks in a circle and kicks at the dirt.

Rodgers: Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I proved I am the better man here today. I hit you with my pass, and you didn't get near me with a single one.

The wry smile appears on Favre's face again.

Favre: Never underestimate a veteran's savvy, young fella.

Favre motions back toward where Rodgers originally stood. There amongst the crowd lie the bodies of Ryan Grant, Greg Jennings and A.J. Hawk.

Rodgers: Noooooo! My posse! You felled them all! How could you!

Favre: Ha-ha-ha! And you thought I was just old and inaccurate. Silly boy. I am … THE GUNSLINGER!

Favre strides over to Thompson and McCarthy. Both are wide-eyed and sweating profusely.

Favre: Gentlemen, this is my town again. Dispose of those bodies, and get me Dorsey Levens, Antonio Freeman and Bryce Paup.

Thompson and McCarthy: Y-y-y-y-yessir, Mr. Favre. Whatever you need, sir.

Favre turns, mounts his mower and rides off into the sunset, cackling wildly.