Good God, you're coming up with reasons
Good God, you're dragging it out
Good God, it's the changing of the seasons
Whoa, you're such a (expletive) hypocrite.

-- "Fake It," by Seether

My buddy, Pete Schwaba, e-mailed the other day from California. He's a hotshot Hollywood screenwriter -- he loves it when I call him that -- and he's got a knack for writing just the right thing. Born in Chicago, raised in Wisconsin and having written, directed and starred in "The Godfather of Green Bay" and co-written "A Guy Thing," the man has a way with words.

So when he dropped me a note about the ongoing Brett Favre unretirement saga, he knocked it out of the e-mail park.

Unbelievable.

That was it. One word. Summed it up pretty well, I thought.

And now, it's really unbelievable.

News of Favre's "itch" to play football again broke a little less than two weeks ago -- and a little less than four months after his tearful farewell news conference -- causing a seismic shift in the Wisconsin sports landscape.

But the story broke wide open on Friday, when the Packers received a letter from Favre and his agent, James "Bus" Cook, asking for his unconditional release, followed by news that Favre had actually informed the Packers of his plans to unretire in late March, only to renege on the plans.

The Packers will not -- under any circumstances -- honor Favre's request for an outright release, preferring instead to trade him, two NFL sources said.

The Packers had decided to move on in the wake of Favre reneging on plans to unretire in late March. According to two NFL sources, Favre informed the Packers during the annual NFL meetings -- less than a month after his tearful March 6 retirement press conference -- that he wanted to play again.

At the time, both Packers coach Mike McCarthy and general manager Ted Thompson told Favre they would welcome him back, and plans were made for him to return, including chartering a plane to go to M…

While Rascal Flatts enjoyed top billing for Monday night's Marcus Amphitheater show at Summerfest, it was hard to tell how much of the crowd was there for them, and how much of it was for the opening act, teen sensation Taylor Swift.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I did not know who Taylor Swift was before the show. I was under the mistaken impression she was a product of the "American Idol" machine.)

After watching the entire crowd -- including the three 'tween-agers in front of me standing on their chairs with their Taylor T-shirts and pink digital cameras (who filled me in on Taylor's bio after her set) -- rise to its feet when the 18-year-old burgeoning star was introduced, I realized the boys who sing "Bless the Broken Road" and "Life Is A Highway" might not have been the sole reason ticket brokers were getting $500 or more for prime ducats before the show.

"This is a song I wrote in ninth grade for a talent show," Swift, clad in a sparkly sequined sundress, informed us non-Taylorites before belting out, "Our Song," her first No. 1 hit.

It elicited a "We love you Taylor!" in-unison squeal from my obstructed-view seat creators, who also waved at Swift a half-dozen or so times during her 45-minute set.

Later, Swift sang "Should've Said No," a song about "a guy who cheated on me" and shouldn't have "because I write songs" and his infidelity is now a matter of public musical record. The grudge-songwriting quickly became a theme.

The line "You should've said no, and you might still have me," seemed to resonate with the youngsters in the crowd, despite their presumably limited exposure to relationship problems. Swift's drumming on upside-down metal trashcans with her fiddle player also went over well.

Swift, who lives with her parents, Scott and Andrea, and her brother, Austin, in Hendersonville, Tenn. (or so I learned from Wikipedia during the show), also sang "Tim McGraw," her first single, during which she requested he…

My name is Jason, and I suck at golf.

There, I feel better already.

I am convinced that there are two kinds of people when it comes to this frustrating-but-addictive game: People who think they're "pretty good," and people who think they "suck."

Because it's such a humbling game, with a colossal mistake and lost Titleist awaiting you on your next shot if you open up your club face prematurely, even the really good players are measured in their self-assessments.

I came up with this theory while playing in a pair of charity golf tournaments last week: Monday's MACC Fund Open at Tuckaway Country Club, part of MACC's ongoing fight against childhood cancer and related blood disorders and Friday's Trfecta Foundation outing at The Bull in Sheboygan Falls, to benefit Green Bay Packers' right tackle Mark Tauscher's foundation, which focuses on enhancing the education and literacy of children in Wisconsin.

In the former, I was our group's designated "celebrity," which a) reminded me I need to work harder on behalf of executive director John Cary to get some real celebrities involved so no one has to be stuck with me as their big-name player, and b) meant that my group and zero chance of winning the tournament.

In the latter, I was part of a foursome with FOX 6's Tim Van Vooren, 540 ESPN's Craig Karmazin and Robb Vogel, the sports director of the NBC affiliate (WMTV) in Madison. Our scheduled celebrity was Packers cornerback Al Harris, who arrived four holes into play, sans clubs and balls. He basically had his cart and his cell phone. He borrowed five clubs -- two woods, two irons and a putter -- from a clubhouse kid and was kind enough to lose four of my balls in the five holes he played with us, helping me finish the day with a tidy two dozen that were never to be found again.

(We then picked up wide receiver Ruvell Martin for the final three holes after his initial foursome had completed its round while we still had holes to play. He impre…

First, in my defense, the invitation e-mail to see the new "Sex and the City" movie was in fact addressed to me.

Well, sort of.

OK, I was in the CC: line, not the To: line. And here's how my friend Deb began it:

Paula (Jason) --

So I suppose you could interpret that as the future Mrs. Wilde being invited and me simply being informed.

Nevertheless, I took it as a formal invite, and since I'd been looking forward to seeing Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte on the big screen, I RSVP'ed a pair of yes replies.

What could be wrong with that?

Much to my surprise, a lot -- at least in the estimation of my more macho brethren.

As it turns out, willingly going to see "Sex and the City" will get your man card suspended indefinitely, if not revoked.

Complaining that it didn't live up to your lofty expectations only makes it worse. I believe a few of my so-called friends are planning an intervention.

Nonetheless, I make no apologies. There actually are a few male friends of mine (at least the ones I have left after my trip to the cineplex) who have also seen the film, although they claim to have done so as part of a quid pro quo arrangement with their significant others. One, who happened to attend the same showing as I did at Mayfair Mall, went in exchange for his girlfriend seeing the new Indiana Jones flick (allegedly). Another struck a deal with his wife for something entirely unmentionable in this blog.

Me? No negotiating was necessary. I actually wanted to see it more than Paula. I think the only reasons she went were to see our friend Deb, to attend the post-movie get-together at Firefly in Wauwatosa, and to make sure I didn't embarrass her too badly.

What I don't get is, what's so bad about a straight man liking "Sex and the City?" (Entertainment Weekly's Dan Snierson actually asked the same question in EW's double issue devoted to the SATC movie, which of course I read cover-to-cover.)

First …