I was feeling punk.

I was tired, felt a chest cold coming on, my old body hurt all over.

I snuggled down on the couch in the library, covered up with an Afghan, felt my eyes growing heavy.

Then Brett Favre came on the TV.

All of a sudden I was sitting up, my eyes wide open and fastened on Favre, my entire being rejuvenated.

I don’t catch that many NFL games on TV, but if the Packers were on every Sunday, I’d make a point of watching Favre.

What a player. What an entertainer. What a competitor. What a leader. What an inspiration. What an elixir for a run-down feeling.

I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed an individual performance as much as I did his on Sunday against the Seahawks. In any sport.

He did what too many professional athletes miss. He made it look like fun. He made it look like what it is – a game.

Magic Johnson could do that. So could John Elway. And Pete Rose.

They had that little boy aura about them.

Too many guys make it look like what it shouldn’t be – a chore. A grind. A job.

Favre looked like he was playing a sandlot game with a bunch of beer-drinking buddies. “OK, Lightning, I want you to fake inside and then run toward the water bucket in front of my car. Speed, you make like a scared rabbit and head for the end zone. Juice, you see my girlfriend standing over there on the sideline? I want you to head straight for her. I’ll get the ball to one of you. If they put too much of a rush on me, you guys just keep running around ‘til you get open and I’ll come up with somethin’.”

I don’t know how much Favre had to improvise Sunday, but it seemed like there were a few times he did. Like that little shovel pass to Ahman Green when it appeared the play was about to go bust. Nobody makes that play but a Favre or an Elway or a Joe Montana. It’s like they’ve got four sets of eyes – one for each side of their head – and they see bodies coming at them from every which way and, with a sleight of hand, they get the pass away, the receiver catches it and gains yards.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Favre and Green had practiced it. Nor would I be surprised if it was just something that happened.

“Yo, Ahman!”

“What?”

“Catch.”

Just like in the schoolyard.

Fun? I’ll say it was fun.

Favre plays with a grin on his face. And a growl in his guts.

Man, does he compete. How many times have you seen a pro quarterback try to lay a block on someone? Favre did it last Monday night against the Bears and again Sunday against the Hawks. OK, it wasn’t a classic block. The important thing: He tried. Didn’t have to. Probably shouldn’t have.

That isn’t the quarterback’s job. He could get hurt. He’s the glory boy, not the gory boy.

Favre doesn’t do it to bring attention to himself. He does it because he’s trying to help the Packers win. There’s a man trying to bring his man down. What’s he supposed to do, let him get creamed? Not on your life, buckaroo. Favre’s gonna try to flatten him.

Don’t think that doesn’t win him respect from his teammates. As well as the opposition. And the fans.

The guy could be mayor of Green Bay. Or governor of Wisconsin. But neither would be nearly as much fun as quarterbacking the Packers.

Politicians can’t mouth off.

Ken Hamlin takes down Favre with a little extra “oomph.” The quarterback takes umbrage. And then he takes the rookie defender to task. “I just told him, ‘You messed with the wrong guy today,’ ” Favre said.

Stuff like that gives credence to the tales about Favre going nose-to-nose with guys who’ve insulted his teammates, either on or off the field. He fears no man, be he 300-pounder or 30-IQer.

They showed shots of Seahawks coach Mike Holmgren as Favre did his thing. The look on his old coach’s face was kind of a “we’re-in-trouble” smile. Like, “I’ve seen him do this before. And there ain’t much we can do about it.”

Favre is one of those guys you’d like to see play forever. And the way he’s going, he might.

That game Sunday was his 178th straight regular-season start. Think about that. Think about all the times he’s been hit. Think about all the times he’s had hoggish linemen stacked on top of him like cordwood. Think about some of the freak things that can go wrong, like a lineman backing up and stepping on his foot. Or Favre landing awkwardly on his own foot and twisting his ankle. Or slipping as he gets out of the bathtub. Or stepping on his kid’s toys on the stairs.

Think about that and then think about not one missed game in more than 12 years.

I hope Packer fans realize how lucky they are to have Brett Favre as their quarterback.

For a few hours on Sunday, I know I appreciated him immensely, even if he did beat the Seahawks.

He played the game the way you like to see it played.

With fire. With style. With pizazz. With fun.

Good show, Brett.

Darn good show.