在麻省理工学院念书时，一切都惬意极了。我觉得那是个很棒的学校，因此很自然地想留在那里继续念研究所。然而当我把这个想法告诉史莱特（Slater）教授时，他说：“不，我们不会让你留在这儿。”

我大叫起来：“什么？”

史莱特说：“你为什么觉得应该留在这里念研究所？”

“因为麻省理工是全美国最适合念科学的学校呀！”

“你真的这样想？”

“当然。”

“这正是为什么你应该去别的学校。你应该看看其他地方长什么样才对。”

//看来我不应该在复旦读研…

 

随后，跟我搭档研究的奥伦跑来跟我说：“如果以后他们拍关于制造原子弹的电影时，里面会有个小子从芝加哥回来，向普林斯顿的人报告原子弹的事情。但他肯定是西装革履、拿着公事包，神气十足。看看你这副模样，衣服袖口脏兮兮的、随随便便的，就在谈论这件惊天动地的大事情！”

//电影情节

 

还有就是伟大的数学家冯诺曼。我们经常在星期天一起散步——通常在附近的峡谷中，同行的还有贝特及巴查，那是很愉快的经验。冯诺曼教会了我一个很有趣的想法：你不需要为身处的世界负任何责任。因此我就形成了强烈的社会不负责任感，从此成为一个快活逍遥的人。大家听好了，我的不负责任感全都是由于冯诺曼在我思想上撒下的种子而起的！

//关键词：强烈的社会不负责任感、快活逍遥

 

后来小波耳告诉我究竟发生了什么事。上次他们来访后，老波耳跟他儿子说：“记得坐在后面那小伙子的名字吗？他是唯一不怕我的人，只有他会指出我的荒谬想法。下次我们要讨论什么时，单找这些只会说‘是，波耳博士’的人是不行的，让我们先找那个小子谈谈。”

在这方面我总是笨笨的。我总是忘记在跟谁说话，而一味担心物理上的问题。如果对方的想法差劲，我就告诉他那很差劲。如果他的想法很好，我就说很好。就那么简单，这就是我的处事方式。我觉得那样很好，很愉快——大前提是你要做得到。我很幸运正是这样的一个人。

//我是不可能做到的

 

我告诉他们，刚到巴西时，令我最震惊的是，看到小学生在书店里购买物理书。这么多巴西小孩在学物理，全都比美国小孩更早起步，结果整个巴西却没有几个物理学家，这真是令人惊讶极了——为什么会这样？这么多小孩那样的用功，结果却一点成效也没有！

我举例说，这好比一个深爱希腊文的希腊学者，他知道在他自己的国家里，小孩都不大爱念希腊文。但当他跑到别的国家，却发现那里的人都在研究希腊文，甚至小学

生也在读，他高兴极了，但在一个主修希腊文学生的学位考试上，他问学生：“苏格拉底谈到真理和美之间的关系时，提出过什么主张？”——学生答不出来。然后学者又问：“苏格拉底在第三次对话录中跟柏拉图说过些什么？”学生立刻眉飞色舞，以极优美的希腊文，一字不漏的把苏格拉底说过的话背出来。

可是，苏格拉底在第三次对话录里所说的，正是真理和美之间的关系呢！

这位希腊学者发现的是，那个国家的学生学习希腊文的方式，是首先学会字母的发音，然后是字的读法，再后来是一句及一段地学下去。他们可以把苏格拉底说过的话倒背如流，却完全不知道那些希腊字是有其意义的。对学生来说，一切都只不过是些很人工化的声音罢了。从来没有人把这些声音翻译成学生看得懂的东西。

我说：“当我看到你们教小孩‘科学’的方式时，我的感觉就跟那希腊学者一模一样。”

//对我们的教育体系很有借鉴意义

 

一个人年轻的时候，你有很多事情要担心：要不要到这个地方，你的母亲又会怎样等等。你担心、做决定，但又发生了其他的事情。事实上，比较容易的作法是什么都不管，就那样决定。不用管那么多——再没什么能使你改变主意了。我还在麻省理工当学生时曾经有过一次这样的经验。我每次在餐厅里都拿不定主意要吃哪种饭后甜点，烦死了，于是我决定从此以后都只挑巧克力冰淇淋，而不再为此烦心——那个问题便就此解决了。

//选择太多了怎么办

 

过了大约一个月，在一个学术会议上，马歇尔（Leona Marshall）跑来跟我说：“奇怪你没有接受芝加哥的职位。我们觉得很失望，也不明白为什么你会拒绝这么优厚的待遇。”

“那很容易”，我说：“因为我从头到尾没让他们告诉我待遇如何。”

//如何拒绝高薪@@

It would have been nice if the final pass of his 17-season career hadn't been intercepted. Or if the final game of his football life hadn't been a loss in overtime. Or if the lingering memory of that Jan. 20 NFC Championship hadn't been of Brett Favre looking as though he'd just been removed from the frozen food section of your local grocery store.

But Favre has always defied logic. He played when his body begged him not to. He threw passes into slivers of daylight, or no light at all. And he retired when it seemed there was every reason for him to return for an 18th season.

I don't blame him. The NFL ages you like dog years. Every game extracts a price not only from your body but also from your will. Favre can still throw a football through three sheets of drywall, but there's more to it than that.

Favre has something left, but not enough. He can play, but he can't play like Favre anymore. Not every down and not every game. His heart -- and that's the body part that made Favre great -- isn't into it anymore.

Ron Wolf was the Green Bay Packers' general manager who traded for him in 1992. He heard about Favre's retirement from a neighbor.

"I was really surprised about that," Wolf said Tuesday evening. "Everything he did was with such great passion. But the more I thought about it, if he decided he didn't have that passion anymore, it was probably the best thing that he retired."

Favre could have quit a year ago and everyone would have understood. Instead, Favre returned to Green Bay and became 23 again. Otherwise, what was the point?

Half the fun of watching the Packers work their way to the conference championship game last season was watching Favre. That's what I'll miss. He played like he was still drawing plays in the dirt. He played like his hair wasn't gray and his bones didn't ache.

Favre made his Packers debut in Game 3 of the 1992 season. He replaced an injured Don Majkowski, and on his first play called an audible that didn't exist. Then he was sacked and fumbled away the ball. He was a green and gold train wreck.

Standing on the sideline was then-first-year Green Bay coach Mike Holmgren. He had lost his first two games, and in comes Favre calling imaginary plays. Years later, Holmgren distinctly recalled thinking, "I'm never going to win a game in this league."

Then Favre put together a last-minute, game-winning drive that day against the Cincinnati Bengals. He even was the holder on the extra point, though go watch the video of it. So scared was Favre of getting his hand kicked that he did a Lucy, of Peanuts fame, and actually let go of the ball moments before the PAT attempt.

Favre was a throwback. He could have played in any football era. He would have played with or without a helmet. He would have gone face mask to face mask with Butkus. He was a football player, not a quarterback.

Wolf thought Favre was the best player in the 1991 NFL draft, but Atlanta got to him first. Falcons coach Jerry Glanville couldn't see past Favre's immaturity, so he sent him to the Packers the next year.

"Let's face it," Wolf said. "I put my career in Brett Favre's hands and he's not let me down … turns out he was the best player in the 1991 draft."

Turns out he was one of the best players in any draft. Turns out he'll be a first-ballot Hall of Famer and -- sorry, Don Hutson -- go down as the greatest player in what Wolf calls "the citadel of pro football" -- Green Bay.

ESPN did one of those sound track highlight reels with Favre one time. There he is telling a ref, "Take two weeks off and then quit." There he is unleashing a belch that lasts longer than the national anthem. There he is saying that just once he'd like to throw a ball left-handed.

He wasn't the greatest quarterback ever to play the game. But I'd pay to see him. In fact, I did exactly that earlier this season. Took one of my daughters to Lambeau Field and sat in front of two drunks in orange deer-hunting gear who, to their credit, said before kickoff: "You know how there's always a couple of guys who are really obnoxious during a game, eh? That's us."

Didn't matter. The Packers beat the Carolina Panthers. Favre threw three touchdowns. And one of the drunks spilled his freshly purchased beer on my shoes.

Favre had the right idea about the NFL. He was a kid when he joined the league in 1991. He was a kid when he left it Tuesday. He knew if he stayed another season, it would quit being a game and become something without a soul.

His passing records matter, but they don't define him. Favre wasn't about numbers, he was about letters: W or L. He played hurt. He played hard. He played in more snow than Iditarod dogs. By the time he was done, he had played in 253 consecutive regular-season games, 275 if you include the playoffs.

I'll remember some of those victories, but mostly I'll remember his Lambeau Leaps, or how he slung wide receiver Greg Jennings across his shoulder pads after throwing his record-breaking 421st career touchdown pass. I'll remember his old-school sideline handshakes with teammates, when he'd tell them, "Put 'er in the ol' vise." Or how he'd fake a throw after a handoff.

The NFL got a little less interesting Tuesday. You watched Favre for what he did and what he tried to do. You marveled at his complete and utter fearlessness. You shook your head in amazement when he made great plays and when he made bonehead plays.

I wished he would have stayed one more year. But that's the selfishness talking. At some point, he had to leave. It was inevitable.

There will be withdrawal pains -- for him, and for us. Favre played the game like he loved it. Maybe that's why he's leaving.

He wanted to keep it that way.