(Chairs are set up in a circle in an Alcoholics Anonymous-style meeting room. A picture of the group’s patron saint, Richard Nixon, hangs on the wall. Sitting in those chairs, listed clockwise: Celine Dion, Evander Holyfield, Lance Armstrong, Michael Jordan, Stephen King, Eminem, George Lucas, Cher, George Foreman, Elton John, Ralph Nader, Steven Tyler, Jay-Z, Mick Jagger and Roger “Rocket” Clemens. Standing inside the circle is the group leader, none other than Magic Johnson. He has his arm wrapped around Brett Favre.)

Magic: First off, I want to thank you all for coming and showing support to your fellow victims who have fallen prey to this “disease.”

(Holyfield pops up out of his seat.)

Holyfield: You mean… (gulps) I have AIDS!?!?

Magic: No, Evander.

(Holyfield looks to his right, then his left, then down at his midsection.)

Holyfield: I have testicular cancer?

Magic: No. This is Unretirees Anonymous.

Holyfield: Phew.

(Holyfield wipes his brow, plops back down.)

Mick: There’s a bloody women right next to you, punchy. Are you retarded?

Rocket: Well, hold on there, Mick. She does look kinda like a dude to me.

Mick: I did try to hit on her a few years ago when she was short and spiky. Thought she was Bowie.

Elton John: No. Bowie was prettier.

Nader: Roger’s right. Look at her, she’s got a bigger Adam’s apple than Ann Coulter.

Eminem: Maybe she’s on the same ‘roids as you, Rocket?

King: What about Cher?

Mick: She’s barely even here. Look at her, doing that tongue thing, daydreaming about what celeb she’s going to hop in bed with next.

Cher: (snaps out of daydreaming, doing “that tongue thing”) Mick.

Mick: Don’t worry, babe. At least your floozies are famous.

(Favre whistles a deafening whistle that silences the bickering.)

Favre: Everybody huddle around me and listen up. I’m your quarterback now. Ain’t gonna be no more bitching. We’re gonna play like a team from here on out. Stick together and ol’ No. 4 will move you down this here field. That there’s a promise.

Magic: Um, Brett, you’re not at a Vikings game…or in a Wrangler commercial playing pick-up football in jeans. Again, this is Unretirees Anonymous.

Favre: I know, Magic Man (pats Magic on the shoulder). Hey, I knew a  Magic Man once — Don Majkowski. Started in Green Bay before I came along. Think he lives in a dumpster now. Anyway, I’m just damn excited to be here, to be your new quarterback. Heard ya’ll couldn’t get Jeff George to stick around. That he doesn’t even consider himself retired yet. Good for him.

Magic: So, this is a good time for me to make an introduction. Group, this is Brett.

Group: (in unison) Hi, Brett!

Magic: Brett, this is the Unretirees Anonymous gang. I’m sure you all know each other.

Favre: Yep. I sure do see some familiar faces out there. Always did want to go deep to Air Jordan. How’s life, 23?

Jordan: All the Hanes commercials in the world aren’t making up for what I lost to Jaunita. My advice: even if you can’t stay retired, stay married.

Favre: How about if I just keep playin’ and stay married forever? Yeehaw!

Magic: (wraps his arm around Favre) Brett, that’s exactly what –

Favre: (pulling away from Magic) Sorry there, Magic, but would ya mind? I got a Super Bowl to make. Wouldn’t wanna catch none of them cooties from ya, now would I?

Magic: (sighs) OK. Brett, this is an intervention.

Favre: An interception? But I ain’t even thrown a pass yet?

Lucas: I think Han Solo understood Chewie better than this guy does English.

Favre: What’s Mark Chmura gota do with this? He’s actually house-sitting for me right now. Probably, out in the hot tub with the kids.

Celine: Aren’t you worried about your daughter?

Favre: Naw. She’s too old for Mark.

Magic: (clears throat) Folks, let’s get started here. If you’d have a seat please, Brett.

(Brett sits down right by Rocket.)

Magic: I’ve called this special session today in support of our friend Brett. You see, Brett just can’t hang up his helmet. I remember when I was in denial about getting old, about it being time to retire. I went from being a 230-pound point guard to a 300-pound power forward. You keep playing, you’ll get so fat that you’ll no longer be a quarterback — you’ll be blocking for one.

Tyler: Hey, that’s not true. I’m 62 years old and I’m the skinniest person in the room.

Jay-Z: You also look like a chick, man. I’m just sayin’ — dude looks like a f***in’ lady.

Rocket: Hell, you look more like a lady than Celine Dion does.

Celine: Whatever. My heart will go on.

Favre: Worst. Song. Ever.

Rocket: Alright.

(Favre and Rocket high five in a goofy, homoerotic exchange that looks like it’s straight outta Talladega Nights.)

Magic: I know Steven looks like I should look, but most of us get fatter when we get old.

(Keith Richards stumbles into the room.)

Keith: I’m here…the meeting. Let’s get…bore of a show…on the road.

Magic: Keith Richards? I think you have the wrong group. Narcotics Anonymous is every Tuesday and Thursday.

Mick: He’s with me, mate. He doesn’t go to NA either. He just gets his blood changed in Switzerland like some kind of  freaky vampire or something.

Keith: NA…is…for quitters. Isn’t Dick Nixon…supposed to be leading….this bloody group?

Magic: Are you high?

Mick: Actually, he functions better than this when he’s high.

Keith: F***ing…think you’re someone because…bloody knighted…that ain’t what the Stones is about… (mumbles incoherently)

Magic: Alright. Take a seat, Keith.

(Keith drags himself through the room and sits down in an open chair.)

Magic: Back to my point. My point is that your athletic gifts won’t last forever, Brett.

Favre: That’s not the way a winner thinks. And I’m a winner.

Foreman: And l’m not? I used to be the Heavyweight Champion of the World. Now I’m just the big, fat, bald, black guy who sells electric grills.

King: I’ve sold 300 million copies. I used to write 25 hours a day. Now, I’m almost in too much damn pain to sit at my desk.

Lucas: What about me, guys? I thought Jar-Jar Binks would go over as well as the Ewoks did. What was I thinking? Stuff like that only worked in the 80s. Me-sa stupid.

Cher: If I could turn back time –

Eminem: — You wouldn’t have shoved that crystal up Tom Cruise’s ass?

Elton: Ew. Even I wouldn’t have gone there, honey. He makes you look like the mental health poster boy.

Cher: What I was going to say is I wouldn’t have had so much plastic surgery. I’m afraid my nose will fall off if I smile too hard. It’s no way to live.

Eminem: You do kinda look like what you’d get if Joan Rivers screwed Michael Jackson.

Holyfield: I heard he was going back on tour.

Group: Sigh.

Magic: Look, Brett, all of us who watched the Jets last season know that your athletic gifts are already starting to go. You’ve gotta face the music eventually.

Favre: Hey, Magic, that ain’t fair. Hell, I made the Pro Bowl last season.

Jay-Z: Jordan — no offense, M.J. — made an All-Star game when he was lookin’ like the fattest thing in a Wizards uniform this side of Mariah’s titties.

(Eminem bolts up out of his seat.)

Eminem: Did somebody say Mariah?

(Eminem runs out of the room screaming like a lunatic.)

Jordan: Two words, Jay: Kingdom Come.

(Jay-Z nods his head in agreement.)

Armstrong: You did kind of look Violet from Willy Wonka after she ate the blueberry gum in that warm-up of yours, M.J. But, hey, I didn’t even get to wear my yellow jersey this year, so what do I know?

Lucas: Before we move on, please, everybody, don’t let it get out that I admitted Jar-Jar Binks was a mistake. Appreciate it.

Magic: Thanks for sharing, everyone. You see, Brett, we all get old. You can’t cheat nature any more than you can cheat gravity. Well, besides you, Michael. Sooner or later you’re gonna get old. Or fat. Or run out of steroids. Or have one too many plastic surgery procedures. Or get hooked on prescription pills. Wait, you already did that, too. My point is that nothing lasts forever. We’d like you to make a pledge that this will be your last season. Try and go out with a bang before you totally lose your touch.

Favre: Lose my touch? Over my dead body. If I don’t win one with the Vikes this year and they don’t want me back, screw ‘em. I’ll go to Chicago, tell ‘em trade Jay Cutler’s goofy ass, and stick it to both the Packers and the Vikings twice a year. And if it don’t work out in Chicago, then I’ll go to Detroit. Motown, baby. Hell, those sonofabitches never have a quarterback. I could start for them when I’m 60.

Magic: C’mon. You can’t play when you’re 60.

Jay-Z: Be lucky to be able to play with yourself at 60.

Favre: Nonsense. George Blanda played until he was 48, and he’s an old man.

Holyfield: Yeah, he’s gotta point.

(Everyone else just shakes their heads.)

Magic: Brett, look, you need help.

Favre: That’s just what I don’t need. Look at you all. Help. Help!? Help each other feel like losers, that’s the help you’re giving each other.

Magic: That’s exactly what we’re trying to prevent. We don’t want some of the biggest winners of all time going out like losers.

Favre: Bullarky. This ain’t Unretirees Anonymous. This is Quitters Anonymous.

Magic: Now, hold on –

(Brett springs out of his seat.)

Favre: Magic, you quit when you got the AIDS?

Magic: Well –

Favre: No. You came back and scared the bejesus out of poor ol’ Karl Malone, my huntin’ buddy.

(Favre starts pacing.)

Favre: Foreman, you quit after Ali called you a fat dope out in that jungle, then beat your ass?

Foreman: No.

Favre: That’s right; you came back better and fatter than ever. Nader, you’ve never gotten even three stinkin’ percent of the popular vote, but has that ever stopped you from running for President again?

Nader: No. No, it hasn’t.

Favre: Exactly. You run every single damn time. Cher, you quit signing when that Bono idiot skied into a tree?

Cher: (caught off guard) Uh, no.

Favre: That’s what I’m talking about, people. Ya’ll have never been quitters. So, why you gonna start now? Ya’ll aint’ no quitters.

(The group collectively shakes its head in agreement.)

Favre: I want you all to get up out of your seats right now. We’re gonna un-quit! I smell a comeback for all of you.

(The group hops up out of their seats, almost like they’ve been hypnotized.)

Favre: Jordan, Magic Man. Go get your gym shorts on. You’re playing one on one. Gotta get you in shape before the season starts. (pulls Jordan to him, whispers). Not too close, though. Wouldn’t want none of that Magic “voodoo” to rub off on you.

Magic: But…but…

Jordan: C’mon, Magic. We got work to do.

(Jordan drags Magic out.)

Favre: King, Lucas, you guys are gonna make a scary space movie together. Oh, and George, might wanna let the Kingster handle the actors. I think my performance in that Cameron Diaz movie was better than that fella you had play little Darth Vader.

(King and Lucas exit.)

Favre: Jay-Z…hmmm…you just made The Blueprint 40. I don’t even need to say nothing to you, my man. Go ahead and scoot on outta here.

(Jay-Z leaves.)

Favre: Armstrong, Foreman, you both have been selling sh**, but you ain’t been winning sh**. Yellow wristbands and grills don’t last forever. Victory does. Go out and get your balls back. Uh, um, I’m sorry, Lance. I meant…

Armstrong: It’s fine, Brett. The whole world knows my thing still works after I gave Sheryl Crow a ride.

Favre: Yep. I reckon you did. Not on your bike neither. Well, get on with it, boys.

(Armstrong and Foreman take off.)

Favre: Holyfield, Rocket, no more excuses. (mocking tone) He bit my ear off. I got caught with steroids. Enough! You two are gonna get the eye of the tiger back.

Holyfield: Where are we gonna get a tiger? And how we supposed to get his eye out? Tyson has a Tiger.

Favre: Dummy, if you think Tyson bit you, what do you think his tiger would do? Man. Get outta here, you two. I expect no less than a Cy Young and a Heavyweight belt.

(Clemens and Holyfield jet.)

Favre: Celine, Cher, Elton, Mick, Steven, I want you all to put together a kickass comeback concert, let the world know you still got your great stuff. Celine, as the man of the group, I’m gonna need you to take charge. Hee-yaw. Get to it. Take Keith with you, too. And get him some heroin before he starts going into convulsions.

(The rock stars exit.)

Favre: It’s just you now, No. 4.

Nader: But what about me?

Favre: Totally forgot about you. See, you’re already back campaigning. Don’t you just love being unretired. I sure the hell do.

(Adam Best is the senior editor of the FanSided.com Sports Network and the twisted mind behind The Best View. Follow him on Twitter.)