He will look you square in the eye and say ... nothing

Wednesday, as Brett Favre avoided answering questions about text photos and NFL investigations with the same tone of voice with which he might order a drive-thru burger, you looked into his eyes and asked one question:

Why doesn't this guy seem worried?

I'd be worried. You'd be worried. Ol' Crazy Brett is so cool you wonder if the white in his beard is permafrost.

Either he's unconcerned, or he hides his emotions more effectively than Pat Williams hides a belt.

Think about Favre's life: He builds a reputation that makes him the most recognizable name in the most popular sport in American history (Peyton Manning is the better quarterback, but Favre was for a long time better known and more beloved by the average fan), and now anyone with a modem can not only view his (alleged) body parts, but they can leave comments about his (alleged) anatomy and personal life.

The rich and famous learn to handle scrutiny. What's strange, in this case, is that Favre hasn't just handled it, he's shrugged it off like Adrian Peterson running through an arm tackle.

Tuesday, Favre met with NFL security officials to discuss his (alleged) texting scandal with an (alleged) sideline (alleged) reporter.

Favre sidestepped them. What was more interesting was what he didn't do: Snap. Obfuscate. Make excuses. Say, "No comment." Hide behind a public relations official. Walk off the podium in a huff. Get angry. Grow impatient. Avoid eye contact. Tell us to mind our own business. Tell us he has kids and wants us to respect his privacy.

No, Favre looked the questioner in the eye, told us the meeting and investigation were league matters, and shifted the conversation to football as if this were a Wranglers commercial and he was the director.

Either he's nuts, or he knows something we don't, or -- and this is always possible with Ol' Crazy Brett -- both.

You would think that the NFL's all-time passing leader being ensnared in a scandal would make him feel paranoid and isolated, but when reporters glimpsed the end of the Vikings' walk-through on Wednesday morning, Favre had gathered the team's defensive backs to give them tips on the Packers' offense.

When Favre returned to the field house for his news conference, he was smiling, and joking with a reporter about his wardrobe.

"You know what weighs on me, is last week, was the front five for Dallas, really," Favre said with a slight smile. "I was concerned about that, especially after the first play when I got hit in the ribs -- that was a valid concern."

By the time he had finished his (alleged) answer, he had talked about Adrian Peterson, the importance of the running game, growing old, playing against Dallas, facing Green Bay this week, his responsibility in the offense, and, I believe, how the federal stimulus package will affect the sales of Dixie Beer in his hometown of Kiln, Miss.

When peppered with questions after the Monday night game in New York by the East Coast and national press, he answered the same way.

Whatever is happening behind the scenes, Favre's approach is brilliant. He has said nothing that could backfire on him, has offered no emotional outbursts that would conflagrate the story.

We don't know what we don't know, and Favre's demeanor hints that what we don't know could be pivotal.

Maybe he's crazy. Maybe he's a better poker player than Phil Ivey. Or maybe he knows something that we don't, and doesn't mind keeping it that way.