I love the Packers, very, very much (particularly that tasty piece of bullet throwing eye candy quarterback of theirs. Raar). I have been to two regular season games (both with A Rodge’s fine ass throwing the pig skin) and one preseason, my very first (which I was passed out for most of… apparently baseball and football tailgating are on different levels, but I can’t really remember).
Anyone who has ever been to a Packer game can tell you they are like nothing else you will ever experience. Packer fans are die hard, jump on top of the person in front of you, pull a stranger’s hair, take off your shirt, put a triangle of cheese on your head, shout unintelligible threats at the other team (okay, maybe that’s just me, but I didn’t ask you to bring your kid, did I?).
In case you haven’t heard, the Pack brought the hotness in this year’s Super Bowl (I’m not one for animal cruelty, but they sure slaughtered a lot to get there – Bears, Eagles and Falcons, oh my!). That’s right. All the “Green and Yellow” remakes made good on their lyrical witticisms and the Lombardi trophy is back home where it belongs, in Title Town’s Frozen Tundra. For those of you who missed it, it sure was a helluva game. The only NFC sixth seed to win the title (the second ever), the fourth for the franchise (15 years after their third), led to their fourth consecutive road win (didn’t really have a choice on that one. Play big or go home, you sexy mofos).
Defensive interception-turned-touch down, missed catch followed by touch down, no turn overs, two vets injured and out… all parts of the glorious equation that brought yet another eternally glorious world title to the NFL’s smallest and second oldest (and possibly the longest consecutively running) franchise (the trophy’s named after Vince Lombardi, Packers’ head legendary head coach who molded the team that won the first TWO Super Bowls, for cryin’ out loud).
I became more and more excited throughout the season with each win like a high school girl waiting to be asked to the prom. And on Sunday, January 23 at precisely 7ish pm central time, I, along with the rest of my great, patient, supportive, dedicated Wisconsinites, got the invite.
The day of the big game I literally almost peed my pants in excitement, knocked over any and everything within arm’s reach, and failed any and all attempts to coax my cats out from under the bed (they didn’t quite grip the gravity of the situation, with the jumping and screaming, and all). So our boys did us, and most definitely themselves, proud. And the rumor was proven true – the Bears still suck.