So the Packers are playing the Seahawks tomorrow. There is the usual brouhaha at the office: the one quiet-mannered man who sits a cubicle next to me that is discussing Brett Favre’s next year in Green Bay, the lady at the front desk who gave me a GREEN BAY or BUST sticker to wear on my cheek (mind you, my cheek, for all this writing?), and the graphics designer who told me he had a dream about watching the Green and Gold on his 19-inch television, and suddenly Brett Favre starts to speak to him. It all comes up to a mild steam during the week and then green and gold boils over into the bay on Friday. Of course, any day that the Packers are on is important. Any Saturday, when you can have a reason to go to the local tavern, kick back a few PBR’s and hang is another important game … But of course, I am leaving out the important part is the fact is, it is the playoffs. Green and gold will be fighting it out, and every true Wisconsinite will be watching.
As an outsider, I thought this dedication to this team was a bit freaky. In fact, the jackets, the bumper stickers, the thirty-year waiting lists, overwhelmed my notion of loyalty. I come from a great sports town, however, the town I’m from “welcomes” great fans—not necessarily breeds them. So, the dedication and fury I’ve seen, when the bars are stacked to the brim with fans, is a different animal. It took me one game, one game where I had to watch “my team” play the Packers, to realize what me, and all other outsiders, are up against.
The bar was packed full, there was loudness abound, pounding fists, and a smoky fog in the air (smoking allowed, of course). And my team was drowned out. Not even just played out, but even if there were twenty fans of me, there would be no way that they could combat the thunder in that Packer bar. I was doomed. And that’s when I realized: The Packer love is unconditional love, passed from generation to generation-from one fan to the next. And it’s contagious.
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