I Believe and I Predict. . . .

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Football, Humor, Politics, What's Up

Contrary to popular belief, or at least the belief of some, God does not take Sunday off. No, like many of us, He watches NFL football. This should come as no surprise actually, nor that he keeps a close eye on the movie and music award shows as well. We can tell this by how many times His name is invoked in thanks for whatever has been won by some otherwise quite normal mortal.

Now I have stayed way clear of the Tim Tebow controversy and his propensity to pray in public and give thanks for every win the Denver Broncos has been able to manage this year. Given that Tebow is often called a “less than adequate” quarterback, it is easy to presume that God has lent a helping hand from time to time. Of course, what God giveth, God taketh away too, and Tebow and his team have faced a number of losses in the closing weeks of the season. All the more to strengthen his faith no doubt.

Well, if you were watching yesterday, then no doubt you were not surprised that it looked a bit grim toward the end of the game as the Pittsburg Steelers pulled even and seemed to all to have the bulk of the momentum going into the overtime.

To what to our wondering eyes did appear then, but the miracle of all miracles, as the Tebow threw one of his only passes to connect to a receiver on the fly, and fly indeed he did, down the field and across the line to end the overtime in a new NFL record time, of mere seconds.

I, of course did not realize immediately what had happened.

But I do now.

God did not tell me who was going to be President, as he did old fart Pat Robertson, but he has given me a message.

You see, our Timster here, likes to paint various bible passages under his eyes. He has several, but of course, one of his favorites is the good old John 3:16. You remember:

“For this is how God loved the world: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

Now, that is not so remarkable, except that a man, not known for his passing finesse, managed IN THE LAST PLAY OF THE GAME to pass for EXACTLY enough yardage that his total for the DAY was 316 yards. Yes, you heard me. 3:16.

And so, I now know that the Mayans were wrong. The 316th day of the year is November 11. So that is the day that the world will end. Or it will be March 16. One of the two. Prepare! Send me all your money and deeds to your homes, you won’t need it. I won’t either, but just want to roll in the money for a while until the end. Trust me.

Oh, and Troy Polamalu, just keep looking so cute. See ya in the clouds! Sorry that Samson thing didn’t impress the Boss.

 

♦

Did ya see the debates? Nothing much to see; it was pretty much a bust I thought. Newty barely got warmed up. But Huntsman may be gaining a bit. New Hampshirites like to play it close to the vest.

♦

This last arrived in my e-mail via Facebook a few days ago. The only author I can discern is “Alan Showers”. But I thought it quite amusing, so I thought you might enjoy it too.

“The infamous “ISM’s” & so many other misconceptions…. SOCIALISM- You have 2 cows. You give one to your neighbor. COMMUNISM- You have 2 cows. The State takes both and gives you some milk. FASCISM- You have 2 cows. The State takes both and sells you some milk. NAZISM- You have 2 cows. The State takes both and shoots you. BUREAUCRATISM- You have 2 cows. The State takes both, shoots one, milks the other, and then throws the milk away. CAPITALISM- You have two …cows. You sell one and buy a bull. Your herd multiplies.You sell them and invest the proceeds with Bernie Madoff. SURREALISM- You have two giraffes. The government requires you to take harmonica lessons. AN AMERICAN CORPORATION- You have two cows. You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. Later, you hire a consultant to analyse why the cow has dropped dead. VENTURE CAPITALISM- You have two cows. You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows. The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island Company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more. You sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States, leaving you with nine cows. No balance sheet provided with the release. The public then buys your bull. added by Steven Mantz: GLOBALISM – you have two cows. you send them both to china. when your neighbors complain that they need cows, you say that sending cows overseas and depriving the USA of cows will force Americans to innovate and to come up with alternatives to cows. LIBERALISM – You have two cows. you milk them. the state asks you to give some milk to your poor neighbors’ children so they can do well in school. you comply. 25 years later, your farm has new roads and electricity, and your neighbors’ children have cows of their own. NORTHEASTERN CONSERVATISM. you have two cows. you milk them. the state asks you to give some milk to your poor neighbors’ children so they can do well in school. you comply. 25 years later, your farm has new roads and electricity, and your neighbors’ children have cows of their own. you talk to your friends about how to keep all these new people with cows from joining the country club for people whose families have owned cows for generations. FOX NEWS CONSERVATISM – you have two cows. you milk them. the states asks you to give some milk to some poor neighbors’ children. you run a six-week expose on how the state is asking for milk as a conspiracy to register all citizens. the neighbor’s children protest against the plan to give them milk. TEA PARTY CONSERVATISM- your neighbor has two cows. he milks them, throws away the milk and goes bankrupt. he asks for $20 billion. the state gives it to him, then asks him to give some milk to poor children. you instantly get all your neighbors to protest against the state’s plan to destroy all personal liberties. eventually, your neighbor keeps all the milk and sends the cows away. you blame the government. BARACK OBAMA – you have two cows. you’re the President of the United States of America. you get a letter requesting milk for poor children. you milk the cows and carry the pail up the road with your own two hands. meanwhile, your neighbors threaten to block the road and to tear down the wooden drawbridge unless you agree to stop your efforts. you wait until your neighbors recess and leave for the holidays, then you carry that milk inch by inch by gosh to those kids. then you take a vacation in Hawaii. 🙂

This appears old, as I now see, but some of these related links are different I think. Anyway, have fun.

 

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It Goes Without Saying. . .

Tags

capital punishment, Chris Christie, ESPN, Football, GOP, Hank Williams Jr, Herman Cain, Humor, racism, Rick Perry, Sports, teabaggers

Herm, my main man! (or Herb as sista Sarah so fondly calls ya). Listen up dude.

It’s not always easy to learn the ways of the House, so a bit of re-education is in order.

Now we very much liked your statements to your people that they were “brainwashed”. Course that is true, and it is not inappropriate at all to inject race in such a “right” way.

But your condemnation of Ricky (homeboy) Perry for being “insensitive” by not obliterating that sign on his family-leased retreat playground, after all these years? Well that, buddy, was not right.

You look confused?

Okay, Herm. Here’s how it goes. You are like a Spartan warrior, with your big old shield of protection. You stand between them (all those uppity folks black and white and brown, heck any color at all who are always with that socialist/Commie agenda of given away health care and housing and food for free) and us, the God-fearing, God-lovin’ God-blessed patriots of the real America.

You got that? Okay.

When they claim that we are racist and all that bilge, you say “uhuh, no way. Cuz, I’m a black man, and I’m with them, and they are supporting me as a candidate for president of the US of A. Therefore, they aren’t racist, no way, no how.”

You see how that goes Herm?

So, when you jump on our boy Perry, who’s one of us, (never mind that rock man, it was from a long time ago, and we are so over race now–remember MLK and “content of character, not color of skin!”) man you really send the wrong signal to us, your peeps.

See, we accuse all them blacks who call us racists, racists. And that is way cool, because it deflects attention from us, and places it where it belongs–on them. They are “playin’ the race card” and you know we hate that.

So man, when you jump on Perry, you are doin’ the black thing, ya see, “playin’ the race card.” And we can’t have that in our House Negro. It violates your very purpose of being. If ya wanna go that way, then we are gonna stop dribbling money your way to keep your candidacy alive.

And if we don’t throw you a bit of change now and then, dude, you’re toast. You gettin’ the picture Herm? You’re the shield. You don’t think. You just do your job and we’ll all be fine.

Now you go out there and walk back that criticism of Rick. And we’ll see about lettin’ ya have a bit more green for your pretend run at the White House. White House? Get that? White?

~~

I told you he would get in trouble for his “criticism” yesterday. And so it goes. If you don’t believe me, read Chauncey de Vega. Twice, read him here too!

♦

Even the moronic group of Fox Morning Gag were taken aback when Hank Williams Junior, compared President Obama to Hitler and called him the enemy. ESPN promptly cancelled his opening theme song for NFL games.

But of course, Hank is now the darling of the TeaNutz®. They are urging a boycott of ESPN until they return Hank to the opening of Monday Night Football. And lo and behold, old jackass Hank is contemplating a run from Tennessee for Congress. Well bless his little old shrunk and bloodless heart.

♦

And the great rotunda speaks! And the answer is no. And we knew it would be. And the right-wing blubberers will have to continue the search for somebody, anybody, who can speak without making a jackass out of themselves and NOT be Mormon. (Wonder what’s going on in Sarah’s brain case?)

♦

There is a reason that I oppose capital punishment. In fact there are several reasons. First I like to think that we are evolving as a nation and as a race (the human one I mean). Murdering the murderer is simply the easiest, most thoughtless way of dealing with a problem.

But paramount to all my reasons is the fact that we live in an imperfect world where humans still make mistakes, and the judicial system has forever known that it was capable of making plenty of them.

It seems to me that it was the illustrious Oliver Wendell Holmes who said that it was better that a hundred guilty go free than that one innocent be convicted.

Convicted! Not executed.

In Texas, a man, incarcerated for twenty-five (25) years, has been released based on DNA evidence that proved conclusively that the man was innocent. He was serving a life sentence. If he had been given the death penalty, in all likelihood he would have been dead by now.

And Perry says he sleeps well at night. And the right-wing express claps its hands in glee at the thought that Texas leads the nation in killing off its prisoners. And innocents die.

And if Troy Davis’ death is to mean anything, we must continue to fight for life. Oh yeah, the lifers, those right-wing fanatics that can’t wait to rush into the womb of any woman and control her body in the name of life, well they purely see it so very different when it comes to this don’t they?

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To Go Where No Woman Has Ever Gone Before!

Tags

Alex Karras, Caleb Hainie, Chicago Bears, Football, Green Bay Packers, Jay Cutler, NFL, NFL rules, Sports

Cue the music.

Okay, so perhaps it’s more like “to go where this woman has never gone before.” But you get my meaning.

Or maybe you don’t.

In case you were camping yesterday, or hiking up Mt. Hood, or having a spiritual break from all things electronic, you know that the Packers won their game against the hapless Chicago Bears.

And so, for the first time in my marriage, we are going to the Super Bowl! And I’m not at all sure that I know what to expect. Mostly I’m afeared!

It started with whoops and hollers yesterday, a version of the happy dance, repeated outbursts throughout the evening of “we’re going to the Super Bowl!” and grinning for no apparent reason.

We are now under “Super Bowl” rules. I have no clue what they are. I only know it entails being awakened in the middle of the night should the Contrarian remember some salient? factoid about the Packers or game that he wishes to impart to yours truly.

Apparently it also means virtual non-stop analysis of yesterday’s game, the opponent, and any bit of trivia that traverses one’s brain case. No, I don’t care that Matthews favorite shampoo is L’oreal for Men. Nor do I care  about Roethlisberger’s abysmal pass/catch ratio.  But it seems I am doomed to hear them.

So far, I’ve been advised that Super Bowl Sunday should include stuffed mushrooms and shrimp cocktail. That’s assuming I get to a grocery store next week. I’ve been advised that I may not be negative in any way.

Ya see why I’m scared? This is borderline crazy world. I think the military has been advised to simply fence in Green Bay and declare it a mental hospital. Perhaps the entire state of Wisconsin, of which our friend OKJimm is a resident, has been declared in quarantine. I wouldn’t be surprised. They drink a lot up there I think.

Anyway, I’m secretly packing a bag and having it at the ready should I have to escape. You’ll see me pulling my sled across the frozen wasteland of the farm, heading toward Troy, where I hope to hitch a ride on a tractor heading for parts unknown. Just wave if you see me.

***

Meanwhile, I sure would like to see the sports headlines in Chicago today. Everyone is abuzz as to whether Quarterback Jay Cutler took a dive in the second half. He complained of a bad leg, suffered in a play he could not recall, and was not present during the last half. His backup, Caleb Hainie,  noted mostly for interceptions, lived up to his notedness.

The name alone is enough. Alex Karras, Detroit Lion of old and pretty good actor was wont to say a similar thing years ago about one of the long list of incompetent Lion quarterbacks: “What would you expect of a ‘quarterback’ named Milton Plum?”

***

I got a bone to pick with the NFL on rules. There is this idiotic one about pass receiving. It basically states something to the effect that the receiver must demonstrate control of the ball before it is considered a reception. Okay, you say, so what?

Well, said rule has been interpreted in such stupid fashion that a goodly number of legitimate passes this past season were ruled incomplete. This happens when the receiver catches the ball,and is either tackled immediately or is stretched out to catch the ball, making his fall to the ground a certainty.

Now it appears the idiotic refs have no understanding of gravity or basic physics. Ya see, when a ball is held securely, but fallen upon, the shape of the object “being semi-round” and the fact that it is air-filled, and is less weighty than the object falling upon it, causes it to skid a bit against the body. Even though the hands never lose contact with it. Refs have been calling this “movement” a demonstration of lack of control, thus the passes are ruled incomplete. Balderdash!

The Contrarian calls the rule one with “unintended consequences”. I call it a monumental idiocy.

***

I’m also fairly tired of the issue of “fumbling” which no longer means, “oops, I dropped it.” More often than not, a wonderful reception or long brilliant run is ruined by one or more lugs, weighing a ton more than the ball holder, who with massive maws covered with hard gloves, punch mercilessly at the ball, and “strip” it from the legitimate holder.

This is called sport. I call it, another failure to recognition  the laws of the universe. Big objects, often multiple in nature, thrust upon a weaker body, tend to dislodge the chit they are carrying. It is through no fault of their own. It ruins the fun of the game.

This “talent” which I call thuggery mugging is now taught in camp and training. It should be outlawed. Tackle the person, you bullies!

***

The Contrarian finds my objections trite. He’s says it’s the “lawyer in me”. But it’s not. I just like fun, not brute strength. If I want to see that I can go watch that awful boxing/beating/kicking/wrestling pretence on whatever channel it spews on.

***

There, I’m ready for the next two weeks!

ENGAGE!

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Football, Grief, Iowa, life in the meadow, Martin L. King Jr., Packers, The Contrarian

I kinda got the blues too. Not big blues. Little blues. Reason?

Cuz I’m a woman? Nope.

Cuz I’m an old woman? Nope.

Okay, this could take forever.

It’s cuz I’m sick of cold and it’s gonna get ugly cold in a couple of days. I’m just tired of carting around an additional fifteen pounds of clothes everywhere I go. I’m tired of sitting under blankets and turning over in bed being a major undertaking. I got the winter blues.

***

Anybody who has more than one cat or dog knows that they are like sooooo different. Used to be that only one liked milk, Calvin. They two, then three, now I have to serve all four. I don’t get it.

Speaking of Calvin. He talks. A lot. Well to be fair, Spencer talks a lot, but Spencer just has one refrain, “I”m Spencer and you’re not.”

Calvin has conversations. Or more to the point. Demands. They are:

1. I want milk.
2. I want to go out.
3. I want you to pet me now.
4. I don’t like the weather out there, change it.
5. You didn’t change the weather, I’m reporting your for cat abuse.

***

As you might have learned, the Packers won. My ears are still ringing from the screaming. I’m beginning to hate football. The Contrarian related that his buddies once locked him in the bathroom during a game because he’s trash talking was insufferable. They did pay up however at the end of the game. He ain’t called Contrarian for nothin’ folks.

***
Not to ruin this lovely day with too much yuck, but just so you are aware, Sarah is appearing on Hannity tomorrow night, Obama is being interviewed by O’Reilly on Super Bowl Sunday, sometime before the game, and the  INSANE RIGHT continues to blame all the ugly rhetoric on the Left. And Life is still a bowl of cherries.

***

Simon Schuster is publishing a trilogy on Dr. Martin Luther King by Taylor Branch. You can read about it here. It’s a huge project comprising some 2800 pages total. The first book is reviewed at the link and was published in 2004. Presumably you can locate all at Amazon.

***

Most everyone is familiar with Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and her five stages of grief. Well it turns out, that grief may be much more personal than that, and people don’t invariably go through all the stages. This seems an important breakthrough, because some people do criticize others for not grieving  “properly”. So take a look.

***

The Contrarian wishes to remind everyone that he predicted the Packer win way back at the beginning of the season, with the words, “I have examined the schedule carefully, and I don’t see as how anyone can beat them. I predict they will go to the Superbowl.” He suggests that if you want him to foretell your future, send your checks, money orders, and bank account numbers, and credit card numbers, and he will be sure to tell you what will be happening in your life this year.

***

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And Another One Bites the Dust

Tags

Brett Favre, Entertainment, Football, hero-worship, heroes, Olympic Games, Sports

I been thinkin’ about heroes. I don’t know quite what to make of them to be honest. We use the term a lot, and it would behoove (does that mean acquire horse feet?) us to understand the word I would think.

And I don’t think we do. We seem to call a lot of folks heroes whom I don’t think really are. Living with a nasty disease, especially if young gets you called a hero. Being extra kind to someone can get you called one as well. Doing something sorta dangerous, carefully, and thus maybe helping another is often described that way.

People who are called heroes usually say they aren’t. I don’t know if that means they really are, meaning that denial is a sign of heroship, or whether we should take them at their word. I guess they should know. I mean only they are in their own head and know what the motivation truly was, right?

The dictionary has a lot of definitions, meaning I guess that there are lots of kinds of heroes. In mythology for instance, heroes were usually divine, strong and courageous, and favored by the Gods. They often did some amazing feats, such as single-handedly killing gazillions of warriors.

Heroes are also defined as those who have done deeds indicating a nobleness of purpose, or who have given their lives. But they can also be just the most prominent persons in their fields of endeavor. Or the lead character in a novel. Kinda descending order here it seems. Don’t forget the hero sandwich, which is a thing and not a person.

So maybe some heroes are “really big” and some are not to be taken so literally. I’m not sure, as I said. There are heroines, but they seem usually confined to literature. It seems wrong to me, since I think women are most heroic for giving birth. Everyone knows what women will do to protect their young–Sarah is a Mama Grizzly after all.  On second thought, she may have ruined that whole idea.

Somewhere along the timeline of history, we began engaging in hero-worship. If people who engaged in noble causes are heroes, then worshiping them doesn’t seem such a bad thing. Depending on how you define worship that is. Looking up to, or admiring? That seems okay. To me at least. But the dictionary seems to refer to it as “foolish or excessive adulation.” That seems bad.

It is suggested that we have always had heroes of one sort or another. Maybe that’s true, I’m not sure about that either. The first Olympiads were held formally in about 776BCE. Winners received olive wreaths and marched around the stadium to lute and songs written by prominent poets of the day. One story has the HERO Pelops as the instigator of the first Olympiad. But there are other stories.

We seem to have continued the idea of heroes being sporting folk down through the ages. The gladiators were often given their freedom if they became heroic enough in the arena. And surely the members of soccer teams today are  worshiped worldwide,  as heroes in their respective countries.

We are no different here. We have worshiped lots of sports heroes. Jesse Owens, although we treated him badly at home, was worshiped for showing up Adolph at the ’36 games in Berlin. Jackie Robinson and Joe Lewis were heroes, especially to African-Americans, and later, to more of us. Mickey Mantle was one, and Joe DiMaggio certainly. Joe Namath was a hero in New York. Muhammed Ali was.

American astronauts were all heroes, it went with the job. Most of our Founding Fathers were. Some of our Presidents were as well, although that can go in and out of fashion it seems. occasionally a military man is. Dwight Eisenhower was more a hero as the leader of allied forces in WWII than he ever was as president.

For no apparently good reason, some actors and actresses are heroes. I think it’s just because they are “larger” than life on the “big” screen, so they look prettier and handsomer than most of the rest of us.

Ugly people aren’t heroes often I don’t think. But maybe I’m wrong. Tell me of any you can think of.

Which all leads to this:

Brett Favre was a hero to a lot of folks. In Green Bay certainly. They didn’t mind much when he came out of retirement to be a Jet. But he lost a lot of his lustre when he joined the evil Minna SO ta Vikings.

Lots of other footballer followers thought he was a great quarterback. In fact, they thought he was one of the best. Right wing Catholics liked to laud that he is a “great”  Catholic. This always seemed odd given that he and his wife didn’t marry until their daughter was about seven years old. That doesn’t seem very “Catholic” if you get my drift.  But since their marriage in 1996, he seemed a devoted husband and father.

That’s until the NFL began investigating Mr. Favre for sexting a TV reporter. Mr. Favre has no comment. I bet his wife has a lot of comments–that she is making to him.

Mostly people are snickering a lot.

I guess Mr. Favre isn’t a hero any more. He’s just another aging, arrogant, idiot, who doesn’t seem to understand that pictures and voicemail have a strange habit of reappearing in the most embarrassing of  places.

Makes ya wanna rethink who you give your worship to don’t it?

Just sayin’

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No, Really, Part II

Tags

Contrarian, Football, Green Bay Packers, life in the meadow, Sports

Tensions mount as game day approaches. You can see it in the Contrarian’s fidgeting, in his long stares into space, in extra time needed to meditate on strategy. Or at least so he tells me. In any event, work must be postponed, since serious thinking is required.

Usually, Sunday mornings are a joy for me. I awaken thinking of spending the morning in church, learning and worshiping, and with all else that entails. But not when it is also “game day.”

No, I awaken, with a certain suspicious wariness. One can never be too sure that the Contrarian doesn’t have some new “plan” that will enhance the teams chances. Perhaps he has chosen to paint a green/yellow logo on my cheek while I slept. One needs to check to be sure.

I know, what I am in for. I tiptoe around, hoping to avoid it, but sure as it snows in January, he scurries out from the computer and announces:

BIG GAME! BIG GAME TODAY!

Yes, and this refrain will become increasingly strident as the season goes badly. The game will inevitably get even bigger. More important, statistically speaking. If a loss occurs, we reconfigure how many are less and determine the likelihood that going 14-2 then 13-3 and so on, will result in winning the division. That is the first step of course. If the division is lost, then wild card machinations result, and often that means “someone else is in control of the one’s fate.” That is not a good thing.

I scurry off to church, only to arrive back some hours later to a house in full bore set up for “THE GAME.” It is popcorn day, so there is the added burden of “set up,” something accomplished by 11 am. I can cook around the popcorn pans and dishes and so forth. The microwave already contains the butter and is set for high–the only speed a man understands.

All the live-long day, I am reminded that it is coming soon. “In four hours and thirty-three minutes, the game will start,” I’m advised. Am I ready? Oh Lord, yes I am, but not for what you think.

As it begins, the Contrarian sits all wiggly. He moves his shoulders, urging the team forward. He jumps up and does dances and power arm movements, copying the victory prances of the players on every play or when they think they have made an especially good poopie.

“LOOKIE, LOOKIE, LOOKIE!” he exclaims. And he means it. He very much liked that particular play. A short pass, a few yards. It indicates that good things are in store.

As is usual, penalties are met with a division. Ours are “mistakes,” theirs are evidence of cheating. “CHEATERS, CHEATERS, CHEATERS!”   he charges. This is only a few octaves short of that pitch that makes you wince in pain.

Now I can appreciate the game all right. I like Donald Driver on offense and Al Harris on defense. I love Al’s braids. I appreciate their mastery of the game. Okay, I like how their butts look in those tight pants. 

As I’m smiling at this thought, I am blown out of my seat by a string of expletives that would not make a sailor blush because no sailor could say that many before the ship went down. All because some error has occurred. Oh, but if the opponent should miss a pass, there is a high pitched cackle of HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. If a drive that looked surely to produce points, fails, it is met with, “YES, YES, THERE IS A FOOTBALL GOD.”

As time begins to run down, I hear the usual, “THERE IS STILL PLENTY OF TIME.” This can be said with any time on the clock longer than 30 seconds. Packers are miracle workers in case you were unaware.

Minding my own business, I jump again, as he booms, “HEY LOVIE, DO YOU COACH CHEATING?”

I raise the specter of the turncoat, Bret Favre. I admit the Contrarian is no respecter of people. Once gone, Bret was no longer in his mind. He bears the man no ill will, yet he says, “I don’t know how he can put on that uniform without puking in  his mouth.” This in reference to Favre’s signing with the arch enemy, the Vikings.

As the game nears its end with the Packer position still precarious, he uses his fall back excuse.
“YOU KNOW ME, WHEN ITS OVER, IT’S OVER, I DON’T MOAN ABOUT IT.” This as we are heading off to bed with about five minutes left to play.

The miracle of course does happen this time. The new QB, finally connects on a pass and the Packers finally go ahead. Another interception by Harris seals the deal with less than a minute.

“WHEW, GLAD THAT’S DONE. I KNEW THEY WOULD WIN, BUT IT’S GOOD TO GET IT IN THE RECORD BOOKS.”

“BABE, REALLY, I HAVE LOOKED AT THE SCHEDULE, AND I CAN’T SEE THAT ANYONE CAN BEAT THEM.”

I’m off to sleep, knowing that in a week, I have to go through all this again. It’s going to be a long season. Pray for me.

No, It Really is About the Packers

Tags

Detroit Lions, Football, Green Bay Packers, life in the meadow, Michigan, Minnesota Vikings, Sports, Wisconsin

Sooner or later, every past or present Michigander, (Don’t ask me why our name sounds fowlish when we have a wolverine as a state mascot. Oh visions of X-Men get out of my head!) must face the shame of our State closet skeleton.

Yes indeed, we must admit the ugly truth. Michigan is a state in severe mental crisis, and always has been. We are a divided state (remember Lincoln’s remarks) and thus unique in the American scheme of things. Our two halves are connected only by a bridge, called the Mackinaw (otherwise known in the LP [lower peninsula] as the “bridge to nowhere”. Got there first Sarah!).

The LP is also known, as the “part that counts,” or PTC. The upper peninsula is known as “yooper” land, pronounced UUUUper. It is actually connected landwise to Wisconsin, a state that may be the most boring one in the nation. Mostly it moos and it makes cheese. Thus the appellation of “cheese-head” is common. It’s most populous city is named after a beer–which makes sense, since they are largely drunks up there. It’s other claim to fame is a one dimensional town called Green Bay (why would green water be attractive?), which houses the GB Packers, a football team named after the bloody and unattractive practice of meat packing.

Yoopers are usually Packer fans, which is another reason they are mostly ignored by the PTCs. We are Lions fans, albeit, that is stretching the word “fan” to new dimensions in both time and space. The last time the Lions won a championship was in 1957, so unlike the dude above, I’ve been waiting now 52 years for a repeat.

The nemeses of the Lions are others from their division, the Chicago Bears, hated mostly because its truly impossible to argue that Detroit is a better city unless one is blind, the Minnesota Vikings, I mean what grown man wears purple for goodness sake?, and the aforesaid Green Bay Packers. I mean other than Chicago, what has Illinois going for it? And Minnesota or as they sing song say it  in said state, MINa SOta like some Norwegian fjord name. I mean please. A political nightmare where Willy Wonka might be the next governor. So all these hatreds are firmly based in reality, really.

So, as I said, we understand why the Yoopers are GB fans, they are schizophrenic and not very sure of where they should lay claim to statehood. But one would think that such fuzzy and bizarre thinking would not penetrate below the state line right? Wrong.

Ten plus years ago, I was informed that my beloved and soon to be husband was a cheese-head. Yup, it still makes me shiver. Now, I had two choices, either maintain my identity as the hapless Lion fan, or go over to the enemy. I admit, that in the name of marital harmony, I caved without a single nail being pulled out by a set of pliers. I’d make a lousy spy. I would tell everything at once.

So, I figured okay, just watch the games, and be nice. But oh, I had no idea the affliction such Packer mania actually took. In these pro-less states, they become more fanatical than you would imagine. And over the years, I start to get anxious around the first of August. It’s coming you see. I wake up in the middle of the night with sweats, not menopausal one’s either.

Finally I hear the printer whirring and then he erupts, paper in hand, smile on his face, and announces the words that freeze my blood and start the ugly time, the seasonal chronic disease. He says,

“I’ve looked at the schedule, and I don’t see as there is any team that can beat them.”

Thus it begins. The suspension of all rights. The democracy that our marriage is allegedly based upon is usurped by the tyranny of a dictatorship, all revolving around da Packers. I flee in terror, but alas, I cannot evade the truth. Life as I know it is forever changed until the beginning of February.

I whimper in dismay and remain silent at the words. I then look up brightly and suggest: “But dear, we agreed, no football, until the first game starts!”

“The first game is Sunday, and it’s at NIGHT.”

I cringe. “But what of Mad Men?”

“TiVo’d.”

No amount of cajoling, threatening to withhold sexual favors, food, or anything will impact this decision. I am prisoner and I am expected to be an exuberant one at that.

I have been roundly criticized for being a “pessimist.” I see a game going into the crapper quickly and say so. Given 52 years of waiting, you can see why. Still, I’m told such negativity is not allowed. So I must prepare to be “upbeat,” optimistic and all that other silly stuff, no matter how much the team might stink up the field.

Bret Favre is gone of course. But to the true believer, people don’t matter, only team matters. The Contrarian takes delight that there are signs in Packer stadium saying “Number 4, we’ll never forget you Brent.” Yeah, funny. Worse the man has lost his entire mind (how big that might be is relative to being a football player in the first place of course), and become a MINNESOTA (make that MINNNNa SOta) Viking.

Tomorrow: The actual Game –be prepared. Women will see my point, men will see it all as quite normal.