 |
| The evolution of a Packers fan between 1997 and 2011. |
This month's Hard Taco release is a (nearly) 7 minute opus called, "The Pottage Point Centennial Band." I realize that only unemployed people have enough free time to listen to something that long, which is why I waited until this year to release it.
But before I can write another word about it, let's talk football, because I have a hard time talking about anything else these days.
Nicholas Dodman is an an animal psychologist who wrote a book entitled, "The Dog Who Loved too Much." I haven't read it, but the first chapter was described to me as follows: The author has a patient, a dog, who loves her owner too much. When the owner leaves the house each morning, she becomes so worried that he won't return that she loses control of her bladder. She paces around the house peeing on everything. When he finally comes home at 5 pm, she is so overjoyed to see him that she throws up. The joy is so pervasive that she vomits constantly until he leaves again the next morning, at which point the bladder problem kicks in again.
That is how I feel about the Green Bay Packers. It is a special kind of staggering love that only emotionally disturbed dogs and true sports devotees can experience. We soar, we suffer, and we soar again, and all of it is unhealthy.
Unlike most fanatics, I was not born into it. For the first two decades of my life, I shared my family's lack of interest in spectator sports. In fact, one of the first football games I ever watched was Superbowl XXXI, when the Packers beat the New England Patriots. It was 1997, and I was the only Wisconsin kid I knew living inProvidence
Two weeks before the game, I ordered myself a Cheesehead hat. I made a large sign for my door that read, "Brett Favre is Good at Football." Then I called a few high school friends and asked them to help me out with some talking points. What are the back-stories of our star players? Who's in a contract year? What is the difference between a punt and a kick-off again?
The Patriots fans who watched the game with me were clearly irritated by the Cheesehead and the sign, but it was the talking points that really paid huge dividends.
Me: Did you knowGreen Bay
Pats fans: That's great. I don't care.
Me: I've always said that Dorsey Levens, our rushing back, gets stronger as the game goes on. Don't you agree?
Pats fans: (Gritting teeth and trying to avoid eye contact.)
Me: Brett Favre sure came out like gangbusters tonight. Do you know that he spent 46 days in rehab last summer to get over his Vicodin addiction? He must have hated missing so much training camp.
Pats fans: Please shut up. Please please shut up.
As Favre took a knee to run out the clock in the fourth quarter, I looked around at all of the dejected faces in the room, and I felt absolutely great! I was 20 years old, and I finally discovered the delicious schadenfreude that drives so many sports fans. It was the closest thing I had ever experienced to being born again.
I haven't missed a Packers game since then. That old Cheesehead hat is now brown and crumbly from being squeezed mightily every time a big play is needed. Lauren and I do sit-ups whenever the Packers score any points, and if it's a touchdown, we skip around in circles with our index fingers pointed at the ceiling and sing, "I Don't Want to Work." We have to do these things, you see, or they won't score any more points. The only obscene language our children ever hear from their parents comes in the form of very loud interjections, often repeated several times in rapid succession, and only on Sundays between 1-4pm EST.
A few days from now, the Packers will play in Superbowl XLV. Part of their success, no doubt, is due to my years of diligent Cheesehead-squeezing. For sixty football minutes, I will turn into The Dog Who Loved Too Much. When things are going badly, I will be tormented and incontinent. When they are going well, I will be dry-heaving in ecstasy. Hopefully, it will end on a high note, and I will continue to dry heave for many more months until the next time the Packers lose.
Nicholas Dodman is an an animal psychologist who wrote a book entitled, "The Dog Who Loved too Much." I haven't read it, but the first chapter was described to me as follows: The author has a patient, a dog, who loves her owner too much. When the owner leaves the house each morning, she becomes so worried that he won't return that she loses control of her bladder. She paces around the house peeing on everything. When he finally comes home at 5 pm, she is so overjoyed to see him that she throws up. The joy is so pervasive that she vomits constantly until he leaves again the next morning, at which point the bladder problem kicks in again.
That is how I feel about the Green Bay Packers. It is a special kind of staggering love that only emotionally disturbed dogs and true sports devotees can experience. We soar, we suffer, and we soar again, and all of it is unhealthy.
Unlike most fanatics, I was not born into it. For the first two decades of my life, I shared my family's lack of interest in spectator sports. In fact, one of the first football games I ever watched was Superbowl XXXI, when the Packers beat the New England Patriots. It was 1997, and I was the only Wisconsin kid I knew living in
Two weeks before the game, I ordered myself a Cheesehead hat. I made a large sign for my door that read, "Brett Favre is Good at Football." Then I called a few high school friends and asked them to help me out with some talking points. What are the back-stories of our star players? Who's in a contract year? What is the difference between a punt and a kick-off again?
The Patriots fans who watched the game with me were clearly irritated by the Cheesehead and the sign, but it was the talking points that really paid huge dividends.
Me: Did you know
Pats fans: That's great. I don't care.
Me: I've always said that Dorsey Levens, our rushing back, gets stronger as the game goes on. Don't you agree?
Pats fans: (Gritting teeth and trying to avoid eye contact.)
Me: Brett Favre sure came out like gangbusters tonight. Do you know that he spent 46 days in rehab last summer to get over his Vicodin addiction? He must have hated missing so much training camp.
Pats fans: Please shut up. Please please shut up.
As Favre took a knee to run out the clock in the fourth quarter, I looked around at all of the dejected faces in the room, and I felt absolutely great! I was 20 years old, and I finally discovered the delicious schadenfreude that drives so many sports fans. It was the closest thing I had ever experienced to being born again.
I haven't missed a Packers game since then. That old Cheesehead hat is now brown and crumbly from being squeezed mightily every time a big play is needed. Lauren and I do sit-ups whenever the Packers score any points, and if it's a touchdown, we skip around in circles with our index fingers pointed at the ceiling and sing, "I Don't Want to Work." We have to do these things, you see, or they won't score any more points. The only obscene language our children ever hear from their parents comes in the form of very loud interjections, often repeated several times in rapid succession, and only on Sundays between 1-4pm EST.
A few days from now, the Packers will play in Superbowl XLV. Part of their success, no doubt, is due to my years of diligent Cheesehead-squeezing. For sixty football minutes, I will turn into The Dog Who Loved Too Much. When things are going badly, I will be tormented and incontinent. When they are going well, I will be dry-heaving in ecstasy. Hopefully, it will end on a high note, and I will continue to dry heave for many more months until the next time the Packers lose.
The Pottage Point Centennial Band
"The Pottage Point Centennial Band" is Hard Taco's take on one of those old Colonial Villages that your parents used to take you when you were a kid. The ones with the brochures would say, “Pottage Point: Where History Remains Alive!”
Do you remember how all the employees wore period costumes and spoke very loudly? Do you remember how the lady with the shrill voice told you that you should ask questions, and that you should be careful or you just might learn something?
Do you remember how the jolly fat colonist looked you over and said, "Good morrow, young master!" Do you remember how he asked what you thought about Deacon Edward's fine sermons, and you just shrugged and clung to your mother's leg? And do you remember how he waved his pipe around, explaining to your parents that he was a wheelwright in search of an apprentice, and that you had the perfect disposition for the job?
Do you remember how your parents smiled and walked away, and the fat colonist put you to work weeding his garden while your sister got to eat button candy and push around a wooden hoop with a stick? Do you remember how he kept mumbling that you were a Papist? And that he kept spitting on your hair, saying that he was just "blackening the hearth?" What the hell did that mean?!
Do you remember how he never taught you a single thing about how to be a wheelwright, and that was the part that hurt the most?
Do you remember how your parents smiled and walked away, and the fat colonist put you to work weeding his garden while your sister got to eat button candy and push around a wooden hoop with a stick? Do you remember how he kept mumbling that you were a Papist? And that he kept spitting on your hair, saying that he was just "blackening the hearth?" What the hell did that mean?!
Do you remember how he never taught you a single thing about how to be a wheelwright, and that was the part that hurt the most?
With warmest regards,
Zach
No comments:
Post a Comment