I've got the Packers Psychosis!
I'm guessing many of you feel the same way after this long season under the rolling waves. Normally good times are had after a big Packers win - there are stories I'll take to the grave - but I think some of my brains went all hay-wire after Sam Shields sealed the NFC Championship last Sunday. I knew some-thing was different when seasoned fans like my buddy Fritz started fainting out after touch-downs, and once the final was official we all lost touch with reality. I know a few guys who are still swimming around down there in the deeps, lost in a beautiful coral amongst the fishes, admiring the wreckage of steam-ship Jay Wimpy Cutler all covered in barnacles and sediment - she sunk in a terrible storm after her knee-pump failed, so tragic. On Tuesday morning I finally started to realize what had happened... started to realize the magnitude and magnificence of the event, and so I snapped back to reality and surfaced with great speed in order to breath in the sweet air of victory and scream like a dimented loon-bird, flapping his wings, laughing at the moon:
Ayoo Ayoo Ayoo-ooo-oo-ooooo!!!! Encounter with highly abnormal victory! Seven points in difference! Irregular circumstances! I tagged it mentally with a homing dart! Jay Cutler was eaten!
Well, that's when they sent the rescue team after me. "He's got the Packers Pyschosis!" they yelled, grabbing at my harpoon gun and the last of my hot wings. "Get him out of the fucking water!"
I was having a blast, dear readers, but I didn't know I was putting my-self in danger. My love of the Packers had taken a strange twist and I nearly erupted my own brains amidst the bends in this sea of celebratory strange wonders. A shark with Dom Capers face! Ted Thompson jelly-fishes! Ronnie Rodgers beckoning from the gates of Atlantis with - yes, it is! - ice cold PBRs and that winning smile! Good Lord it all seemed so real!
And it was, apparently, at least for me. Thank heavens!
The doctors, they are smart and they say I'll probably never fully recover from my injuries. "F. Gordon," said one doctor, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I must be blunt. Your brains were submerged in that sea of celebration for too long, your blood has all turned green, and..." - he nearly broke into tears - "I'm sorry, F.G., but there's nothing we can do to cure your disorder... You'll suffer from the Packers Pyschosis for the rest of your years on this cruel planet."
I looked at the doctor with my crazy eyes and started to giggle quietly at first, and then much louder. "No you don't understand, you men of science... Check the scanning monitor!" I screamed, my giggles turning to outright hysterics with visions of Texas Stadium alive in my brains. Then I calmed and quieted again: "You don't understand at all, good doctor, only now am I cured!"
Well he didn't like that very much. Send help, dear readers, they've got me locked in a cage of time! Only February 6 and the start of XLV can un-lock this dungeon! I promise not to bite!
Until next time,
with apologies to Steve Zissou,