A friend recently opined to me that I should be glad that I can watch the Green Bay / Giants game from the comfort of my heated living room. She seems to think that merely because of a slight chill in the air, that one would rather watch it on a box than in full 3D reality of the stadium. Even I know that real football scoffs at the weather.
She has obviously, since moving from Wisconsin to Texas, had her senses dulled and softened by the increased warmth and sunshine of the Texas climate. Those of us who thrive on the North, who revel in the bracing chill, who welcome the frost for it's soul-cleansing harshness...we think differently. Let the weak and the infirm stay at home with their blankets and their hot tea. Football is, after all, a game of suffering. Why should the fans not suffer in their own way, just as the players do theirs. Given the opportunity, I would gladly trade my heated living room for the cold primitive aluminum benches of Lambeau. Why? I think the Bard did say it best...
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the Championship feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is the Big Game.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'This frostbite I had at Lambeau Field.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats they did that day.
Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Brett Favre, Jennings and Driver,
Pickett and Barnett, Poppinga and Woodson -
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And a Superbowl shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that did freeze his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlefolk in Texas now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That froze with us upon that Champion’s day.
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3 comments:
Sigh.
Curious re-working of the St. Crispen's Day Speech. The Bard would indeed be so proud.
I completely understand how living in Wisconsin for seven years would make one an expert on the weather and its relation to enjoyment of the sports. Cursed be the Wisconsin native, as myself who guilelessly opines that -24 degrees may produce a bit of a shiver.
Your all-knowing tone is ultimately misguided, as I would gladly embrace the harshness of the climate for the thrill of the game. This despite being a fan of an NFC team other than Green Bay. Since you do not live in Wisconsin, nor watch football on a consistent basis (your words), suggesting that you watch the NFC matchup and this from the comfort of a home seemed a logical encouragement.
As for Texas. Two years have rather heightened my senses, not changed my intestinal fortitude of winter, nor have they enticed me to leave my diction as you perhaps thought would happen by this time. Instead, let's just say that it has produced a greater appreciation for the diversity of temperature the human soul can enjoy, endure and be reborn by.
So bring snow, bring heat, bring 24 below. It just adds to the fun when the game is on.
I failed to mention that I actually dragged the TV and the recliner outside, and sat there in the -3 degree weather in my boxers and a Tshirt to watch the game.
Pretty good game.
I have wanted to comment on this ever since you put it up, but like the rest of is in GB, I am too depressed to write anything clever. Hamlet keeps coming to mind- something about death/depression/dreaming.
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