No Joy in Mudville

The Patriots go down in flames.
The Packers...well...what can you say about the Packers.

It's a good thing I'm not much of a sports fan.

Cucullus non Facit Monachum.

Favre.

Jets.

?

Agincourt on the Tundra

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.