Trigger alert: all Packer fans should read this blog knowing full well I am writing about the Packers and that last game of the season. If you've just stopped crying or have yet to see results from newly-prescribed anti-depressants, please know this entry has potential to trigger a new wave of emotion. The Addiverse takes no responsibility for any negative reaction or increased feelings of maudlin-inity. You have been warned.
Please know that I never once name the team of which not be named.
I waited a week to write this blog...not because I didn't have the time to write a blog but rather to ensure my personal safety and out of respect to my Cheddarhead friends. I wanted to make sure all my Packer Fan friends were at least a week past the loss of the play-off game before writing anything about it. I'm not kidding. I didn't want to trigger a wave of anger, angst, pain so soon after the event. That would be like pouring salt in a wound and then stabbing the wound, over and over, I'm not facetious--that loss to Seattle made life so painful for the wife that I didn't dare even wear anything green for the past week.
Friends, I am genuine in my respect.
The wife watched the game, as did every Packer Fan in this great football nation of ours. I was away getting a new tattoo during the game, as it seemed the safest thing to do. The wife did not expect a victory, or so her lips did say. In reality, her little green and gold heart hoped and believed a victory was in the works....and, the first three quarters of the game helped that beating green and gold heart build confidence--daring to believe the win was now reality. Life turned from "we have no chance" to "oh my god, we're might actually win." A blow-out would was expected. Being teased with an upset for 95% of the game was horrible, unforeseen event.
There is nothing crueler than when the Universe toys with your pigskin heart.
I unfortunately came home as the game was winding down. I immediately put headphones on and never did once look at the TV, lest I be accused of being a bad luck charm. (I'm superstitious and don't want to mess with Packer mojo.) I queued up a favorite Doctor Who episode and turned the volume up to "Painfully LOUD."
I knew it wasn't good when I could hear the wife yelling over the headphones. I was unable to turn the volume up any louder--my ears would've been bleeding and my eyes would have popped out. I focused on the storyline, best as I could.
Then, it happened. I won't write anything about the ending of the game other than to say a heart-breaking defeat in the last seconds of the game crushed all my Cheddar friends. It was a cruel, cruel way to lose. The Universe did not wear green or gold last Sunday. St. Vincent must have been taken hostage by something or someone right as the game was coming to a close.
I've never seen the wife so upset about a Packer game. She was beside herself. The torment was palpable. I had nowhere to hide. There was nothing I could do.
She talked about it all night. She literally couldn't sleep that night--no exaggeration factor here. She tossed and turned, muttered and growled. At 3 A.M. she apologized for still being awake. Her first words on Monday morning were about the game. Her first words when I returned home from work were about the game. She would say she wasn't going to talk about it and then she would talk about it. Talk about feeling helpless. All I could do was try to not scratch my itchy new tattoo and be a supportive spouse.
I begged her not to turn on the TV, to not listen to talk sports radio, read the sports blogs, view any of the Wisconsin newspapers she's always reading on line. I emphasized the importance of not watching the news or, dear god, ESPN for the next three weeks.
Suffice it to say, it has been a very long, sad week. Sum it up with the wife's words: "Football is dead to me." There will be no viewing of the Super Bowl this year in the Addiverse.
Last night, I mentioned how I was going to wear Packer Gear to work today, as our auditor is from the Northwest coast and happens to be a fan of the team that must not be mentioned. Oh.My.God. Perhaps a week wasn't long enough. She announced it was too soon to do such a thing.
It shall be a long, long off-season. The wife is practicing her new mantra, "it's only a game, it's only a game." I'm no fool. It's not only a game to Packer Fans. She can keep saying it but she's only lying to herself and to her tribe.
As for the tattoo, I got a blue bird in honor of Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia (of whom we continue to greatly miss). It's a cartoon, as are all but two of my tattoos. (I know, that's really tacky--but, I'm a tacky grrrrrl and I am a cartoonist at heart, so it makes sense. Go with it.) I had to think about it long and hard, as I wanted it to be just right. I've never looked at so many blue birds in my life. I finally chose a blue bird from Snow White, not that Snow White has anything to do with me or Lucy. She just had the best cartoon blue bird. I had the tattoo done by a high school friend's daughter, placed where I could see it. I hate that I can't see my back. All those tacky tattoos and I can't see them. The poor wife, who hates tattoos, has to see them but I can't and I want to. It would have been fun to put the blue bird on my shoulder, so we could sing about having a blue bird on my shoulder, but there wasn't room. I went with an ankle. The placement allows Lucy Blue to talk to Mickey Mouse.
The tattoo is at the ugly, scabby part, which is just fine as the wife's heart is at the ugly, scabby part of healing, too. Together we shall heal. Together we shall march forward and not pick at the scabs. Together, we will care for our wounds. Both of us are marked on that day for the rest of our lives.
For those who ask if getting a tattoo is painful, my answer today is" Getting a tattoo is MUCH less painful than a Packer Playoff loss.
Let the healing begin.
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