September 11th thoughts... Remember, I think many of them...

Annual September 11th thoughts and musings...

Like many Americans this weekend, I've been reflecting heavily on what happened 15 years ago and what it means to me; not in a selfish way, just in a personal sense as the events, like for most, are still vividly present, and always will be, in my mind.  I'm certain we all will, at some point, think back to where we were, what we were doing, what we felt, what we thought, how we held and supported those around us, how we tried to make sense of what we were seeing and experiencing, how we prayed for those in New York City living through this nightmare, but mostly, we were trying to figure out just how much this would help propel the career of a one Mr. Ryan Adams based on THIS.  OK, that last part was a joke, sort of.  Besides that, there are always a few things I can't help but be reminded of when September 11th rolls around.  Without irony (looking at you Hipsters), I'd like to say that I love my America, just like all those lame Country songs boldly proclaim while simultaneously giving off the impression they exist solely to capitalize on the sentiment rather than to present and celebrate it.  I truly feel blessed to live in this great nation, and though it has its FAULTS, I don't need fucking Donald Trump to make it "great again."  And, it's fucking offensive for him to say that it isn't great and he's the only fucking one who can do anything about it.  So, with that, Fuck Trump 2016 and here's my thoughts that I think:

Music

The main thing I can't help but feel grateful for is the fact that I live in a country which not only allows, but also encourages, me to create, perform, record and release music of my own creation.  Now, I realize that America is not the only country to give its artists carte blanche but I won't ever forget the conversations I had with a woman named Ling I met in Seattle.  Ling was born and raised in China for the first 30 years of her life.  When she was young, she had an aunt and uncle of hers move to the United States, New York City to be exact, and she had always hoped to someday join them.  By her 30th birthday, she and her parents had saved enough money for her to go.  She arrived in New York wide-eyed and was dead-set on taking it all in.  At the time, I had never been to New York but was dreaming of moving there.  I asked her a lot of questions about the City and her experiences living there.  For instance, what was her favorite thing to do?  Go to Broadway shows, plays or live music performances, was her response.  She marveled at the diversity of subject matter and the celebration of art she saw.  She spoke of her homeland and how restricted it all was there.  No piece of music, art, performance, etc. was allowed to be presented publicly without governmental consent.  It was all strictly censored and monitored.  Most music was nationalistic in nature, as were the plays and musicals.  She even told me of a close family friend who was arrested after displaying a painting in a gallery without permission and then refusing to destroy it.  That's what she came from.  I can't even imagine how fucking mind-blowing New York City and its troves of art must have been to her.  She mentioned, many times, how it felt like she was living in a dream.  She said she could've spent a lifetime just taking it all in, and that she was trying her best to do so.  She lived in a tiny apartment and was frugal as fuck so she could spend all her extra money on going to the symphony and to art museums and Rock N' Roll shows (which she didn't actually like but was in love with the idea of).  It was inspiring to hear her talk of how much she loved America and how wonderful she felt it was.  Whenever I think of Ling and the conversations I had with her, I feel so blessed.  Here I am, some schmuck from a tiny town, population 3500, in Southeastern Wisconsin (Horicon, WI for those keeping score at home), who has been able to play my music at hundreds and hundreds of shows across this great country and back.  My whole life has been shaped and influenced by something that not everyone even gets to enjoy.  I can't imagine what my life would look like if it were not for music.  I don't think I'd even have one anymore, to be honest.  I think about that a lot, and about the men and women who volunteer to defend that privilege on my behalf...

The Armed Forces

I don't think many people understand just how close I was to joining the Army.  I was too young to join immediately after the attacks on September 11th, 2001 and after waiting the additional 4 years, I was, by that time, no longer in support of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.  I had a lot of friends who were a few years older than I who went and served their country.  When they came back, very few weren't greatly affected by what they had seen.  After a few cocktails, we would get snippets of what it was like over there.  I had a few friends who loved it and were destined to be in the military for life but most were happy to come home unharmed; although, only physically.  When they left Horicon to serve, I was jealous.  When they arrived home, I was grateful because they were OK (physically, at least) and for what they had done.  I ofttimes wonder how I would've done as a soldier.  I think I would've done a good job but I don't know how I would've handled things.  Mentally, I think I could've compartmentalized the violence I saw, and possibly participated in (thanks Asperger's!), but I also know that the hardest thing in the world for me to do is something I don't believe in.  If I had been sent to Iraq instead of hunting Osama in Afghanistan, I would have definitely had a hard time with it.  Ultimately, I think I made the right decision but it's not hard to imagine my "Alternate 1985" in which I enlist and have an entirely different life's story.  

One of my best friends is an ex-Marine.  He came to this country from Scotland and enlisted to become a citizen.  Like most Marines, he was eventually called to action overseas.  I can't imagine what he experienced.  I've never explicitly asked much about it because I don't think I really want to know.  I can say though, that I feel like he's more of an American citizen than I am because of his service.  I have so much respect for what he's done for our country, and conversely, he has so much respect for what I do as a musician.  We both see the opposite as something we could never be, but trust me, his decision was much harder.  After all, ANYONE CAN PLAY GUITAR...

New York City

When I think of September 11th and what that date means to me, I'm always instantly reminded of two stories from my time in New York.  I moved there in 2006, so these stories are from 5 years later, but the attacks are still very fresh in everyone's minds.  It's so hard to imagine what the people living there at the time went through.  It was unlike anything that had happened to our country for 60 years.  Obviously, I don't have the same connection to that day as those New Yorkers, but twice I felt as though I at least understood some of what they went through.

Tale #1

I had been in New York for about six months and things were going well.  I worked at the Office Depot in Times Square (my 5th different Office Depot store.  I owe Office Depot a lot for allowing me to have a job wherever I decided to move, all across the country) which was pretty fucking cool.  I had a great group of friends, had a good grasp of the geography of the City and was starting to feel like a real New Yorker.  Life was pretty fucking awesome, for once.  That's when I got a small taste of what the events of September 11th had done to the greatest city in the history of mankind.

We were a good 4 or 5 blocks away, on 41st and Broadway, but we both heard and felt it.  The ground shook and there was the sound of a dull explosion.  Immediately we could hear the screams.  Without thinking, many of us ran outside to see what was happening.  When I got over to 6th Ave., I could see the crowds of people streaming through Bryant Park.  You could tell by the way the were running, scattering like buckshot, that they were running away from something but didn't know exactly where to go.  Then I heard another someone shout the word "bomb" and quickly turned to join the crowds.  I made it back to the store and found our buddy Kenny, who worked at the Staples a couple blocks from Grand Central, standing there in the doorway.  He was visibly shaken and hyper beyond belief.  The adrenaline had taken over his body and he couldn't stop moving.  He was talking a mile a minute and we could hardly understand what he was saying.  All any of us heard come out of his mouth was the word "bomb" and then we all started to panic a bit more.  We asked why he came here.  "I don't know," he said, "It was the only place I could think of after I started running."  We went downstairs.  Our Office Depot was a two-story building, the bottom of which was technically a basement, which felt safer to us.  We went to the TV display section and flipped on the news.  The police had cordoned off the streets around Grand Central and the bomb squads were searching the area.  We saw lots of images of dogs sniffing around and people in ridiculous padded uniforms that might protect you from a paintball attack but not a bomb.  A million things raced through our brains but I could tell right away that there was this sense of terrifying familiarity with what was going on.  "It's happening again!" someone shouted, which only enhanced the feeling of dread spreading throughout the room.

My boss and I ran upstairs to help pull people off the street into the store; neither one of us knowing if that was any safer for them, but the streets were a fucking mess and at least no one would get trampled in here.  After a while, things started to calm down.  All of the sudden, the streets turned from a madhouse to a ghost town, without a soul in sight.  I was glad of that.  I went back downstairs where everyone was crowded in front of the TV's which were on full volume.  Everyone was silent.  Whenever a small group would start to build themselves into a fervor, they would be told to quiet down.  Everyone's rapt attention was to be kept on the screens.  Every once in a while you'd hear a "What did they just say?" followed by a "Hey, shhh," followed by a hushed recap of what had just been reported.  After what seemed like an hour, but could've been a matter of minutes, they finally revealed what we had been waiting to hear:  what caused the explosions and whether or not it was terrorists.  It turns out it was not terrorists at all, it was the fault of the terrifically old plumbing and sewage system in the City.  An old water pipe had burst and exploded through the pavement.  There was no bomb, the water had been shut off in that area and there was nothing more to be worried about.

Another pipe would burst nearby later that summer but hardly anyone cared.  It was old hat by then.  As soon as we heard it, someone quipped, "Probably another one of those old fucking pipes," and that was that.  But I won't soon forget the all-too-familiar fear and panic I saw when that first pipe burst.  

Tale #2:

When I moved to New York, I was broke as fuck.  I was lucky because my buddy, A.J. (or Austin, as he preferred to be called as an adult, though I always called him "A.J." the same way he always called me "Brad") had a lot more money saved up than I, as he had moved back to Horicon (he previously moved to San Francisco with me after Jake backed out do to his cardiac ablation surgery.  That ablation was fuckin' everything up...) to work, save money and try and fuck this chick he'd wanted to bang since High School.  I think he was successful though he was always coy about it, which, conversely, made me think he somehow never got there.  Either way, while he was back, he and his dad met this guy, Michael, at a car show in Chicago.  A.J.'s dad made custom parts for Porsches.  Michael just so happened to live on Staten Island.  After talking for a while with A.J. and his dad, he agreed to put us up while we got our shit together in New York.  I can't thank him enough as I don't think we would've been able to move to New York without him agreeing to put up a couple kids in his basement for a few weeks.

Michael and his family were some of the nicest people I've ever met in my whole life.  They were so generous towards us and were like a TV-version of a New York/Italian family, in the best possible sense.  They cared deeply for one another, and even for us, who they had agreed to put up sight unseen.  And, of course, both Michael and his wife were terrific cooks.  I can't thank them enough for how kind and giving they were.  Part of me wished I could just stay with them, but after a couple weeks of getting our work situations figured out and then finding an apartment we actually could afford, we were ready to move out.  Michael offered to give us the extra mattresses we had been sleeping on while staying in their basement and to deliver them to our new place.  We happily obliged.

I'll never forget the drive we made that night.  We loaded up Michael's SUV with the mattresses and what little A.J. and I had brought with us to New York, a couple of duffle bags full of clothes and a guitar, and headed across the Verrazano.  Michael told us how he used to drive this route everyday when he was firefighter; he was now retired.  He worked in the Red Hook/Gowanus area.  He said how happy he was that we had found a place in the City, as he mostly knew Brooklyn before the current wave of gentrification had taken place and he didn't want two young kids from a small town in Wisconsin living there.  As we drove, he pointed out a few landmarks and picked out his old firehouse.  As we drove north, he grew silent.  After a short while, we could see the Brooklyn Bridge.

Back at the house before we left, when he told us he would take us across it, his wife was sort of taken aback.  A sullen look came across her face as she said to Michael, "Are you sure?"  It was an odd moment that A.J. and I clearly didn't understand, but there was no explanation offered.  Michael nodded and off we went.

With the bridge coming better into view, Michael broke the silence that had taken over the car.  He said, "I haven't been back over this bridge since that day..."  He took a long pause.  "I'll never forget the scene," he said, "cars were backed up and everyone was in a panic to get out of the City.  The other side of the bridge was a nightmare but our side, the road we're on now, was wide-open.  No one was heading into the City.  No one had any idea what the fuck was going on.  All we could see was the panicked people trying to get away, the towers which were, by then, smoking and the dust.  The closer we got, the worse the dust got.  The first building had already gone down by the time we got there.  It was just people screaming, covered head to toe in dust.  Then, the second one came down.  I lost some good friends that day.  We were all just so scared..."

We drove in silence the rest of the way.  Neither A.J. nor I knew what to say.  What could we say?  We had no way of knowing how he must have felt at that moment, reliving that day.  We found out later that after September 11th, 2001 the family always drove up to Jersey City and through the Holland Tunnel to get to the City, though it added an extra 30 or so minutes to their trip.  The whole family had explicitly avoided the Brooklyn Bridge for years.  Taking that drive with Michael really made me realize and appreciate what was given and sacrificed that day by all those brave men and women of the FDNY.  It's impossible not to tear up when I think back on Michael's words that night...

So, that's it.  I felt compelled today to express what I've been thinking about for the past week.  This day always weighs heavily on my mind and on my heart.  Oh yeah, and before I forget, GO PACK GO!!!

December 15th, the Day We Reminded the Cowboys They Still Suck...

December 15^th, 2013:  A Day that Will Live in Awesomeness…

            There are two things, in my mind, that will forever mark this day and this game:  what the players did, which was incredible beyond belief, and what the fans, both around me and around the country, did.  In case you are not a die-hard Cheesehead and are not currently sure to what grand, miraculous, wonderful, awe-inspiring event I am referring to, I’ll tell you.  On December 15^th, 2013 the Green Bay Packers went to Dallas, Texas to play a professional football game against those crazy Cowboys.  The game had big playoff implications for both teams.  It’s December football and baby, its go time.  The Packers had to win, without Aaron Rodgers again(though I, in no way, question his toughness.  Now, I have heard rumblings from Packers fans that he needs to “man up” and come back but I would like to offer them this:  How about we break their collarbones, wait one month and then send an incredibly large, incredibly fast 300 pound man to jump on top of them to “test” their broken collarbone.  He’s very tough, folks, believe me; and he’ll be back as soon as he’s allowed.  Remember, its not his decision not to be out there, it’s the doctors.  Also, just on a more personal level, not only is Aaron Rodgers unequivocally more talented and good-looking than I, but he is also much larger and could definitely beat me up in a fight.  And, if I tried to run, I’m certain he is much quicker than I as well), to keep their playoff hopes alive and the Cowboys could take control of the NFC East with a victory.  The events that transpired are forever etched in my memory.  The resolve, the passion, the strength was outstanding and truly an inspiration.  Now that you know, let’s get into it…

            After wading through the throngs of “recruiters” upon leaving church, which I actually like because it makes me feel like the talented, college-bound athletes must feel coming out of High School, we(and by “we” and I mean my girlfriend and I.  So yes, if you’re keeping score at home, we did get back together; and by the end of this you will see one of the many, many reasons why I was a huge fucking idiot for letting her go in the first place) headed over to what has become our favorite Packers bar in Portland:  Corbett’s Fish House.  They, unlike every other god-damned place, not only say that they have the best fish and chips in town, they actually fucking do.  Get the perch and you’ll see what I’m talking about.  This place is owned by actual Wisconsinites and it shows.  Everyone outside of Wisconsin has always made fun of the way I mix drinks.  It seems they’re always a tad on the strong side.  Well, the people at Corbett’s know how to mix a drink; read:  if you’re planning on driving home, maybe don’t make it a double for a dollar extra.  So, after devouring my perch and drinking my first screwdriver, man, was I ready for some football.  Not only do I have a lifetime hatred of the Cowboys, thanks in large part to the very same man who happens to be announcing the game, Troy Aikman, but also I’ve been telling everyone since the start of the season that the Packers would win the Super Bowl(which I do every year, but still) and if they lost on Sunday their season would be all but over.  Now, I’m not going to recount the game, as there are many places where you can read about it if you so choose.  Also, because the first half can be summed up by simply saying the Packers played like a big ball of wet sloppy shit; and the Cowboys took advantage of that with a 26-3 lead going into halftime.  No, the thing I want to talk about, and the reason this game is one for the ages, is the reactions at halftime, by both the players and the fans.  This game is reason I watch football.  I love the memories.  I love the emotion.  I love the battle.  I love, as Mike McCarthy clearly stated to his players, the word of the day:  adversity.  This game was better than any game I watched in 2011 when the Packers cruised to a 15-1 record.  This game had a life and spirit I could have never forseen, and might not see again.  It was simply breathtaking and nerve-racking and terrifying and beautiful.  And, I loved every minute of it.  Well, after the first half anyways…

            The first thing that struck me at halftime was the hopefulness and steadfastness of my girlfriend.  As soon as the first half ended, she said “Okay, we got this.”Now, I couldn’t actually see my face when she said this to me, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same look I would’ve given her if she had just asked me to shoot heroin with some hepatitis and aids-infested homeless man under a bridge somewhere(there’s fucking thousands in Portland it seems, both homeless and bridges) whilst having a four-way with Mr. Hepatitis/Aids and a recently deceased, but still warm, mangled up old lady who died from syphilis; as if anyone dies from that anymore.  Yep, that was probably the look on my face.  But then, immediately, I felt a twinge of that old Catholic guilt.  Never doubt the team.  It’s my job as a fan to always support the team, no matter what.  Almost as if in a Biblical sense, you must always believe with all your heart and at that moment I did not; my girlfriend did.  My faith began to waver.  And I was not alone.  Almost everyone else at Corbett’s that day paid their checks and left.  They had given up on the game and the team.  Their resolve and faith was cracking and they couldn’t take it anymore.  Maybe they just couldn’t handle getting smashed, by the Cowboys of all fucking teams.  Or maybe they just wanted to see a great football game and felt this one was boring, and thusly missed out on one of the most amazing comebacks in Packers history.  Whatever the reason,  it was down to two guys up front(from Wisconsin), the owners(from Wisconsin) and my girlfriend and me(from Wisconsin).  She was the only faithful left not born into the Covenant of the Cheesehead.  She was also the first to display the hope and faith we all desperately needed.  She said “I believe they can do it.”  I will never forget my response because I felt a little ashamed when I said it.  I said “I believe they can, but I don’t think they will.”  My heart and my brain were not on the same page.  My heart said let’s go get’em, we can do this.  My brain said this is turning into Thanksgiving pt. II.  And for that moment I was almost too scared to let my hope shine through.  It was easier to accept defeat then hold out hope for the win and possibly, or probably at that point, be disappointed.  This was most likely the reason that the bar was almost empty after halftime, and I’m sure it wasn’t the only Packers bar like that.  But I could see she was right.  I knew she was.  She almost always is, but don’t tell her that, it’ll go to her head.  She turned and asked me “You don’t want to leave, do you?”  “No,” I replied “absolutely not.” The game turned out to be as exciting and amazing as it possibly could have been.  But most people were already gone.  They had missed it.

The players went on to do something so great I don’t think they could fully comprehend it at that moment in time.  From Eddie Lacy's first run of the second half through Matt Flynn's five consecutive touchdown drives to the defense's epic turnaround from the first half, it was unbelievable.  I can’t even begin to imagine what the players were feeling.  I do know that when we finally got up to leave Corbett’s I could hardly stand up.  My body had been pumped so full of adrenaline and excitement and nervousness during that second half that I was crashing hard once it was finally over.  I had just watched the very best of the human spirit and human confrontation.  Men who knew no quit, only fight.  A season was on the line and they played like it.  I can’t explain it fully and I’m quite sure neither could they.  It was incomprehensible and wonderful.  But most had left before they could witness the miracle.  I found their lack of faith disturbing.  I was almost one of them.  But I couldn’t leave, it just wasn’t in me or my girlfriend to give up on our Packers.  The owners thanked us for staying before we left.  “Are you kidding?”  I said.  “Thank you, this was incredible.”  But most of all, I’ll always remember that right before that fateful second half started, once I had taken a moment and had a clearer head, I told my girlfriend “If they do win, it will be the most remarkable thing I have ever seen.”  And finally, for once, I was right about something; it was…

A requiem for Aaron Rodgers' shoulder... or collarbone, or whatever...

Aaron Rodgers part I:  Make the pain go away… 

            Everything was set up so god-damned perfectly.  The Green Bay Packers were playing the Chicago Bears on Monday Night Football at Lambeau Field.  Well, not quite perfectly as Jay Cutler was out with a “Groin” Injury(he pulled it once and it felt so good he pulled it again.  Sorry, shitty old joke alert) and I like it when the Packers beat the Bears fair and square and get to rub it in Jay Cutler’s whiny, little face and so there’s no crying from south of the border(that’s a reference to Illinois, where Chicago is, for all those who are geographically challenged; or who grew up on the West Coast because for some fucking reason the people out there were taught NOTHING of America’s Heartland and if their planes didn’t always land in the right places,  they wouldn’t find fucking anything ever).  But still, it was pretty awesome since Jay Cutler would’ve just laid a turd anyhow like he had in every game since the Packers beat the Bears in the 2010 NFC Championship game, which, of course, Jay Cutler got hurt in.  Which, naturally, happens every time he starts to stink up the joint, but nevertheless, this is not about how much I hate Jay Cutler(who texted his marriage proposal to his future wife and then Fed-exed the ring to her, which she didn’t even care to open right away, even though he could have fucking asked her in person since she was just at his house earlier that day) but about how much I love Aaron Rodgers(which, consequently, is not as much as my girlfriend loves Aaron Rodgers.  I would be a little pissed about this if he wasn’t so tall and fucking good-looking and funny and talented and, oh yeah, the quarterback for the GREEN BAY FUCKING PACKERS!  Needless to say, its almost a point of pride for me that my girlfriend wants to fuck Aaron Rodgers, yeah, almost…). 

So, the stage was set, and man, was I excited all day.  I had to work at six o’clock that morning and started my countdown immediately; only eleven and a half hours til kickoff!  Yes, for all of those keeping score, that means I live on the West Coast, in Portland of all fucking places, but I won’t go into that here…  All day I annoyed the shit out of my co-workers with my half-hour announcements; only eight hours til kickoff!  All day I pined to be at Lambeau cooking brats and drinking beers with the Packers faithful; only five hours til kickoff!  I told stories of the Packers-Bears game I got to go to in 1996, the magical season of Brett Favre’s Super Bowl win, and how it was in December and it was fucking nine hundred below(or actually 15 degrees above zero, fahrenheit, but that’s still fucking cold when you’re sitting on a metal bench and the only things to keep you warm being your love of Packers football, the excitement of actually being able to be at a game and the body heat emanating off the fat guy next to you who is taking up half your seat); only one hour til kickoff!  And then, finally, as I was about to cum in my pants, it started!  And Aaron Rodgers(I don’t know why but I feel like I have to call him by his full name almost every time.  It feels weird not to since I don’t know him personally and he’s so famous and deity-like) marched us right down the field against those shitty Bears and it was awesome.  But then, all of the sudden, on what initially looked like a routine sack, our worst fears were realized with the one thing that could derail this magical season…  Aaron Rodgers was hurt…  At first, we didn’t think much of it, figuring he would be back in on the next drive.  But it kept looking worse and worse until finally, he jogged to the locker room.  I was watching the game with my girlfriend, and we just kinda looked at each other, not really knowing how to react.  Here was the man who kept this team together, and winning despite the injuries to what seems like EVERY other fucking major contributor on the team, at some point in this season.  I’m talking about Bryan Bulaga, Morgan Burnett, Clay Matthews(TWICE), Nick Perry, Randall Cobb, James Jones, Dujuan Harris, James Starks, Jermichael Finley, Brad Jones, Eddie Lacy, Casey Hayward; who have all missed games this season.  And, despite all of this, the Packers just reeled off four wins in a row, and barely missed the one before that.  He just kept making all the pain go away.  Aaron Rodgers was kicking ass and fucking taking names.  It didn’t matter who was on the field with him, you just always felt that Aaron(I’m going to try to stop referring to him by his full name all the time as I’m sure it’s pretty fucking annoying; but ooohh, it kinda just gave me shivers, it’s weird but I’ll give it a shot) was going to find them and get them the ball and somehow win every game.  But, suddenly, that was all gone.  When Rodgers jogged off the field, our attention, collectively as a state I’m sure, turned immediately from the game to Aaron Rodgers’ health.  It was all we could think about.  There was still a game happening and it was still close, so, we got behind the guys and cheered for them and cheered a ton for Eddie Lacy, who was just a beast from start to finish; but it wasn’t the same.  The Packers went on to, predictably, lose the game, but it didn’t hurt the way it normally would.  And it wasn’t until the next day, just like with the players, when the real pain set in…

Like many of the Green and Gold faithful, I was worried about Aaron and when he would get back, scared about the implications of this injury for our season and whether we could still make the playoffs and on and on.  There was no immediate information available on his collarbone and that made us nervous.  Some began to panic and, almost, but not quite, rightfully so.  The scariest part of any ordeal is not knowing.  Once, we found out it was a fractured clavicle or whatever, we could start to plan ahead and try to move on.  But again, this wasn’t just another injury, this was THE injury.  The one we might not be able to overcome.  It was a very trying couple of days.  I, and I know I’m not the only one, began looking at the schedule trying to figure out that, ok, if we can just win one or two of the games without Aaron maybe we can still make the playoffs as long as he’s back by December to win out, and ultimately, beat the Bears at Soldier Field.  A thousand different scenarios went through my, and Packers Nation’s, head.  But then Wednesday rolled around something changed for me.  A certain, inexplicable calm came about me.  I had been too wrapped up in the negative and completely lost perspective on the positive.  These are the Green Bay Packers, my team(Yes, I am a stockholder), the winningest and most storied franchise in the NFL, and it’s my job, as a lifelong fan, to be supportive and positve.  And, besides, the season is only half over.  There’s no need to lose any hope, or sleep, yet… That’s when a few things became very clear to me: 

1.     We have Mike McCarthy.  And if anyone can get this team, and more importantly Seneca Wallace and Scott Tolzien(and now Matt Flynn, once again), ready for this tough challenge, it’s him.

2.     Seneca Wallace has been a quarterback in the NFL for a long time so he definitely has quite a bit of talent and the Packers believed in him enough to pick him up.  I trust that the Packers personnel department knows exactly what they are doing and a thousand times more than me, who am I to doubt them.  Scott Tolzien led the Badgers to a Rose Bowl, so he must know a thing or two about football.  And Matt Flynn played a good game once, and made a fuck ton of money off the strength of that one game.

3.     If, no, when the Packers overcome this enormous challenge, there will be nothing that they cannot overcome and will definitely win the Super Bowl come February.

4.     (I try to have all my lists have four points, since that was, and in my mind still is,  Favre’s number and the best number EVER) Aaron Rodgers has done so much for this franchise that it’s unfair for me to be the slightest bit angry or whatever about any of this.  I feel incredibly lucky to have him on our side(praise be to the Lord Almighty we don’t have to play against him) and will never forget that…

Aaron Rodgers part II:  How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways…

            To expound upon point Favre, I mean four, Aaron Rodgers had the impossible task of taking over for the most famous, most popular, most exciting and most beloved player, not only in Green Bay, but in the ENTIRE FUCKING NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE.  He was set up almost surely to fail, as no one could possibly fill those enormous shoes(and there’s some masseuses in New York who would say that’s not the only enormous, um, thing…).  And, as a side note, if you didn’t already know(and how would you, you don’t know me.  And I’m not saying that in a Jerry Springer kind of “You Don’t Know Me” way, but in a normal, as we have never fucking met ever kind of way), Brett Favre is, BY FAR, my favorite player to ever play the great game of football.  He is my ultimate hero.  He is my childhood.  There is no one on Earth that I idolize more than Brett Favre.  And I was devastated to see him leave the Green Bay Packers, so, I, perhaps more than most, was very critical of Rodgers.  But that has all changed.  Aaron Rodgers has not only met and shouldered the unbearable expectations unfairly heaved upon him; he has surpassed them.  No one could have imagined(except Ted Thompson and Mike McCarthy, of course) that Rodgers would make Packers fans the luckiest fans in the world in that we have had, during my lifetime, not one, but two, back-to-back even, once-in-a-generation type players leading the Green Bay Packers.  I love Aaron Rodgers, I do, and I am no longer afraid to say it.  It doesn’t mean that I love Brett Favre any less, as I once thought it would; it only means that I have more love to give and I can indeed love two men in my lifetime.  Like a widower(or Cher in that terrible excuse for a song “Believe” that was fucking everywhere in 1998.  And if you don’t remember it, then thank God, as its only marginally better than “Who Dunnit?” by Genesis, whom I love, but is, by far, the worst fucking song I’ve ever heard and is like the fucking chicken pox, or its big brother herpes, once its in your system, its there forever and keeps popping up at the wrong moments, like, “Come on herpes, give me a break.  I’m trying to nail this drunk chick before she sobers up and sees I’m not the hot guy she was dancing with earlier, as he left with a hotter girl with lower self-esteem, and I swooped in for the easy pickings, but she’s clearly out of my league even still.”  Fucking herpes, that shits for life.  And, by the way, since we’re on the topic, if you are going to get herpes, please do it in a big city because getting herpes in a small town sucks a hairy, sweaty nutsack, which is super fucking gross, if you didn’t know.  I mean, not that I’ve ever done it, I haven’t I swear,  I’m not a crack head or anything, but even just thought of it, I mean, just, eww,  fucking eww.  Even straight ladies and gay dudes can’t like doing that, I would imagine.  Of course, there are always some freaks out there and I’m sure you could find them on Craigslist if, for some reason, you wanted your hairy, sweaty nutsack sucked…  But anyways, in the tiny town that I grew up in, only three thousand people, a girl I went to High School with found out she had herpes.  By the end of the week everyone in town knew about it and she was cast off like a leper from society.  I almost felt bad, but she did sex up some nasty dudes, so she kind of had it coming.  So, fuck it, I’m not the terrible person, she is), I am finding life and love once again. 

            Rodgers is, in many ways, the antithesis to Brett Favre.  The yin for his yang(not a cock reference, by the way).  And in this regard, I initially thought he was perhaps nothing more than a rebound fuck.  He was everything Brett wasn’t and almost nothing that Brett was, it seemed; besides an amazing quarterback playing for the greatest team in the whole world:  the Green Bay Packers.  I was so hurt by Brett leaving us, as many were, and needed someone different to pick up the pieces of my shattered life.  That was Aaron.  But seeing as we’re going on six years together, I must finally commit to this relationship and admit to myself what it really is.  And the more I watch Aaron Rodgers play, the more of Brett I see in him.  It’s the courage, both in the pocket and with his throws down the field.  It’s the poise.  When the biggest moments are upon him,  he’s not fazed and he doesn’t falter.  But most of all, it’s the ability to put not just an entire team, but the entire state of Wisconsin and the many, many Packers fans around the world, upon his shoulders and WIN.  Sustained success in the NFL is not an easy task, by any means.  As a matter of fact, its fucking hard as shit.  And I am not saying that these two men are solely responsible for all the past, present and future success of the Green Bay Packers, as there are countless other people(Mike Holmgren, Ron Wolf, Ted Thompson, Mike McCarthy and the entire staffs of these men plus all the players that have come(or gone to Minnesota), etc. etc.)responsible as well.  But if the past couple weeks without Aaron Rodgers, as we NEVER had to go without Brett Favre for more than a couple of quarters(297 starts in a fucking row!  Counting those other teams he played for, but still, goddamn it, that is unbelievably fucking amazing…), has taught us anything, we should be thanking God(and Ted Thompson) for number 12.  We’ve seen where we’d be without him, and I just don’t think I could take the heartbreak.  No Packers fan wants to revisit the 70’s and 80’s.  We love you Aaron; just stay the fuck away from our girlfriends…  You handsome devil, you…