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Consider this quote from Abe Lincoln

"America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves."



     Football season is almost past and with it the realization that we have about two months of really cruddy weather to muddle through until Spring finally arrives.

     It’s no big secret that I’m a Packers fan. Saturday’s game was just about enough to send me to the cardiac wing of the local hospital. I am quite sure, in fact, that I may have startled the young people in my house, when the otherwise calm and collected self that I am screamed out “Are you Kidding ME?” after Grant’s second fumble in the first few minutes of the game. This obviously went against the rule in my house of no talking during the Packer games.  For ten minutes I hated Grant, wanted him to break an ankle off running down the field: and minutes later asked him to be friends again.  Good thing he said yes.

      It’s easy to sit back now and talk about the game, once the win was firmly in the grasp of Favre and Company, but don’t think I wasn’t the least bit nervous about it.  But of all the time honored and storied traditions in this country, like driving your car around town for hours as a teenager, knowing that if John Wayne is in the movie someone’s going to get a beating, and the fact that no matter how much politicians say they will do something for you the only thing they’ll do is to take your money, none is more relished than a snow game at Lambeau Field.    

      There is something special when the snow begins to fall there.  Could it be it harkens back memories of Bart Star and the Ice Bowl game?  Is it the fact that mother nature likes to lend her own brand of chop block to opposing teams used to playing is some sissified overdone hog confinement (yeah..I’m talking to you Vikings fan)?  Or is it just fun, reminding us of days from our boyhood where going out to play a little scrimmage in the snow at recess was our way of escaping from those math lessons?

       My Dad called during the third quarter, reminded of a trip to Wisconsin one rainy Monday night to see his first and so far only Packer game in person at the mother church.  We laughed when we thought about how bundled up we had been standing in the endzone seats.  We decided that it would have been much colder on Saturday, but I’m just guessing that between the brats, the cheese and an adult beverage or two, we’d of had a really good time.

      Bring on the Giants…Hopefully mother nature has already purchased her ticket to the game.

       See you next week…remember, we’re all in this together.