Tweet
I was just an average Packer fan. You know the story – basking in the glory of the past while enduring the agony of the present. It seemed that my team would never truly compete in the NFL again. Maybe the league left my team behind. I continued to root for them with the foreboding feeling that my efforts were always in vain.
Then this kid from Mississippi shows up one day. He is talented, he is raw, he has a cannon for an arm, and he is a wild child. Early on, I had to wonder if this kid (or the coaching staff) would ever rein all that “juice” in.
Game after game, this kid has my emotions going up and down, up and down. The brilliant throw is followed by utter stupidity. The chances he takes pay off big time, and then he crushes me with a ridiculous decision. The ups and the downs are hitting me like waves, this career I am watching that propels my beloved team into the stratosphere is the same “juice” that could cause it all to crash down in a blaze of glory.
And so for many years, we soar like eagles on the sheer brilliance of this football god, and we suffer the agony of the risks that were not fated to pay off. It is simply poetic, how this drama plays out. We are back in the spotlight, the Lombardi Trophy returns to its rightful place, and all is well.
The only problem is that I have become addicted to the “juice”. Sometimes I don’t even care how the game turns out, I just like to see that the kid is taking his shot, he is hanging it out there, he is thrilling me with his daring escapades. I want that adrenaline running through me, win or lose. I have become a junkie – first class, all the way.
You take my drug away and I am pissed, man. How dare you do this to me. I just need one more year (maybe two). Let me ride those ups and downs, let me taste the adulation of victory and the crushing feel of defeat. I want it all, as long as I get my “juice”.
This new guy, I’m not so sure about. How do I get my fix? He doesn’t take the chances, he doesn’t lay it all on the line. He’s a “system” guy. Oh my God, I don’t think I can handle the sheer madness of steadiness, the droning monotony of going through the progressions and making the correct throw as it was drawn up in the boardroom.
Where is the thrill of watching my guy rear back, guns ablaze, launching the rock only to wonder what I will see as the camera pans back to show whatever will be downfield? I lived for so many years to thrill in the exaltation of seeing the receiver two steps ahead, catching that ball and strolling into the end zone, or at the same time, seeing that same receiver triple covered and my hopes and dreams going up in flames as the game is lost on a wing and a prayer.
The new era has no room for such flights of fancy. It’s all about the system. Draw it up and execute. We will probably still win a lot of games in the next few years, but how in the hell am I gonna get my fix?
Then this kid from Mississippi shows up one day. He is talented, he is raw, he has a cannon for an arm, and he is a wild child. Early on, I had to wonder if this kid (or the coaching staff) would ever rein all that “juice” in.
Game after game, this kid has my emotions going up and down, up and down. The brilliant throw is followed by utter stupidity. The chances he takes pay off big time, and then he crushes me with a ridiculous decision. The ups and the downs are hitting me like waves, this career I am watching that propels my beloved team into the stratosphere is the same “juice” that could cause it all to crash down in a blaze of glory.
And so for many years, we soar like eagles on the sheer brilliance of this football god, and we suffer the agony of the risks that were not fated to pay off. It is simply poetic, how this drama plays out. We are back in the spotlight, the Lombardi Trophy returns to its rightful place, and all is well.
The only problem is that I have become addicted to the “juice”. Sometimes I don’t even care how the game turns out, I just like to see that the kid is taking his shot, he is hanging it out there, he is thrilling me with his daring escapades. I want that adrenaline running through me, win or lose. I have become a junkie – first class, all the way.
You take my drug away and I am pissed, man. How dare you do this to me. I just need one more year (maybe two). Let me ride those ups and downs, let me taste the adulation of victory and the crushing feel of defeat. I want it all, as long as I get my “juice”.
This new guy, I’m not so sure about. How do I get my fix? He doesn’t take the chances, he doesn’t lay it all on the line. He’s a “system” guy. Oh my God, I don’t think I can handle the sheer madness of steadiness, the droning monotony of going through the progressions and making the correct throw as it was drawn up in the boardroom.
Where is the thrill of watching my guy rear back, guns ablaze, launching the rock only to wonder what I will see as the camera pans back to show whatever will be downfield? I lived for so many years to thrill in the exaltation of seeing the receiver two steps ahead, catching that ball and strolling into the end zone, or at the same time, seeing that same receiver triple covered and my hopes and dreams going up in flames as the game is lost on a wing and a prayer.
The new era has no room for such flights of fancy. It’s all about the system. Draw it up and execute. We will probably still win a lot of games in the next few years, but how in the hell am I gonna get my fix?
Comment