One of the many things I looked forward to on my return to Wisconsin was watching a Packer game in a bar where all the patrons were on my side.
Somewhere along the line of 30 years, with few exceptions, of winning seasons Packers fans became insane.
I now regularly sit beside fellow Packer fans who live and die by each play.
The team general manager and coach should be fired. The four-time MVP should be let go. Burn all of Lambeau down and restart the oldest NFL team because three consecutive 13-win seasons aren't enough.
It's no longer like the 1980s Wisconsin bars where fans were just happy to be there. The Packers didn't win but they existed. And we continued on the fumes of the Lombardi era 20 years earlier. The team had a good year when they broke even and there remained conjecture the team might fold or, God forbid, be sold and moved to a city that was larger and more lucrative.
I moved away from Wisconsin in 2000 and spent the better part of two decades to return home.
Now the fans I sit next to want to fire every Packer employee if a pass is dropped, the other team makes a first down or Aaron Rodgers changes his haircut.
Really, dude. He's the Jennifer Aniston of the NFL.
The dudes and dudettes on the bar stools next to me are often ready to climb to the top of the bar and throw themselves off.
Full disclosure: I was there once. I clearly remember a game the Packers lost in in the playoffs against Atlanta some years ago, while I was living on a bucolic Pennsylvania and my head was about to explode. I considered I might have a stroke and no one would find me for weeks -- and I still would have looked fat.
It's just a game, I told myself, gorged on Leinenkugel's and Wisconsin brats I had exported to Pennsylvania. Had I died, the level of decomposition would be overcome by the smell of Silver Springs Beer and Brat mustard as it would waft through the scene.
It's just a game.
And thus a celebration where I enjoy the drama of highs and lows of the most gloried teams in the National Football League.
Even if I have to take aways the means of self harm from the cat sitting next to me, guns, knives, rope or an application to the Brian Urlacher fan club.
Peace unto Ukraine. Peace and more peace unto my fellow Packers fans.
Oh, and go Pack.