About the Packers game

Keep in mind, this started with a Russell Wilson throw. The guy had just ran back about 15 yards, like how I used to play Madden when I was 11, and threw it 55 yards because that was his only chance to win.

Now while the ball is in the air, Seattle's odds of winning are pretty low — in fact, let's not go there. Because odds mattered so little in this game all along. Odds the Packers offense would get shut out and allow eight sacks in the first half, odds Cedric Benson would be the key to a comeback, odds we'd be facing a classic Hail Mary to end it all, odds we'd end on the conclusion we did. If you were to look at them, you'd be wasting your time, this all has to be examined qualitatively.

My examinations? It'll never happen again. Thus, it is historic.

Since it's a new season, and the Seahawks have attractive Nike threads, a trendy quarterback whom Bill Simmons crowned as the most important player this season, and the Packers are coming off a gazillion-1 year, this game had mass appeal. Everyone was watching. This wasn't Seahawks-Cardinals, this was Monday Night Football.

People will look at this game and see the conclusion, mostly for the fallout it induced. But what's missing is the amazing "rising action" to borrow some literary words that are often paired together.

But eventually the ball does land, and it's a toss up. I'm on the phone with my brother, and I'm in my friends' apartment which is currently a please-don't-yell zone, and I don't yell, because I'm trying to process what the hell is happening, and the thought in my head is "tie goes to the runner."

Seattle is the runner for multiple reasons. They're the underdog, they're the offensive team, and they're the home team. I can't stress enough how much of me figured the refs would call it Seattle's way just because this was in Seattle. Have you ever stood before 70,000 people that consider themselves the most avid 70,000 people out of 32 groups of 70,000 people and thought "what your protagonists have accomplished is very impressive and remarkable, but it's not technically the way things should be." No, you haven't. These refs haven't either.

When the play is ruled a touchdown, I immediately am thinking back to a 2009 Packers-Steelers game in which the Steelers won on a last second touchdown throw by Ben Roethlisberger to Mike Wallace. Both teams were out of playoff contention, competing for pride, and the game was of serious importance, but nobody cared because it was between two scrub squads. But, lo and behold, those teams met again in the Super Bowl at the end of the next season, and I viewed that game — a gutwrenching defeat — as the day the Super Bowl XLV Packers were born. Moments like those — where you're crushed and helpless but you gave it your all and have nothing to be ashamed of — they make you certain of who you are and ready for a bigger moment, say a Super Bowl saving defensive stand against a team who has trademarked late Super Bowl heroics.

And then I'm thinking, well, at least the Seahawks didn't beat us. Yeah, they got helped by the refs. These refs were in a dreadful situation, and I don't know what I would have done, let alone the real refs. It might have gone the same way, albeit a preceding pass interference penalty wouldn't have been called, and the Seahawks would have 32 more yards to chow through before seeing the goal line. It was a dreadful situation, but you have to make a call, and they made a really simple call. Touchdown, home team victory, comeback complete.

So Russell Wilson is parading around like a hero, Golden Tate just bullshitted the biggest moment of his life, Pete Carroll's talking about season-defining wins before his team's even kicked the extra point to make it official, and all the while the Packers are off in the locker room, probably thinking something along the lines of "fuck it." Fuck it — we played well enough to win this game, we intercepted the ball on the last play, we know our man had it, we played well enough to win. Fuck it — we deserved to lose based on the way they destroyed us in half one. Fuck it — this isn't the playoffs, it's Week 3, we've got time and that will never ever happen again ever. Fuck it — they called it, whatever, I guess we lost.

The game goes official and I'm really not all that bitter. It's like how eventually I realized in high school that rich kids just got things easier because their parents could pay for them. I wasn't a lesser person, I just didn't have things handed to me. This game was handed to the Seahawks by someone else. I mean, this mindset borders on denial, but I'm okay staring down a 1-2 record. I'm not scared. Now, I'm dying to hear Mike McCarthy's press conference, and sort of hoping we file a lawsuit or something absurd like that. By all means, practically any recourse is justified when a team is victimized to the extent we were tonight. I know that the fallout will be totally supportive of Green Bay, Skip Bayless will probably say that we're 2-1 all week on "This is Bullshit and I'm Skip Bayless" or whatever that show on ESPN is called.

The replay itself is stomach churning. The guy, M.D. Jennings, jumps up — so high — and gets his hands on the ball and rakes it in — great success! — but as they come down — watch out for poor Sam Shields down there — Golden Tate begins to force himself upon the ball. They fall to the ground — who's got it? — Jennings turns away, trying to yank possession all to himself — he fails at this and thus leads the referee to believe he has less of the ball than Tate — and Tate clings on as the ref signals touchdown. The words "simultaneous possession" have been murdered by overuse and may or may not apply. Let's not oversimplify it — the catch was confusing, and honestly a competent basketball ref would be running in with two thumbs up and we wouldn't have to decide who had the ball first, because we would just figure out who could have the ball now. It's a football play, and it's a fucking weird one that I've never seen before.

I watch the press conferences, read some of the reactions, read more of the reactions, and get increasingly upset. Some of these responses are funny, TJ Lang and Josh Sitton (Packers O-linemen) don't give a fuck how light their wallets become after their tweets tonight, Clay Matthews gives America Roger Goodell's phone number and I call in and offer a couple thoughts, including this suggestion: Why is it necessary to establish a call on the field in situations where the game (or half, or quarter) is over? In a situation like tonight, why can't the refs just be like "WE DON'T KNOW. DID YOU SEE THAT? WE'RE GOING TO GO LOOK AT THAT AND DOUBLE-CHECK BEFORE WE ESTABLISH A BURDEN OF PROOF HERE." While perhaps not conventional or loyal to the process, the idea of a "call on the field" is just saying you have to argue against something in your replay review, you can't decide something by replay. This isn't American court, we're not proving guilt or innocence, we're deciding something. Let there be a decision made upon review in situations where the officials are obviously flustered and uncertain.

Before this catch, there was the uncalled pass interference on Golden Tate — a blatant no-call that affected the game not only by not penalizing Tate, but by taking the defender in best position, Sam Shields, out of the play. Before the play, there had been a 32-yard pass interference call against  Shields in which he was actually tugged by wide receiver Sidney Rice, this was another call I think the refs knew something was wrong, threw a penalty flag to seem competent, then called it on the road team to appease the immediate audience. Before this there was a penalty for roughing the passer that negated an earlier Packers interception that really had serious dagger potential in itself. Obviously these refs tonight took a flyer on the whole "protect the quarterback" zeitgeist that plagued last year's officiating. They dropped laundry several times in the tackle box and here flagged Erik Walden on a play that players have been making all season without consideration from the refs, lament from the fans or protest from the players. If no pass interference is called, do you really think Seattle is whining about not getting that call? No. So there's three key missed calls by these referees which Roger Goodell backed several weeks ago and has not voiced much support for since the regular season began.

Blaming the refs is silly, to a degree. I mean, I may have been not far down the list of replacement officials, for all I know. These guys are coming from all different kinds of backgrounds and clearly are outclassed here. They still fuck these plays up and are influenced so much by trying to appear normal. Referees aren't an entity that should resemble Milford men — not seen and not heard — they should be controlling the game, setting a framework for the players to work within. These guys are afraid to intrude, because they are so unconfident in their abilities.

So we look around, we know it's commissioner Goodell's fault, it's also the fault of the Owners and I guess the players and I guess the fans for not taking serious action to combat this lockout. But I know it's not M.D. Jennings' fault, it's not Sam Shields' fault, and it's definitely not Golden Tate's fault we lost.

All I'm seeing is probably the most interesting football game of my lifetime and wondering how that affects the future for the Packers this season. We've got the Saints on Sunday, and we had better not make it close.

--Eliot Sill

Religion

The three of them sit there, practically submerged in snow. Lying down on their backs, the icy dunes cannot touch them. Despite the fact they are wearing little more than jeans and their very specific replica jerseys, an aura of sublimity wraps them warm in “their” accomplishment. Tossing chunks of snow in the air as a means of celebration and exchanging disbelieving giggles and full out laughs, the only words spoken between the three are “we fuckin' did it.” This is what bliss is.

In actuality, all the “they”s and “we”s in that last paragraph should be switched. This is the scene that my two brothers and I experienced on February 6th in front of my dad's house. "They," meaning the team, won the big game, and “we” didn't really do anything. All we did was watch. We watched for the entire year. We have for our entire lives.

The Green Bay Packers have been a staple of Tweet-Sill family living for years. And by years I mean ever. In addition to all the standard Disney films, I watched the NFL Films production entitled The History of the Green Bay Packers regularly. NFL Films, might I add, are some of the finest documenters in the world, and this tape, an introductory crash course on Packers lore, kept me enraptured in the history of the green and gold. My parents raised me a Packer backer, and that part of my identity has burgeoned every year. Let's just say, I was raised by my parents, and then my siblings, and then the Packers, and then my friends. My parents and siblings were raised on the Packers too, so, the effect increases.

Peder, Eliot and Andrew Sill. How f*&king adorable. Also notice the green and yellow vegetation.

We had gatherings at our house pretty much every weekend the Packers were on TV. My parents had friends over, I mingled with their kids, I pissed everyone off by standing in front of the TV, and I grew to love football, and the culture surrounding it.

Every Packer game for like twelve years. And we never won a(nother) Super Bowl. We had won one when I was 4, and lost one when I was 5. We had never gotten back, but damn we had gotten close. Each of the 16 regular-season football games is so important. You win it, you can be happy about it for a week. You lose, it nags at you for a week. Week to week, being a die-hard will mess with your mood. In the post-season however, you win and it means you are elated for a week. You lose in the post-season? And you go into a mild (or severe, depending on your level of passion) depression. Until July or August. I can remember this happening to me seven times. I can remember zero times how it feels to not lose out in the NFL. Either you don't make the playoffs (depressing, let me tell you) or you get beat in the playoffs (yeah, just told you that).

That all changed on February sixth. My Packers brought the trophy home.

Green Bay is by far the smallest city to own an NFL team. Their measly population fails to match that of Springfield, as of 2000 it was roughly 102,000. Yet they have a 72,000 seat stadium and they fill it up every time their boys take the field. And I say “their” boys because the Packers are indeed a team that belongs to the fans. Because of the city's small size, the team sells shares of ownership to its fans. The team has more shareholders than residents in its city. Amazing. The town itself is quaint and non-assuming. The only attractions being the Packers and the Oneida Casino, located on an Indian reservation in the city's metropolitan area.

Green Bay has three things in it. These are those three things.

As Ben Roethlisberger's 4th and 5 pass was broken up with 50 seconds left, and our victory of all victories was sealed, I realized something I've dreamt about since I was seven and watched the clock tick down and the Packers win the Super Bowl. The team's run can positively be constituted as improbable due to the ridiculous amount of players who were injured for the length of the season (15 players landed on the Injured Reserve, football teams have 53 active players) and even in the Super Bowl itself where team leaders Donald Driver and Charles Woodson had to leave the game with injuries. The consensus by mid-season was that “next year we'd have a real good shot at it,” but here we went and won it this year. How about that?

My brother and I committed to going to the ceremony back at Lambeau Field if the team won the title, and when they did, we made good on our promise. We took my brother's '93 Buick Skylark (a real shitty car, let me tell you) to Wisconsin on Monday night, then to Green Bay on Tuesday morning. The city greeted us with feet of snow lining the roads and an unforgiving wind blowing the 8 degree temperature to a negative 18 degree wind chill. Also we forgot gloves. That was a bad idea.

In Illinois, if I see someone donning Packer gear, I compliment them on it. Since we won the Super Bowl (and I've been wearing nothing but Packers stuff) I've turned that to high fives. In Green Bay, if someone isn't wearing Packer gear, they are the black sheep in a flock of thousands of green and yellow ones. Packers fans are referred to as Cheeseheads. This aspect of Packer culture originated with Chicago White Sox fans using the term to insult Milwaukee Brewers fans for the love affair the state has with dairy (so many damn cows...). Packers fans took this mantra and spun it positively, adding the iconic  cheesehead hat to boot, turning the insult into a source of pride. The whole city is electrified by this team, and the community is so in love with their team that it truly does break down any barriers in a way that only religion can. If a town of 100,000 all practiced the same religion, and all went to the same 72,000-seat church. That's how much they support the team, and seeing that first-hand is truly awe-inspiring.

The hallowed gates. Love this place, would live here if I could.

The players and the fans' relationship is second-to-none in professional sports. At the team's training camp in July and August, the team practices for the public's enjoyment at the outdoor field across the street from Lambeau, and when practice ends, the players usually walk and sign autographs or the neighborhood kids bring their bikes to practice and the players will ride back to the facility with either the kid on the pegs or running excitedly alongside. This happens. And it only happens in Green Bay. Every time I visit the town, I have some sort of interaction with the team. Tuesday, I was perusing hats in the team's pro shop, and Super Bowl champion defensive tackle Ryan Pickett sneaks up on me from behind (hard to do, being 300+ pounds), “excuse me,” he says. My brother and I, flabbergasted, laugh in disbelief and Andrew chimes in “no, excuse us sir.” I wanted to give him a hug and thank him for his service, but I also didn't want to be that guy. Only in Green Bay will you see players mingling with fans in a team gift shop on a Tuesday afternoon.

Bad picture. Great player.

Even on this day, cold as hell, fans line the fence to thank the players 

as they walk from their cars into the facilities.

One of my favorite players to talk to is Donald Driver. Oh my God, he has the best smile in the world. When you think of football players, you may think of this guy, or this one, but Donald is none of the above. He is an absolute class act who has been a Packer for 12 years, basically as long as I have been in love with the team, and has a mutual relationship with his team's fans. He never acts too good for anyone, and the whole team does to a degree, but Donald's a politician. He makes you feel like you could invite him to dinner and he'd agree to it and then pay. Donald comes from Houston, Texas. He was at one time homeless, living out his family's car. He sold drugs and stole cars to survive, he was utterly desolate. Yet, he had a dream, and refused to give up on it. He quit the criminal life and told his brother “I'm going to make it.” He went to Alcorn State, a small predominantly black school of 2,500. He was gambled on by Green Bay in the seventh (final) round of the 1999 NFL Draft. Since then he has come within 41 yards of being Green Bay's all-time leading receiver (which is impressive–the franchise got its start in 1919). Tuesday he was paid his dues by the fans, who gave him the loudest ovation of all who were introduced. Donald's first Super Bowl appearance was Sunday, and he was knocked out in the second quarter, an ankle injury disallowed him from playing. That couldn't stop him, or our team, from becoming a Super Bowl champion.

We didn't take this picture. I would date him. Who wouldn't?

I'm pretty sure we are the only franchise to have its very own Hall of Fame, a testament to our franchise's rich history. My brother and I paid a visit to this, where the team's three previously won Lombardi trophies rest and where the fourth one will go. The Packers won 9 NFL titles before the inception of the Super Bowl, which originally matched the NFL's champion with that of the rival league AFL's champion, (now the two are separate conferences in the NFL). And after this we set out to find our seats for the ceremony.

Me and Donald Driver (frozen in carbonite) having a chat outside the stadium.

HOLY CRAP IT WAS COLD. The locals were practically used to weather, and they had at least brought gloves. But the negative wind chill bit at my brother and I. Yet we braved the weather to see the Return to Titletown ceremony, one that has little apparent importance, just a bunch of dudes talking about how awesome their football team was, but historically, it bears significance. It is the last time our team's current roster will probably be together. It reminded the both of us of the time we stood at the Old State Capitol in the freezing freaking cold waiting for some guy named Barry to tell a crowd of folks that he would run for Prez. Except, that was the beginning of something. This was the culmination of something great. The off-season approaches, and we can't keep everybody, which is damn unfortunate. But, we will get some of those 15 IR players back and be ready to seek out a repeat next year.

Packer nation out in full force, all for the purpose of saying thanks.

I love the Green Bay Packers. I feel at home in this city. The security guards at the stadium treat you like your aunt or uncle. The players treat you like you would want them to, and the organization treats its fans like owners, partially because they are. More than the Green Bay Packers, I love loving the Green Bay Packers. It brings my family together, which is nice. Being a football fan is a cumulative effort. Winning it this year has made me feel like, not only did we overcome all the obstacles our team faced this year, but all those years where we weren't any good or where we lost in the playoffs. It feels like all that has led to this.

All in all, a great trip.

I can always count on the Pack to pick me up on Sunday, if not with a victory than with an honest effort and hope for a Lombardi Trophy. That hope, now, has become a reality. And it's the best feeling in the world.

--Eliot Sill

Robert - HANNAH I'M GOING TO KILL YOU

You'll be green with envy. And Packer cleats.

MY GIRLFRIEND HANNAH TOLD ME THAT I SHOULD BE MORE COMPETITIVE ABOUT SPORTS BECAUSE THAT MAKES THEM MORE FUN. OKAY. The Packers play the Bears today in 18 minutes. Hannah's a rabid Bears fan. I'm a fairweather Packers fan. But I'm competitive! I'm willing to bet a lot that my Packers will stomp Brian Urlacher and whoever still plays for that team. MY PROPOSAL: Whoever's team loses today is the other person's official bitch until spring break. Publicly. Everyone will know. It will be so totally humiliating.

Hannah Kolkmeier, if you have any confidence or faith or true care for your team, accept this bet in the public forum, either on Classic Brian or on Facebook.

I will be liveblogging as the game develops to describe how it makes the destiny of my soul feel. Keep refreshing, please.

THIS ONE'S FOR THE MEN.

Hmmm... Time to bring this back.

Okay, so I have to be deadly honest with you. I don't know what to write.

SPORTS!

Football season is coming up right around the damn corner. And I know all of you need a second before you continue reading to go ahead and roll your eyes. But, I don't care. If you don't like it go back to Pitchfork or Facebook or whichever medium you chose to waste your life on today.

Anyway, football season is coming up. And it's a lot different for me this year than everything that I've been used to has been. This whole going to college thing? It lays down a huge effect on my sports fanhood habits.

I'm sure I've mentioned this in previous posts, but I spent every Sunday for the last twelve years of my life watching NFL Sunday, specifically Packer games, with my family. Let me give you the cast and crew of my Sunday afternoon, and no, that does not entail the improv troupe (sorry guys). Me! my dad, my brother Andrew, my brother Peder, my dad's friend Matt, his son Mike, my dad's friend Ted, my brother's friend Nick, my dad's friend's daughter Lindsay, my mom, my mom's friend Jane, chicken wings, brats, beer and Brett Favre. Yeah, it was a frickin' party. We were all Packers fans (this includes chicken wings and beers). We devoted our lives to the rollercoaster that is NFL fanhood. Some of us were much more interested in the actual events than others, but everyone had their reason to be there. Food, family, fun, festivities, football. That's what Sundays truly meant. That and church. Church sucked. Boring and churchy. But after church meant we set up and caught whatever we could of pre-game before camping out at Damon's for the bonanza known as NFL Sunday.

This event has been destroyed to a sad sad degree. This September when the season kicks off and all becomes right with the world once more, my dad and Andrew will meet up with Matt, have some beers, enjoy some appetizers and watch the game (they'll smoke plenty of cigarettes too). Yeah, that sucks for them, but for me, it's worse. I will scramble to find a sports bar showing my Packers game, by myself, then I will have not beer and not cigarettes as my Packers trounce the inexperienced Eagles in an opening week contest. I will pay too much for bad wings and diluted soda, and wonder why a 26-14 win feels so much less satisfying now then it did six years ago.

The family will network their thoughts on the game, and none of it will matter. The game will go on, while some younger family declares it their finest hour. My dad will turn to my brother and say, "I wonder how El's doin..." and my brother will say "he's fine, he's definitely watching this. He's not Peder, he'll find a way to see the damn game." He will be right, but it will still be wrong. There is a sea of students here at the U of I campus, and I'm sure there are at least 2,500 Packers fan friends to be made here. I will find probably 154 of them, and meet six. None of them will be as mad as Andrew is when we run a draw on third and eleven. None of them will as seamlessly alternate between annoyingly optimistic and annoyingly pessimistic like my father. None of them will be as awkward a fan as my mother was (love you mom, but you were ALWAYS either too excited or too distraught by our excitement). None of them will be as much of a goofy turdball as Matt was. Well, maybe they will. The venue will be different, and definitely not Damon's. Damon's was eaten by the tornado of Sunday, March 12, 2005. Damon's had four big screen tv's playing four DIFFERENT games, and plenty of other tv's playing plenty of other games. FUCK YOU BUFFALO WILD WINGS. YOU DO A BAD JOB. Ted and Jane (married) stopped being regulars to our gatherings, which meant we saw their children Nick and Lindsay less. Mike went to college. Peder went to college. My dad divorced my mom, so she stopped being there. Hell, even Brett Favre left us.

Ahhh, wipe your faces kids, it's not all gloom and doom. We all still love the Packers. We just will be doing it this season from different corners of our midwestern universe. Except for Brett Favre. He'll be doing it from the dark side. Asshole. Those days were my introduction to the great game of football. They taught me something that I have yet to learn to teach others: football is and always will be the greatest thing in the world and everything else is just "pretty cool". People don't see the point in sports. It's just dudes doin' stuff. But if you allow for it, there's so much more to it that skyrockets the entertainment value of the games. It's called investing yourself. If you allow yourself to care, that caring will come back to you in a variety of ways in which you aren't ready for. First of all, which is a better conversation starter, music or sports? If you're at Lollapalooza, maybe music. In a real (not dream-fantasy-heaven-awesomeness-IstillamobsessedwithfuckingLollapalooza) setting, it's clearly sports. Try as you might to argue it, it's just fundamentally easier and more engaging. I can walk around school wearing an Arcade Fire t-shirt and six people will instantly become a fan of my personality. However, I can walk around school wearing a Green Bay Packers shirt and twenty five people will give me conversation starting remarks about how either they are as well Packers fans and that it's always good to see other Packer backers out there, or how they think I was raised by idiots because I'm not a Bears fan. The point is, sports are more universalized. They're, in fact, the universalizedest. You have baseball, football and basketball. You can bring any of those subjects up in a conversation with 90% of people you can have at least a two minute conversation about why they don't like the NBA or how they just don't care about baseball anymore. Whatever. You bring up any band in particular, there's like a sixty percent chance you're missing their music tastes. Even then, musical tastes are such random amalgams of bands that there's no way you can go into a conversation expecting to have your music tastes match up perfectly. You can do this easily in sports. If you can do that, you're half friends. Really. It's that easy.

Other than that though, sports has a lot to offer. People seek emotional ecstasy from music, right? Well, I feel a genuine rush of jubilance every time the Packers score a touchdown. Sure, being a sports fan entails a lot of losing and therefore rushes of depression so it kind of balances out. Regardless, I take so much pride in my Packers and will always. The Packers will never dump me. They will never change. They will never make a shitty fourth album. They will never not give me their all. They are the single most dependable entity in my life. They may do shitty, but damn it I know they're trying to make me happy. Also the players are all really cool, regardless of whether they actually are. They're super strong, super quick and they are real people. They are rock stars in their own right.

As for the actual entertainment itself, I guess you just have to know what's going on. If you don't know the rules and regulation to the games, you're basically watching dudes doin' stuff. And really, they're carrying out finely tuned precise plays that are reliant upon each and every individual player. It's cool. Again, FOR YOU MUSIC LOVERS, it'd be like someone not realizing that piano is anything more than throwing your hands at the keys. Oh and did I mention how awesome it is to see people get hit really hard all the time? Yeah it's cool.

Anyway, that was my best attempt. You still won't like sports. But you can't say there's no reason to like them. Everything we do is little more than a waste of time, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the shit out of that time we're wasting. So this year, I will be looking for a place to go on Sundays. For the first time ever. I will search, scavenge, network and finally find a place where other like-minded sports nerds congregate to fawn over the athletic display set before them by the idols of their little brothers. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and listen to the Drake album again, to try and convince yourself to like it just a little bit more. I will be basking in the glory that is NFL Sunday, or as I like to call it, the respite that God himself intended us to have on the sabbath.

SPORTS POST!

--Eliot Sill