In May of 2011 I witnessed one of the greatest ways to honor to a former player, the Testimonial game.

Gary Neville played for my favorite English soccer team, Manchester United and retired earlier in the 2011 season. In May, former teammates, Neville’s brother, all flew to Manchester to play in a friendly match against Italian club Juventus. It was a big deal, the Theatre of Dreams – Manchester United’s home pitch – was filled with 42,000 fans, who wanted one last chance to say good bye to Neville.

How cool would this be in Green and Gold and Driver’s face?

From a fan’s perspective and the first time seeing such an event, I was mesmerized. David Beckham, who hadn’t played for ManU since 2003, was there. It was an All-Star type game filled with Neville’s closest friends and teammates from his 20 year career. Neville was subbed off of the field with 7 minutes left in regulation. I know some non-soccer fans might think, “They didn’t even let him finish the game?!” but being subbed off allowed Neville one last chance to soak up the fans love.

As it was announced that he was subbed off, he’s the lone player leaving the field and the fans generally take this time to show their appreciation. Standing ovations, sideline of players and coaches ready to embrace, is there a better way to celebrate a great career?

The testimonial game is unique to soccer and friendly games make it easier to execute. Players don’t slide tackle or go “cleats up” when you’re playing a game to honor someone. The NFL doesn’t lend itself to a game for show (see the Pro Bowl), but the Packers Donald Driver situation made me give pause.

I do not think the Packers should keep Driver active on game day just for the sake of being able to say “Donald Driver was active for his last game.” Now, before anyone gets too upset, I love Driver. He’s a great Packer. He is Packer People, has been a great ambassador for the team and for the game.

But I also love the Packers. And I am a firm believer that no player is above the team. While the Packers are playing for a birth in the NFC Championship game, active game day roster decisions should only be made with the idea of winning in mind; not the idea of honoring someone.

But I do agree with a part of the Packers should activate Donald Driver movement. He’s a great Packer, and he should be honored.

How great would it be to have a Driver testimonial at Lambeau Field? Imagine a spring time flag football game, with current and former Packer players.  Imagine former coaches or members of Driver’s family on hand, in the game, on the sideline. Now imagine it at Lambeau Field.

The Donald Driver Testimonial game will never happen; I can’t even begin to think of the logistics or CBA/contract issues that would arise. But it would be really freaking cool if it did happen. And, in my opinion, the most fitting tribute to a great Packer player.

2012 was a memorable year for many reasons. There was a US Presidential election (please, no political commentary-thanks). The Olympics in London. The devastation of Hurricane Sandy. And we all survived the Mayan prediction of the Apocalypse. Just a few of the countless memories 2012 will leave behind.

Packer fans experienced more than a few ups and downs in 2012. The high of a 15-1 regular season collapsed with a crushing playoff defeat at the hands of the Giants last January. Donald Driver won Dancing With the Stars. The Fail Mary was perhaps the low point of the NFL season, and ultimately helped contribute to the Packers missing the number 2 seed in the playoffs. The Packers won the NFC North. Lovie Smith was fired by the Bears. It was quite an eventful calendar year in Green Bay.

Part of New Years traditions is the resolutions we all come up with. Promises to lose weight, save money, stop smoking, and eat better are commonly heard in early January, only to be forgotten by many by the end of the month. It is something we have all done, and continue to do every year.

While I will not divulge any of the personal resolutions I have made for 2013, there are a few I have committed myself to as it relates to the Packers. I am fully committed to following through on each of these for the next year. Whether I can do it or not remains to be seen, but if I can, it will definitely make following the Packers a little bit less stressful.

Here are my Packers resolutions for 2013:

• I resolve that I will not turn the other way every time Mason Crosby lines up for a field goal. He is the Packers kicker (for now) and I am confident he will make every kick he attempts.
• I resolve that I will not hurl profanities toward my TV or radio whenever Mike McCarthy calls for the John Kuhn draw out of the shotgun, even though it has not worked in 3 years.
• I resolve that I will not completely lose my mind when Dom Capers rushes 3 and drops 8 into exceptionally soft coverage with the game on the line, even though the Prevent defense has not worked since…well, ever. However, I do retain the right to somewhat lose my mind when this does occur.
• I resolve that I will not get upset with Aaron Rodgers when he finally does get injured by taking an unnecessary sack because he holds onto the ball too long.
• I resolve that I will not refer to James Starks as “Neo” anymore. Instead I will call DuJuan Harris the “Neo Neo”.
• I resolve that I will not not say “Fire Capers” anymore-he’s doing a fine job getting that done without my support.
• I resolve to enjoy the final games of Donald Driver, Greg Jennings, and Jermichael Finley in a Packers uniform. Two of the three will not be back next season. Perhaps even all three.
• I resolve to hold my opinions to myself when Ted Thompson makes his head scratching off season moves, even though they may drive me nuts.
• I resolve to not question Mike McCarthy’s play calling. If Mike wants to throw the ball 100 times a game, go for it.

My final resolution comes from the heart: I resolve to fully enjoy every little bit of joy the Packers bring. Every time I read about them, hear about them, or see them, I will take a moment and smile, and think about how much happiness they bring to me, and all Packer fans.

Even if they do drive me nuts at times.

This morning on twitter I was in a discussion about fan confidence going into this Sunday’s game. The homer me will always say, Packers all the way baby. The football fan that has watched the Packers play their last four must win games, feels pretty confident that the Packers are nearly unstoppable. The superstitious girl remembers how I felt waking up NFC Championship Sunday in January 2008 and truth be told, that is the memory that is haunting me right now.

Due to an unceremonious break up, I was sleeping on a friend’s couch at the time. Let me tell you, nothing heals a heart faster than your team making it to the NFC Championship game and staying up on those post break-up sleepless nights with a glass of wine and watching packers.com videos. It might sound funny, but breaking up threw my football watching into a precarious position. I no longer had my desktop computer set up, I no longer had my bar buddy who accompanied me to the local bar to watch the games, I no longer had someone in my corner cheering on my team with me.

So instead I became that girl at the bar. In a city, Cincinnati, where winning doesn’t usually come easy and a lot of people are bitter, where I had only been living for five months, I found myself searching for bars each game day in my Ahman Green Jersey, Packers hoodie and with my trusty packers glove.  I was the girl who sat at the end of the bar, drank tall miller lites, and probably talked a lot of smack.

An excerpt from my then livejournal:

Man upon seeing my sweatshirt: Packers suck.

Me: Really?  How many wins do you have? I have eleven.

Man: Oh, no. I…..so do you like grey haired men?

Me: No.  Except for Brett Favre.

But eventually I found a “home”. The Buffalo Wild Wings in Rookwood was to become my haven. One of the bartenders was a Packers fan, and the other was good looking.  Figured I couldn’t go wrong.  Spent the glorious snow globe game there, in my new Favre jersey, had a bar tab of only $5 (I had eaten and been drinking all day  :) ), and was lovingly referred to as “Favre” by all the people around me.

So I woke up the morning of that fateful NFC Championship game torn. My dear friends who were putting me up until my new single girl apartment was ready were having a playoff party at their parent’s house. They bought me macaroni and cheese and a cheese pizza. They bought miller lite and one was wearing an old school Favre jersey. So I sat there that morning deciding between my friends, new friends who were clearly trying above and beyond to help me, or my new bar, the lucky viewing site of the Seattle game.

I chose the friends. Because in the end, real life matters more. And while I don’t regret my decision, there is a part of me will always feel like the Rookwood BW’s was where I was supposed to watch the NFC Championship game.

So when someone asks me how I feel about Sunday’s game, while yes, my thoughts are full of rivalry talk and confident homerisms, I also remember the girl who felt like the slightest decision that I made would have an impact, and that my friends, is a heavy thought to bear.

So this Sunday you will find me as you have every game day this season: on a chair perched in front of my big screen, wearing the exact same outfit, the exact same hair tie, next to the exact same set up with my glove and mini helmet.

Trust me. I fully believe that the Packers will win. It’s the Bears for Pete’s sake. But trust me; I’m also not taking any chances.

P.S. If you are ever the awful ex in this story, please do not call the girl moments before her team kicks off for the right to go to the Super Bowl and PLEASE, for the love of all things good and holy, do not call when her team loses to offer condolences.  That’s just wrong.

From the sound of it, he may have already been preparing for the inevitable for quite some time now.

Sources are telling me that Slocum’s wife quit her job at the end of last week in the tax department at WPS in Green Bay.

Mrs. Slocum quit her job last week… at WPS.

In addition to stepping down from her position, it appears Slocum was also looking for a job earlier in the season.

Funny thing is, she had approached us for a job earlier. It was in week six or so. I was told she had legitimate concerns about her husband’s job.

Now perhaps Mrs. Slocum is just looking for a career change, but I don’t know many people that look for a job in another part of the country and then subsequently quit their current position.

Now I wish Shawn Slocum the best of luck in the next two games, and I certainly am not here to bash him in any way. I hope he gets that SuperBowl ring.

But, it sounds like he’s getting ready to show it off somewhere else.

Watch the Packers NFL highlights.

Watch the Packers highlights.

Quick Hits

The Packers have two of the top 5 corners in the league.

Just shocked at how good Starks looks at times.

Shades of Al Harris in that Tramon interception.

John Abraham is a douche.

Aaron Rodgers is better than Favre was.

Who hates James Jones now?

Trust me, this will feel better next week when we are headed to the Super Bowl. This team owns the NFC now.

I have never been a fan of Cowherd’s and have frequently called him out on twitter and Cheesehead Radio for his idiotic comments. But that one, that one hurt. Packers fans only come out when they win? Really?

I could point to the long wait list for season tickets, or to the amount of jerseys sold, or to the vast number of people who visit this site and others during games to prove him wrong. But tonight on Packer Transplants we got more proof than any number could provide.

Corey’s Aunt Gert turned out to be the mystery guest and I can honestly say that I listened more intensely during her interview than any of the others also on the show tonight. Why? Because the history and familial tradition of the Packers is something that is truly special and should be cherished. I know many teams have history and family bonds, but having lived in two other NFL cities, my experience has been that Packers fans share their love and fandom in a very unique and special way. The detail and near excitement in Aunt Gert’s voice as she talked was matched equally by nearly everyone in the chat room. She sat there giving out tips for the game, recalling great moments, and I think, as listeners we all felt lucky and home, not only because here is a great fan talking but because many of us also have our own “Aunt Gert”s.

Mine was my grandmother, Wilma. How grandmother of a name is that? I moved in with her when I was 13. I was already pretty much a freak fan at that point, but with her I learned the etiquette of fandom. My grandmother watched Packers games from two spots in the house. One, a chair in the back of the living room or two, in the kitchen. When games would get tense she loved cleaning the oven. With her yellow gloves in hand she would sit there and scrub and scrub while listening to Jim and Max on the radio, the more tense a game got the more elbow grease she applied. We never listened to the tv announcers. They were rubbish. She’s the one that taught me being able to talk about football is totally different from being able to talk about it well. As she got older and games got later, I would find myself alone watching some games, and somehow I always ended up in the kitchen. That’s where you went when things got close. I was circling the table the entire last four minutes of Super Bowl 32. Funny, how years later you can still remember those things. I think the hardest thing about moderating the game day chat this season has been that I can’t get up and stand in the kitchen. Trust me, there have been times that I’ve been tempted to take the lap top in there.

In my grandmother’s basement I found what can only be described as the world’s oldest, perhaps, first, bobble head. I loved that doll. He watched every game with me. Eventually his head crumbled, he was just too old. Grandmother said she had him as long as she could remember. Before me she kept him next to four mini helmets, not the kind you get outside the grocery store, but real collectors, and a mini football. I still watch each game with the Green Bay one.

In 2004 we moved my grandmother out of her house and in doing so we found an old dresser in the basement filled with old Packers memorabilia. Game day programs, pictures, etc. I was young when my grandfather passed so I never knew what the house was like filled with people on game day, but these drawers, those things, gave me a glimpse.

We probably were an odd pair, a very petite woman in her 70s and an overly emotional teenager with pom poms and a bobble head doll, but we were watching football together.  Sure I have other memories, of childhood family parties filled with raw meat, onions and beer towers. And I have memories of being a college kid watching games at the bar. But tonight when listening to Aunt Gert talk, and after hearing Colin Cowherd’s bizarre comments, I can’t help but think of that four year stretch of my life when I was lucky enough to live and be a fan with my grandmother.

The history of this team, of being a fan is passed down through many generations. I’m thankful that Packer Transplants took the time tonight to remind us and share with us. And I really hope that someone, someday, finds a way to get Colin Cowherd off the air.

Here you go.

Fat Boys

I used to work at a hardcore biker bar. Not hardcore as in there might be a couple of scruffy guys in leather there, but hardcore as in it was run by some bad ass dudes.

Real bad ass dudes.

I will not name their organization, but they are synonymous with everything badass biker. They are the toughest of the tough, the worst of the worst, and the guys you simply do not mess with. Say the wrong thing, and finding yourself a permanent part of a cement garage floor is certainly not out of the realm of possibility.

Thus, you may notice my trepidation.

All I was looking for was a job. I opened the paper one day and there it was. Disc Jockey needed – twenty bucks an hour. I don’t believe a more perfect ad could have appeared that morning. With years of experience, and a salary rarely seen for a booth man, I hesitated for about one second before hopping in my car and entering what would be the start of something so surreal that even I can’t believe it.

Shortly after hearing, “You can start tomorrow” I would bear witness to things I most likely could never imagine.

To make it extremely clear, this place was a dive. Hole in the wall doesn’t even touch the nastiness that was inside. There were fist marks in the wall, the carpet had to be fifty years old and was plastered so badly with cigarette burns and chewing gum that it almost appeared like an intentional speckling rather than total destruction. If it featured a girl in a bikini, it was most assuredly on the walls, covering the filth that resided underneath. The bathrooms were nasty, the stalls had no doors, and the hand painted flames shooting out across the bar said everything a person would ever need to know. It was dingy, reeked with the residue of abuse, and screamed… dirty things happen here.

And I was the new DJ.

The first time you see fifty bikers roar up to a bar and walk through the door, you don’t realize the sheer power of their coming. It is tremendously deafening. After the dismount, they walk in and immediately size up the place, careful to leave two sentinels at the door to slow down any rivals that may appear after their entrance. My first night, I was placed directly next to this door, and my first minutes of work consisted of trying to entertain a crowd while two huge biker guys eyed up my every move.

Thank god I was raised in the eighties, because these behemoths were all about metal and hair roll. There would be a steady dose of Autograph, Judas Priest, Motley Crue, and Metallica to follow that first night. Many of them had their wives, (or the c-word as they called them) at their side, and they proceeded to drink and dance the night away.

Luckily, they instantly took a liking to the quiet clean cut kid, and little did I know that in a relatively short amount of time, I would be thrown into the world they lived in. I was assured of my safety by one of the gang members as they informed me I didn’t need to worry because there were plenty of guns to go around.

Now, if you have never been a part of a hardcore biker gang, you may be surprised to know that they are quite organized as a group. They have a strict hierarchy they follow, and members often start out as probates until they are deemed good enough to join the crew. They eventually earn a “patch” which they are then allowed to proudly display on their leather along with other assorted smaller patches whose meaning directly correlates to whatever atrocity it might stand for.

They have a leader, they have vice presidents, and they cover each other’s back no matter what the duty. Most of them are amazingly large, amazingly crude, and amazingly unconcerned with what you think. It is a lifestyle and they all embrace it.

Unfortunately, the world they live in is plastered with hardcore drugs, domestic abuse, and a complete disregard for humanity. Vile and unsettling, this atmosphere could suck the morality out of even the most careful of souls.

There were many times reality disappeared from that establishment and the first instance I can remember started in the middle of a Peavy pumping moment of Judas Priest’s “Turbo Lover.”

I was standing in the booth when out of nowhere came one of the largest most intimidating men I would ever meet. He was clad in jeans and a leather vest with a patch that loudly proclaimed him a member of the gang. He had to be at least 6’4” and pushing 300 pounds on a light day. In his mid to late thirties he had a scruffy beard and arms that were bigger than most people’s legs. I had been watching him all evening sit at the bar and consume massive amounts of hard liquor. I also knew that he was the owner of the establishment, who up to this point had not said a single word to me.

I had previously been informed by the other disc jockey, that certain patrons might want to participate in what I consider being the devil of all that is lame, karaoke. The bar had about a thousand karaoke discs, and I had been given a list of numbers and tracks that were favorites of workers and regular bar patrons to use as quick references until I was more familiar with the surroundings. The steady dose of metal had pumped the crowd into frenzy at this point, and the liquor induced violent side of many a customer has started to rise to the surface. I could feel the anger in the air, and now a monstrous biker, my boss, was headed straight for me.

He made it up to the booth, and proceeded to completely disregard my personal ring of space. He towered over me, and the stench of Captain Morgan and the deodorant of gasoline was overpowering. Staring me right in the eyes he says, “You got my song?” I looked down at my cheat sheet and noticed that there was indeed a disc and song number for the owner, and confidently informed him I was on top of things.

He looks at me again and says, “Good you better f’ing be, I want the echo turned up all the way on my mic too.”

By this time, the Judas Priest song was about two thirds through and I scrambled to grab his song request and get it cued in time, while navigating an unfamiliar board for the echo controls. It was a grab and go moment, but I got the disc, got it in the machine, and got my levels adjusted just as Judas was ending their last riff. My boss was on stage, dwarfing the mic stand, looking about as angry as one could see a man. I made a brief introduction, and finally took a breath as I hit play on the karaoke machine.

I sat back for a moment to grab a drink from my soda, when all of a sudden I hear the soothing guitar strokes of…

… Prince’s Purple Rain.

I completely froze. No way had I just pushed to button on Prince’s Purple rain, in a hardcore biker bar, for my obviously inebriated boss and gang leader. My first thought was to locate my backpack and make the quickest exit possible. By the time reality hit me, we were at about the eighth bar of song. I scrambled to get to the machine and right as I was reaching to hit the stop button, I hear, in perhaps the most amazing voice I have ever born witness to, “I never meant 2 cause u any sorrow. I never meant to cause you any pain.”

The entire bar proceeded to go dead silent, as this three hundred pound ogre delivered one of the most beautiful renditions of Purple Rain a man will ever hear.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

During the middle of the song, one of the gang members came up to me and mentioned that this man had turned down a professional singing career in Nashville many years ago. I had no doubts he was telling the truth. Not because of what I was hearing, but by what I saw in this man’s face as he sang.

You could feel the pain as he delivered every word. He sang with so much feeling that you actually could see his lost dreams and past transgressions.  This giant face told a harsh story of heartbreak and broken spirit using the narrative and melody of a five foot four man in purple.

It was the most amazing thing I have ever seen.

When he finished, he stumbled off the stage and made his way to his special bar stool in which he spent the majority of his time each day. He polished off another bottle of Morgan, and passed out shortly after closing time.

He remained mostly in-coherent for the next hour, not moving but an inch even as two Harley Davidson’s were fired up and driven smack dab on the middle of the dance floor. As everyone exited, I was left with a disaster area of destruction, complete with skid marks, my colossally large passed out hardcore biker gang boss on the bar, and the acrid heavy cloud of exhaust lingering in the air like someone had hit the fog machine.

I let the man rest at the bar for a bit, weighing my options while reflecting on the reality of it all. He had gone from angry to anguish right in front of my eyes. He was no longer the leader of the pack, my boss, or a man that would tear your face off in an instant. He was a human being. He was a man with emotion, with passion, and a burden of guilt and loss that must have weighed twice as much as his massive frame.

I eventually got him to come around and got his arms around my shoulders. I walked him upstairs to his apartment bedroom as he gushed stories of hopes and dreams, regrets and remorse.

I left kind of shocked that evening. I had been thrust into a tiny part of society that most people don’t get the privilege to look at. You can learn a lot from hanging out with biker gangs, and this would only be the first of many stories surrounding this tight knit group of souls.

The days that followed allowed me to look further and further into the lives of these people and those that surrounded them. I’d eventually come to run the place, and this clean cut white kid got a privilege to glimpse things most people might never see…

…or want to.

Anyway… has anyone noticed the influx in T-Shirts and Songs suddenly sprouting Facebook and Twitter wings pawning themselves off as Packer fan sites?

Now many of these may be Packer fans and I am sure they are. But between Aaron it Out, Fly Like a Cheesehead, and others it’s starting to get nauseating as they all inevitably morph into a wannabe Packer hotline for news, opinion, and analysis.

It’s tough to watch a T-shirt pretty much take over my blood sweat and tears and every day and it seems to be happening more and more.

Don’t get me wrong, there is at least one shirt that does a nice job, but on the whole, the rest are just smoke and mirrors.

Perhaps I’m just bitter, which wouldn’t surprise anyone, but I guess I’m just not as quick to hop on a bandwagon fueled only by the desire to sell products. If you want people to take you seriously, ask them to make a purchase.

That said, kindly stop duping me into promoting your product so you can then attempt to take over the Packer universe.

Yeah, your catch phrase is slightly funny, and your song is okay, but please quit pretending to be something your not

Because at the end of the day, you’re still just a T-Shirt.

It’s a daunting task to be tied to something that really does little more than fuel an ego. It certainly doesn’t pay any bills, something that people still don’t seem to quite understand yet.

What’s even more taxing is dealing with some of the fans that inevitably come with the territory. The fans make the place run, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I enjoy answering an endless streak of repetitive questions that could simply be answered by looking at the nine posts I made previously.

Now I know Bill Johnson called Packer fans, “a bunch of whiny bitches” and although I would have used passionate instead of whiny, he does make a semi-valid point.

I’m still ok with all of that though.

What I simply just can’t handle anymore is the vitriol. Or, more importantly, the elimination and abuse rhetoric being tossed around by some Packer fans like it’s candy. It’s completely out of line, and more importantly shows the true degradation of society and fans in general.

So please let me clear up the confusion for you.

There is a big difference between calling Mike Vick a loser, and saying Mike Vick should get hung like his dogs.

There is a big difference between calling Bill Johnson a hypocrite, and saying that Bill Johnson should be skull raped.

There is a big difference between saying Mike McCarthy should be fired for his play calling and Mike McCarthy should be shot for his play calling.

In case you missed it, some insane freak walked out of grocery store this weekend and shot a bunch of people in the head fueled by the rhetoric that is floating around all over the internet nowadays. It’s not okay for those using it in politics, and it’s not okay for Packer fans. Quite frankly I am embarrassed for many of you, and I simply am not going to stand for it anymore in my Twitter stream, around here, or anywhere else it might show up.

I think it’s perfectly okay for Packer fans to argue, tell one another to get effed, and generally disagree on about everything. I don’t think it’s okay to start using hate and violence based words as verbs in those conversations.

It’s goes way beyond even my little angry riddled shticks, and has no place in these walls.

I’m headed to the woods this week to spend some time with old friends. I look forward to nothing more than getting back to my roots and listening to the game with Larry and some Packer buddies.

That’s Packer football to me. What it isn’t right now is all of this.

In search of some Mojo.

Are you kidding me?

Obviously Bill is still out at Nick’s former bar drinking, because outside of that one relatively minor incident, Barnett as been nothing but Packer people for years.

The man keeps his home and family in Green Bay.

He donated $50,000 to charity this year, and let Packer fans choose who to give it to.

He avidly responds to Packer fans on Twitter and has encouraged others to do the same.

He played in the Donald Driver charity softball game even though he couldn’t run.

He’s taken the time to call into CHTV’s show free of charge.

He stated openly he wants to be a Packer for life.

That’s just what I can remember from this year alone, Bill. Maybe if you took the time to sit and talk with the guy like the rest of Packer nation, you might be able to make a better assumption about who is or isn’t Packer people on this roster.

We had guys in strip clubs, guys accused of harassment, guys facing felony drug suspensions, and God only knows what else I am forgetting.

What I’m not forgetting is that Nick Barnett wasn’t involved in any of those conversations, and hasn’t been in quite some time.

I don’t know what football talk has yet to be had, but one thing I know for sure is that no decisions are going to be made because Barnett isn’t Packer people.

Please.

For the love of God, please shut up.

Can’t you take a second to enjoy the moment before moving on to the speculation of next season? It’s stupid, and a slap in the face to the guys that are playing on Sunday.

Who gives a crap what the Packers are going to do next year anyway? I want to talk about the PLAYOFF game against Philly, the team that doesn’t look anything like it did in pre-season, and all the household names that weren’t even in the driveway back in September.

Screw the off-season.

I don’t care what’s happening to Nick Barnett, Cullen Jenkins, the draft, or any of that other speculative crap that all you dorks will sit around talking about for the next five months non-stop. Give it a break for at least a week huh?

The Packers are going into a huge playoff game this Sunday. The players, THIS YEAR’S players, are getting ready to make a run to the Super Bowl.

But please, let’s talk about next season. Pathetic.