Lesson 3: If You Can't Beat Him, Join Him

Two days ago, I attended my very first Packer game. In Nathan's mind, this was an astronomical acheivement. Yes, I married a Packer fan; I bet a lot of you are just cringing. Nathan grew up in Wisconsin where most people bleed green and gold. Crazed. Antlers. Blaze orange. Each stereotype accurate. We even have a dog named Brett.

A thought on the stereotypical Packer persona. Does my hubbs wear camouflage? Absolutely. Does he chew tobacco? You bet. (Hopefully the NEXT time he uses the gum to quit it will work!) Did he have his mom tape the games for him while he was stationed in the Persian Gulf? Of course.

BUT! He only wears camouflage hunting and to Packer games. He chews. So what? I smoked for seven years. And I miss my Camel Special Lights every day. And yes, he loves the Packers. It could be worse. He could love the Brewers. I hate baseball. Boring. Long. Pants not tight enough. At least I like football.

I grew up in Arlington Heights, Illinois, a nothwest suburb of Chicago. (More later.) A Bears fan. At the ripe old age of six, I was downtown Chicago with my grandma (still miss you, Mammy, R.I.P.) getting her purse signed by Walter Payton while the Bears were on strike. I did the Superbowl Shuffle. Cripes, my older brother and I had the VHS. So, where, when, and why did I convert from Bears to Packers? Alas! A list opportunity:

1.) Where?

Somewhere in Madison. My best guess is the frat house.

2.) When?

Well, we got together in June. First kick off's in September. So, probably October.

3.) Why?

WHY NOT?!?! Let's really think about this.

A. It's a fricking football team. Not my identity.

B. As put off as I was initially, I knew he truly adored and enjoyed them. I knew I truly adored and enjoyed him. If you can't beat him, join him.

C. It was more than that. I found his obsession odd and even at times distrubing (still do). However strange I thought it was, it was important to him. The first time he aksed me to watch the game with him, it was kind of casual. I came. I saw. I went. He didn't seem too impressed or interested by my presence. The same deal happened a few more times.

One game day, I had to work. He asked during the week if I was going to come over for the game. Nope. Had to work. WHAT?!?! Gasp! Slump. Frown. Nathan was noticeably disappointed. "I just really want you there." Now, the average woman may have dismissed his concern. This is how I saw it:

Packers = important ---> Maggie = important ---> I like Packers ---> I like Maggie

He wanted to share some of his passionate Packer love with me. He wanted to bond with Brett Favre as our glue.

RELATED TANGENT: Remember, ladies. We females often give men too much credit. They are simple creatures. My mother-in-law once told me (after a few adult beverages), men want three things: food, sleep, and sex. True. And add another Packer superbowl victory to Nathan's needs. We eat our own meals. We sleep on our own sides of the bed. We have sex together. That's the main way men are intimate -- doin' it. Women have more options: writing, talking, crying. Not men. How do they reach out? By asking, expecting, and hoping you'll watch the game with them. It's like sex without the sex. Twinkle, twinkle.

I have this peppery aunt. All her kids and her hubbs love the Bears. They get all worked up over a loss, giddy about a win. Not her. Her philosophy about professional sports is simple: do they really care about us? Think about it. Your team loses in overtime. Your day is just ruined. Lousy. Shitty. You just can't stop thinking about that interception that lost the game. YOU JUST. CANNOT. BELIEVE IT. You get in a fight with your honey because you're crabby. Now your honey won't talk to you because you snapped at her and on top of it, she isn't cooking dinner so you have to eat fish sticks and tots and you know when she doesn't cook dinner it means she's wearing pajamas to bed and when she wears pajamas to bed it means she is certainly and undoubtedly NOT going to have sex with you.

ALL THIS. Over some dudes that don't even know you exist, tossing around a ball for millions of dollars. Do you think they care about us? No. Do you think any of the Chicago Bears care that I am a Packer fan now? Hell no. You know who does care? My Nathan. When it really comes down to it, what's more important -- the male version of sharing intimacy or rooting for a team I grew up supporting just because it was just what you did in Chicago?

It was two below without the wind chill that Sunday at Lambeau Field. With Nathan's pride shining and his wife smashed against him, devouring a brat, chanting, "Go, Pack, Go," it could have been a hundred and two.