Geoff Largefan

Google image search “packer fan” sometime and you get over 80,000 results that overload the green and gold spectrum with chaos and hilarity. You’ll also find several pictures of this guy, whom I have dubbed “Geoff Largefan.”

Now I’m not sure whether he loves the Packers or just loves having fun, but these pictures tell a great story. With his homemade helmet, keg belly and strategically placed stickers, this guy not only makes me laugh and want to party, he also makes me want to be a better Packer fan.

He makes me want to cheer even more. He makes me want to let loose and throw caution to the wind, completely enveloping myself in uber-ultra-Packer-zealousness. We could all take a note from Geoff Largefan. He is so inspiring that he makes me realize that I need to step up and create a good gameday outfit.

If he ever wanted to sell that bomb shelter he calls a helmet, his Packer fan celebrity would lend him quite the negotiating power to the right buyer. I would have to commit a petty crime just to get locked up and remove myself from the table for fear I might lose everything I have in the process.

Understand, readers. I would use this helmet to do great and wonderful things – the smashing of the bottles and the headbutting of the obknoxious Vikings fans come to mind – but its power/weight would simply too great to be wielded by a mere mortal, even one with his own blog. In fact, in the hands of anyone of than its rightful owner, there’s no telling who would get hurt. If he can’t have it, than it must be destroyed!

No, my Packers glory will have to come in another form…that of baby clothes!

The Ultimate Dessert

October 5, 2008. The Packers just lost their third straight game – this time to the Falcons. I was searching for answers at Stadium View, unable to consume any cheese curds whatsoever.

It would’ve taken a crowbar pry me from the bar stool, but when the tube-topped vixen in the Packers hat dropped her keys, I sprinted over to give them to her. There was another guy competing to be her surprise hero, but he was no match for my cat-like quickness that day I tell you!

“Excuse me,” I said. She ignored me. This was the type of Babraham Lincoln that probably gets hit on a lot, so that kind of non-reaction was expected. I put on my cool Don Driver smirk and confidently a-nun-ci-ated, “You dropped your keys.” That got her attention.

“Oh my god, thank you so much! I am always losing those things.” she giggled. I couldn’t tell if there were real thoughts being processed behind those big brown eyes, but it didn’t matter. Damn she was hot. “It’s not a problem, really.” I said.

A blond beauty in jeans and a #12 shirt came up and sat on a stool by us, sizing me up. “Who’s this?” her friend asked. “I don’t know. I dropped my keys again and he picked them up for me.” She said.

“I am Robert of the clan Greenfield,” I said, drunkingly trying to be clever. They shot each other a look of “O-Kay...” The awkwardness was getting awkward. “I’m Robert,” I corrected myself. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hi. I’m Jackie and this is Erica,” the friend said. “Erica is always losing her keys, so thanks a lot. What’s your drink of choice? We got it.”

Score! I couldn’t help but get ahead of myself and began to feel this day would turn out good after all. I imagined that I was the rich, cream-cheese frosted filling between two delicious warm chocolate-chip cookies. But not for long.

As the bartender was bringing back my Spotted Cow, Jackie whispered something into Erica’s ear. They giggled and then kissed. Jackie handed me the beer and said, “See ya later!” They exited the bar holding hands, on their way to a place only the Internet has seen.

And that’s the way the cookie crumbles…

What If?

Have you ever played the “What If?” game? Sure, we all have. You basically take a scenario and throw in a creative “What If?” to the equation. So you could be talking about your meeting, for example, and ask yourself, “What if I spontaneously combusted? Would my coworkers put me out or let me burn while pointing and laughing?” If nothing else, it passes the time.

I recently wondered, “What if... you took the movie ‘The Silence of the Lambs’ and instead of Jodie Foster, Brett Favre played the role of rookie FBI investigator?” Hmmmm… And then since I was really bored I took it a step further and asked myself, “What if you told that story in the form of a poem from Hannibal Lecter’s point of view?” HMMMM…

This is how their first meeting might have gone in Lecter’s cell. I tried to remain loyal to film. If you don’t believe me, you can start watching at 2:30.

I Know the Buffalo

So you’ve come to me, my little trainee
What is it that you want from me?
You say it’s to learn but won’t say what
So I’ll give you subject before it comes up.
You’re after him - the one they call Bill
What’s he done now – had another kill?
I’ll tell you what, what you can do
Stop with the games like I’m some kind of fool.
You know what I see when you look back at me?
A man clinging to some lost destiny.
A redneck boy somewhat brash,
One step removed from poor white trash.
That accent you’ve tried so hard to shed
Reeks distinctly of Mississippi spread.
Oh how you dreamed of getting out
“Anywhere but here!” you would shout.
All the way to where the action swells
A little-known place called the N.F.L.
So before you try and probe my mind
Remember this warning none too kind -
A census taker once tried to test me,
And I ate his liver with a nice Chianti.
Fly back to the farm my dear Brett
My simple Southern aging pet.
But come back if you can find
A man named Moffet, a former patient of mine.
He’s the beginning, you’ll someday see
Of the bizarre affair between yourself and me.
What!?

Franklin, You're an Ace. Everybody Knows It.

I hit the links this weekend for the first time in a long time, and while it was comparable to a lumberjack trying to swing an axe after a week-long bender, I at least got to do it with my grandfather, uncle and dad. I’d like to tip my cap to these gentlemen, they had to bite their tongues so hard to keep from laughing that I’m pretty sure they each had to get stitches. Going golfing always make me think of one thing, no it’s not Tiger’s harem and, no, it’s Phil’s hot wife. It’s Lacey Underall…hmmm, apparently, I relate all golf thoughts to women, but can you blame me? What am I going to think about, club loft? Pfft. I mean she’s rather attractive for a beautiful girl with a great body.

So…Lacey Underall, Bushwood’s resident Siren, niece of Judge Smails, who loves bullfights on acid…(and who doesn’t?) Thinking of Lacey then reminds me what a fantastic movie Caddyshack is. The performances by Chevy Chase and Bill Murray, not to mention Ted Knight as Smails are just fantastic. Danny Noonan sucks, but, hey, the world needs ditch diggers too. My favorite character, though, is one, Al Czervik. Rodney Dangerfield’s real estate mogul, Czervik, is a terribly underrated part of Caddyshack, and should get way more credit for making the movie what it is. In fact, his dinghy is bigger than your whole boat. It’s really true that Czervik/Dangerfield gets no respect. So what? So let’s dance!

I don’t really like stats unless they are for my fantasy team, but I wanted to try to quantify what Dangerfield brings to Caddyshack, taking my subjective opinion, proving it with hard numbers. After hours, days, a week… yeah, yeah, I know it’s been a long time between Rants… I’ve come to the realization that it’s pretty hard to do. However, I refused to sell myself short, even if I am a tremendous slouch. So I figured it out, here are the numbers that prove the value of Al Czervik to the movie Caddyshack:

1,253, 4.4, 11, and just as important: 1.

That’s right, as so much of my life is, I related it back to the Packers. You see Al Czervik is the Ryan Grant of Caddyshack. Neither gets no respect. All the talk is about Webb, Spackler, Smails, Rodgers, Jennings, Driver, and Finley, but both Czervik and Grant are glossed over in discussions.

I want to right this grave injustice. You need to watch this to see what I mean…if you don’t have time to watch all 3:51, just fast forward to the 2:35 mark and view a thing of beauty…on par with this.

Now tell me both guys don’t deserve no respect. You can’t. You may think this a weak comparison, but I don’t keep score. How do I measure myself with other bloggers, you ask? By height.

Confession

There are only other three people in the world that know what I’m about to tell you. Like Lyme disease gone dormant, I’ve been carrying around this deep, dark secret for almost fifteen years that still shames me to this day. Although I try not to think about it, the truth comes knocking more often than not.

We men are easy creatures; drawn to whatever our stomach or eyes are willing to feast. In this case, it was the latter…a babe named Jess. She was foxy and funny and feisty, looked great in jeans and on top of that, she was really into me. You can imagine my excitement when she wanted to come over and watch the Packers in the Super Bowl in 1997.

I orchestrated an incredible setup in my parent’s basement that day I tell you. There were chips and dip and a cooler next to the couch; there was even stool to put up our feet and slouch. Things seemed perfect and she arrived just in time to snuggle, yes snuggle, and watch the great Luther Vandross sing the national anthem.

To recap: The Packers were in the Super Bowl, a hot chick had her hand on my leg, and a three-gallon bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos was within arm’s length…life was good I tell you! And it quickly got even better, or so I thought at the time.

“Wanna make out?” she asked as New England kicked off.

“What? Seriously?” I came back with.

“Would you rather watch the game?”

“I mean… Seriously? It’s the Super Bowl. It’s the Packers. First time in thirty years.”

“Didn’t you say they had a dynasty and they’ll win at least three Super Bowls with Favre?” she asked.

“Well yeah, but…”

“It’s OK, we can watch the game.”

And it’s at that point I made the call to fulfill her request. We then began what will go down as my number #2 epic makeout session of all time with an asterisk. And let me tell you, it was five times better than anything previous or since but I cannot ever put it at #1 because while we were visiting Smoochtown, the Packers were on their way to winning a Super Bowl – the only one of its kind of my lifetime. By the time one of us had to go to the bathroom, the confetti was swarming down on Favre, Reggie and the bunch. I was in complete shock and awe.

Yes, I had my reasons for what I’ve done, as men always do, and as much as I would go back and change the past, this is my journey and I accept that. I’ve come a long way since then and I know it won’t happen again. Jess is married with children now, anyhow, and living in Minnesota last I heard.

Thanks for letting me vent, Internets/readers.

Know When to Hold 'Em

The recent explosion of praise and high expectations for the 2010 Packers has elicited different reactions. It has been welcomed, shunned, echoed, and scoffed at. Personally, and I’ll throw my two cents in after everyone has had their say, I think self esteem is an important aspect in determining overall positive mental health, so praise is always good….unchecked narcissism, however, is just irritating.

My big worry with this is my ol’ buddy from middle school, Aces (yeah he had this name in middle school) McTierney, will take this to the bank…or in his case the bookie. Aces never found something that he couldn’t/wouldn’t/shouldn’t bet on. He set the over/under on number of tater tots we’d get from Maude the Lunch Lady, he’d have lines for dodgeball matches during recess, and somehow ran a roulette game with the merry-go-round. At 14, he got a fake id and would go to Oneida Casino every weekend…ALL weekend. I haven’t seen Aces since he left high school his junior year for Monte Carlo by way of Vegas, by way of Reno. Every once in awhile I’ll get a letter on some hotel stationary asking how I’m doing and telling me, “I’m up. Good run lately.” Enclosed will be some cash, and he will ask, “What are we at now?” as he still owes me some serious cash for a long string of tater tot bets.

This kind of press about his favorite football team may make Aces do something irrational, as his blind love for the Packers always negated his skill and knowledge at gambling. I hope that before he lays out his money he checks the NFL Odds because no one predicts football better than the oddsmakers…if they’re wrong they lose money, if so-called pundits are wrong, they lose...wait….nothing really. What a great job to be at ESPN.

So, Aces, if you read this while taking a break from a cold streak, enjoy the adulation for the Pack, but take these predictions for the Packers for what they are, offseason speculation to fill the void.