Circa 2000. I was in middle school. It was definitely past my bed time.
But there I was, more juiced up than Bonds' left bicep, watching the Packers and Vikings duel on Monday Night Football.
You know, the MNF with Frank and Al and Dan that got the party started.
At this stage in my life, Packers-Vikings was everything. It was about pride. It was about diehard resilience. It was about, well, being right.
I was the Packers fan. And I loved every Minnesota second of it.
Pacing back and forth across my living room (the game was 20-20 in OT), I watched Brett Favre loft a third down pass deep to Antonio Freeman. The ball came down, the ball bounced, the commentators thought for a second it was picked.
I turned my back, yelped, and walked into the hallway.
My dad's cries of joy spun me around on a dime just in time to see Freeman juke Robert Griffith out of his purple socks and jaunt into the end zone.
I didn't see the play live, but I didn't care. I jumped and screamed and found some way to combine hitting and hugging in a manly father-son embrace.
Lucky for me, I live in a YouTube generation. Enjoy.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
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