I’ve been a Packer fan my entire life.  My entire family are Packer fans, and have been as  far back as the beginning of the team itself.  My husband and I own exactly one share of stock in the Green Bay Packers.  I’ve made the pilgrimage to Lambeau field on several occasions.  I’ve sat in the stands, taking in the smell of brats and beer, meeting nice folks from all over America, and watching my breath steam up into the cold, gray sky.  I’ve also spent many Sunday afternoons in front of a TV, with my family, friends, and good ‘Sconie food, watching our beloved team from a tiny city in Wisconsin fight for a win.

It seems strange for me to romanticize a sports team.  I’m not a sports nut, and I don’t particularly like watching any other sport.  I think there are a good many problems in this country that are more important than a sports team winning games.  So you wouldn’t think that when the Packers won the Superbowl back in 1997, I would break down and cry like a little girl.  Well, I did.  So did the rest of Stadium View Bar in Green Bay, which consisted mostly of big, burly men.

There’s something about our heritage, and being a part of something that brings people together in a way that you just don’t see very often, anymore.  Tradition.   Tradition unifies people.

A little over a year ago, my husband and I took my best friend to her first Packer game at Lambeau Field.  I insisted that this was something she just had to experience in her life.  She really wasn’t grasping the significance - and I don’t blame her, she grew up in Minnesota - but I kept telling her:

"You’ll see what I mean when we get there."  And she did. 

It’s the smell of brats and charcoal.  It’s a sea of green and gold, a tradition that holds true to its beginnings.  It’s beer spilled and frozen beneath your feet.  It’s rooting for the little guy, and watching his dreams come true.  It’s being extremely uncomfortable in the freezing cold, while having your spirit warming you from the inside out when Brett Favre throws a touchdown pass and the crowd goes wild around you. It’s the nice and real people you meet who all understand that if for only today, you’re brothers and sisters in agreement on one thing:  a Packer win.

Today, my friend is headed to Green Bay to watch her second Packer game.  (Of course she doesn’t have tickets, silly. I wouldn’t let her go without me.)  No, she’s making trip just to be in the City of Green Bay. 

When her mother asked her why on earth she would make the trip down there in the freezing cold, my friend sent her mother an email, and this is what it said:

Mom, this is what I was trying to tell you the other night but just wasn’t able to put it into words like the following writer…I think the only thing that I was able to really explain correctly was the "smell of the brats and beer".

Article from:
Seattle Post Intelligencer

GREEN BAY, Wis. — It’s easy to hate the New York Yankees if you’re a
Boston Red Sox fan, and vice versa. The same goes for the Dallas Cowboys and Washington Redskins, Michigan and Ohio State and those originators of the shotgun formation, the Hatfields and McCoys.

But who hates the Green Bay Packers?

Steeped in tradition and often viewed through a prism of sepia-tone
nostalgia, the Packers have succeeded against all odds in a tiny and
remote market, in a 50-year-old (albeit renovated) stadium with
aluminum bench seats, in an era of unfettered free agency and corporate greed.

OK, if you’re a Seahawks fan, you’re not feeling all warm and fuzzy
about Brett Favre and Al Harris right about now. "We want the ball and
we’re going to score!" might be old news, but the sting lingers.

Really, though, do you hate the Packers?

Not if you know anything about the history of the National Football
League. Not if you’ve seen those grainy images of the 1967 "Ice Bowl"
and Bart Starr’s fateful quarterback sneak on the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field. Not if you admire the principles on which Vince Lombardi built a dynasty.

Not if you pull for the underdog.

In Wisconsin, there is no other option. You are born into Packerdom
here. Your great-grandfather cheered for Curly Lambeau and Don Hutson, your grandpa for Paul Hornung and Willie Wood, your dad for James Lofton and Lynn Dickey. Every kid on your block owns a No. 4 jersey.

What makes the Packers special? Start with the fact that there are
112,015 owners, the vast majority of whom hold one share of stock.  Formed in the NFL’s primordial mist in 1919, the Packers became a
non-profit entity four years later and remain the only publicly owned 
team among the major professional sports.

The most recent stock sale, in 1998, netted 106,000 new "owners" who
paid $200 per share (and sent $24 million straight to the team’s bottom
line) for certificates that are basically worthless. The stock never
pays dividends or appreciates in value. But the emotional investment
is priceless. When general manager Ted Thompson signs a free agent,
the fans can thump their chests and say, "I helped bring that guy to
Green Bay." And it’s true.

Of course, Bob Harlan, who has run the Packers for 19 years, first as
president and CEO and more recently as chairman of the board, has a
stake in the team. He, too, owns exactly one share of stock.

"I paid $25 for my share when I became president," said Harlan, who is
retiring after the postseason. "When fans call me, they start out by
saying, ‘Bob, I’m a fan and a shareholder.’ They always point out that
they’re shareholders. I say, ‘Well, I am, too, so let’s talk.’ "

Did we mention that Harlan answers his own telephone? There is no administrative assistant to run interference, no automated maze to negotiate. You’ve got a beef with the injured cornerback or the price
of tickets, you go straight to the top dog.

The fact that the Packers can even exist in a city of 100,000 is a
minor miracle, due in equal parts to fan loyalty throughout the state and revenue sharing in the NFL. Los Angeles can’t support a team but this little frozen outpost can? It’s one of the mysteries of the universe.

It helps that not much ever happens in Green Bay, other than what occurs at 1265 Lombardi Ave. Lambeau Field — notice, no naming rights is the city’s corporate and social epicenter, its source of civic pride, its very heart and soul.

The nearest NCAA Division I football team is 2 1/2 hours away at the
University of Wisconsin-Madison, and Milwaukee is 115 miles to the
south, so the Packers are the only game in town.

Their reach extends north into Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, south into Chicago Bears turf and west clear to the Dakotas (the team had a 40-year
head start on the Minnesota Vikings). And that doesn’t count the fans who have relocated or the ones Harlan likens to the "Notre Dame subway alumni."

"People call me and say, ‘I’m a lifelong Packers fan and someday I’d
love to see Lambeau Field,’ " Harlan said. "They’ve never even been
here."

On game days, the far-flung Cheeseheads converge on Green Bay and fill
the Lambeau parking lot hours before kickoff. First-time visitors are blown away by the passion, creativity and dedication of the tailgaters. There’s nothing quite like the smell of 10,000 bratwursts sizzling on 1,000 grills and the sight of footballs spiraling through 10-degree air.

The Packers-Seahawks game will mark the 268th consecutive sellout at Lambeau, including playoffs. That’s every single game since 1960. The waiting list for season tickets is at 76,800. With an average of 70
fans per year giving up their seats, the guy at the end of the list will
have to wait 1,000 years, give or take a few decades, for his name to come up.

Season-ticket holders live in all 50 states and several foreign countries, including Japan. Domo arrigato.

The obsession with the team is such that the 10 p.m. TV newscasts in Milwaukee and Green Bay are dominated by Packers developments. The long snapper has an ingrown toenail? That leads the sports report. The price of beer is going up at Lambeau? That’s the top story.

Brett Favre retires? We don’t even want to think about that one.

The Packers have won 12 championships, more than any other NFL
franchise, and three Super Bowl titles. The team has sent 21 players to the Hall of Fame. Green Bay city streets are named after former players and coaches, including Mike Holmgren.

But it’s not about all that.

It’s about a unique relationship between a professional sports franchise
and its  fans.

It’s about people feeling they’re a part of something special, somethingunique, something good.

The Packers don’t need throwback jerseys to evoke their glorious past.

In all the ways that count, it’s still 1965 here. And always will be.

Go, Pack, Go!