A Poem for Sad Green Bay Packer Fans Without a Super Bowl

WISCONSIN -- The Super Bowl is this Sunday, which in Wisconsin means a day to take out the garbage, clean out the garage, or maybe work on that half-finished carpentry project.

Yes, we know that the Packers were - yet again - oh so close to making it to the big game. And since our fandom was so mercilessly crushed in Atlanta two weeks ago, here's a poem to salve the wounds.

'Twas Super Bowl eve, when all through the house
not a creature was stirring, nor was Davon House.

The jerseys were hung in the closet in despair,
in hopes of a Super Bowl with the Packers down there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of Atlanta still danced in their heads.

And momma's foam finger, and I with my cap, had just settled our fandom for a long winter's nap.

When out in Arizona there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my couch to see what was the matter.

Away from the TV I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and grabbed some spare cash.

The sun on the crest of the slowly-melting snow, foretold of events that I needed to know.

What to my wondering eyes should appear
but the vision of spring training and baseball this year.

With a spry young manager so quiet and stoic,
I knew Brewers Baseball was coming up quick.

Not so rapid, but his players they still came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

On Braunie, on Villar and the guy I can't remember
It's time for some ball, it's no longer December.

To the top of the dugout, to the outfield wall,
Spring is in sight, and that's not a bad thing at all.

>>> image via patch.com file photo