September 16th, 2007

This past Sunday, my dad, Karen, Amy, Kim, and I (and thousands of other Packer fans) invaded Giants Stadium. The chronicle of the day follows below:

My dad and my sisters show up at around 8:30 a.m. in Hoboken after getting an early start from Long Island. The excited early morning banter consists of picks for the day, last minute fantasy football adjustments, and determining just how much bean dip is enough bean dip (a baked casserole consisting of layered refried beans, salsa, sour cream, and shredded mozzarella, it holds a place of honor in Carthew family lore and has been present in triumph and in failure.)

Karen, still in bed, announces that she refuses to get up until her snowsuit is brought to her. For two consecutive years Karen's bio-rhythms have successfully coincided with the arrival of football season.

We begin to get together lawn chairs, pots and pans, liquor and beer, and various other accoutrements and undertake the 15 minute journey to East Rutherford. Soon after entering the lot on the east side of the stadium at 10:25, we pull into the center of 3 vacant spots knowing that the neighboring locations will not be filled until shortly before gametime. Everyone is about their business setting up propane stoves, cracking beers, and mixing drinks as Giants Stadium hovers in the background. My dad has brought several items of Green Bay Packers paraphenalia which precariously perch on the hatchback of the Volkswagen. These pieces of "flair" are brought out of their showcase for every game that the Packers play back in the house in Merrick and consist of a beanbag football that has three different versions of the "Go, Pack, Go" chant, a Russian babushka doll (inside are Favre, Reggie White, Antonio Freeman, LeRoy Butler, and Mark "I thought she was 27" Chmura), and a horrid metal and wood work of art spelling "PACKERS" in stenciled lettering.

The bratwursts soak in 12 fluid ounces of Budweiser as the cigars are lit and the conversation meanders from recent terrifying experiences with marijuana to at what point has one eaten too much bean dip to why the fuck do so many Giants fans willfully elect to wear Eli Manning jerseys. Seriously, if you're a Giants fan, and if you own a Manning or Brandon Jacobs jersey, please kill yourself, because you're the reason why the Meadowlands was half empty with 8 minutes left in the game and the Giants down merely 2 scores. Kudos, however, is deserved by the people who had Banks, Carson, Simms, Hampton, Bavaro, McConkey, and Way (yes, THE Charles Way) sewn or ironed between the shoulders.


The time seems to pass quicker as the root beer and vodkas are downed and the sweet smell of brat and beer steam from the pan. Coupled with a pristine end-of-summer day that carries just enough of a hint of autumn to qualify for football weather, few things in life are so simple yet so perfect.

At 12:30 we trek to take our seats via the port-o-potties that stand within a brisk walk from the south entrance of the stadium. I will eschew any description of the stall that had "tiki barber is gay" scribbled on the wall because I don't want you to despair and lose all hope in humanity as I have. We split up with Amy and Kim and leave them to their own devices. I expect them at least a half dozen stories of sexual harrassment from 45 to 55 year old men. It's not funny guys, it's creepy.

As we take our own seats we are immediately greeted with "Now you know what Custer felt like," from the male couple in front of us. As I explain the historical reference to Karen, she loudly comments on how that is probably one of the lamest things one could say in that situation. We realize we're surrounded by douchebag Giants fans (my favorite kind). In spite of this, we receive very little heckling, even during the first 3 quarters (while the game was, you know, still in doubt) because (i) Giants fans prefer to complain about perfectly solid officiating; and (ii) they would prefer to heckle their own team.

The pace of the game is slow during 1st quarter, each team sparring and content to battle for field position and each missing a field goal. Then, "startling, like lightning out of a clear sky," as C.S. Lewis once described the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Brett Favre made a throw (one of several) that subconciously makes you rise out of your seat and gape, the only noise capable of describing what it was like to witness that moment is a guttural yell and the only gesture an irrational point at the man who authored it. This toss, a 46 yard bomb caught James Jones streaking down the sidelines in stride and surrounded by 3 defenders with 11 minutes left in the half. The Pack light up the board shortly thereafter on a run by Wynn.

The Giants would answer right back on a 2 play drive culminating in a nice throw-and-catch from Manning to Plaxico. Save for Giants field goal to take the lead into the half, the rest of the 2nd quarter continued to pass uneventfully. Beer time.

As the 2nd half started, the Packers special teams showed an example of an all-around performance that contributed substantially the victory by returning the kickoff to around midfield. In addition to this return and in spite of the missed field goal, the special teams forced and recovered a fumble and consistently provided the Giants offense with subpar field position. The short drive that resulted in a touchdown pass to Bubba Franks (his 587th from inside the 5 yard line) would put the Packers in the lead for good.

Following another Tynes field goal, the subsequent drive bridged the 3rd and 4th quarters and was finished by another beautiful toss, this time to Donald Lee in the corner of the end zone. This drive was the critical point of the game as there appeared to be a clear change in momentum and the Packers began to impose their will on offense by altering the tempo and going to a quick huddle. We would also find out later that Brett completed his first 14 passes of the final half, simply a surreal performance to watch. His next touchdown pass, following the aforementioned fumble was thrown as hard as I've seen him throw the ball and left a vapor trail through 3 levels of the Giants defense to find Donald Driver in the back of the end zone.

The remainder of the game put an exclamation point on the victory as Eli threw a pass that only can be described as effeminate and frightened to a rushing defensive lineman and Mr. Wynn (I'm still learning his first name) sprinted for a long rushing touchdown. If it weren't for that rush, the Packers would've finished with under 50 yards rushing. If we entertain any hope of winning this division, the rushing performance will need to improve to something a little better than less than mediocre. I never thought I would be so fervently hoping for the return of Vernand Morency.

The game ended 35-13 and we ventured down to the end zone where the players exit into the tunnels to the locker room. On this day, Brett broke the career record for victories by a quarterback and we and the other remaining Packers fans wanted to give him a send off for this accomplishment. This time, unlike a few others involving Brett, I was able to hold back tears. Barely. I hope that wasn't the last time that I will get to see him play in person because there has been nothing that I have seen that can compare to it.


As we exited the stadium, we decided to celebrate the victory with a post-game tailgate, some now-cooled bean dip, a couple more beers, and throwing the football around. Sometimes, life is just so good and so easy.


(pictures, courtesy of Karen)