There are few things that Green Bay fans like better than to show their Packer Pride at road games. Whether we’re invading Soldier Field or mixing it up with Saints fans under the freeway near the Superdome, we Packer fans travel well.
It’s especially fun to back the Pack in the Twin Cities, home to plenty of “mixed marriages,” in which he goes Green Bay and she’s for the Vikes. It’s sweet when your team takes it to the neighbors – kind of like beating your brother at euchre.
Just don’t do what I did – I went to the last Packer game at the Vikings’ Metrodome and barely lived to tell the tale.
The Pack’s last stand at the old Metrodome was just before Halloween 2013. Our group went with Packer costumes. My husband was looking fine in a skeleton outfit with a Packer cape. I took an old Vikings helmet and festooned it with green and gold swag. As we walked to the game, I explained to passersby that I was a “turncoat Viking fan.”
“You know. Viking fans who have to cheer for the Packers in the playoffs, because we’re in and they’re not?”
I thought I was pretty funny; Vikings fans did not.
The game went according to plan. Old Ragnar the Viking roared out on his Harley to the heavy metal of Led Zepplin. They played their dumb “Skol” song when their team scored. But by the 4th quarter, Aaron Rodgers and the Pack had the lead for good. The Metrodome emptied and the remaining Packer fans rocked the joint with cheers of “Go Pack Go!”
We were feeling pretty smug as we walked into our hotel. I jumped on an elevator just as the doors were closing.
Big Mistake. It was packed with grouchy Viking fans. The elevator lurched up past all our floors, then shuddered to a halt. The lights went out. The phone didn’t work. Then the voices started.
“Hey, don’t you just hate Packer fans?”
“Ya! They’re so dumb, they only know two words: Go Pack Go.”
“Hey, since we’re stuck, we should introduce ourselves. I’m Thor from Thunder Bay. . .”
So it went, around the elevator. I was jammed up against the door, clutching that ill-advised Packer helmet to my churning stomach, hoping they wouldn’t notice me.
“Hey, you! Where are you from?”
“Wis-con-sin,’’ I admitted, in a voice whiny and pathetic.
“A Packer Fan!”
“Hey, it’s her fault the elevator overloaded!”
“Let’s throw her down the shaft.”
In reality, I was trapped in that dark elevator for over an hour. It felt like years. Just when I thought I would pass out, the thing shot up a few more floors, and the doors flew open. I ran down the stairs to my room as fast as my shaky knees could carry me.
A minute later, there was a loud banging on the door. Ragner coming for vengeance? No, my poor husband. With no pockets in his skeleton costume, he had no key and no ID. He had to beg hotel security to open the door.
“Where have you been?”
I burst into sobs.
So yeah, I’m sure you Packer fans who cross the St. Croix to check out the new stadium will have a great time. Me? I’m still rehabbing from my psychic injuries. I’ll be watching the game from my sofa, safe in the heart of Cheeseland.