Not by any choice of my own, but most of my youth was spent in the 60s. I am not sure if that led to the little issue I am writing about or not, but it was a crazy decade. It was the decade of sad memories – the Kennedy and King assassinations, the start of another war, and increased racial tension. The decade certainly had its share of oddities – flower children, the Beatles, and the start of acne. And I remember some of the high points– a man on the moon, color TV, Leave It To Beaver, and, of course, growing up in Wisconsin, the green and gold that is the Packers. There will never be another number 15, or 66, or 31, or 87. And, no, that was not my locker combination. It was a very easy decade to become a loyal Packer fan, and that is exactly what I became. Now that I think back on that decade, I can see a relationship between my yelling on Sundays and the introduction of color TV. If, at the time my folks knew that color TV would lead to my present condition, possibly they would have kept me in black and white land a bit longer.
When I watch my favorite game and my favorite team, there is one thing I hold dear. No it’s not the chips, the dip, the soda, or the nap at half-time. No, the one thing I cherish is the ability to yell at my TV as my favorite team gives up another TD. I am not entirely sure why I get so excited when my favorite team’s QB throws an interception or the defense decides not to cover the other team’s receiver on 4th and 26, but I do. I know it is a totally irrational block of time in my week, but my condition is very temporary. I believe my condition started with the most successful quarterback sneak of all time. Bart Starr sliding in behind Jerry Kramer evoked the biggest yell and leap available in my skinny frame during the ice bowl. The event happened in the middle of our living room after I had a worn a path between there and my bedroom as I could only bare to watch every other play of that game winning drive.
During these episodes, I don’t usually throw anything or kick anything or hit anything (at least not intentionally). I just blabber on in a voice louder than needed for those nearby. I know that no one anywhere close to the field hears my yells and my screams of advice, but it can’t hurt to try. As soon as the game is over, the yelling stops and my blood pressure does return to near normal levels within a few hours or so. One note of importance; if you happen to be in the same room with me during one of my rants, and find my behavior strange, please sit quietly or make a chip run. You are, of course, welcome to join me in the yelling should you suffer from the same condition. The condition is mostly untreatable. Vitamins or herbs are of little use, and even two decades of terrible wasn’t a cure.
Unfortunately, someone in football land decided that Sundays would be the best day for the games, so my yelling corresponds with our returning home from church. Why Sundays? I am not quite sure, but that is the way it has been since before color TV. I know the Sunday choice has created more than one anxious seat in the pew praying for a quick sermon and a quicker ride home. The need to yell on Sundays is also not a hereditary condition as no one in my family seems to join in with me. Yes, there are appropriate and inappropriate times to begin to yell. Yelling during commercials, pre-game, and halftime entertainment are inappropriate times. All other times yelling is just fine–pre-snap, post-snap, replay, review, and penalty explanations. For me, my yelling on Sundays will continue as long as the game is played with a team dressed in green and gold. No matter the outcome, the joy is in the yelling.