Favre passes to another mark as Packers win

I dunno what the deal is, if it's something about getting older or having kids or what, but I'm getting more and more emotionally attached to something as ultimately meaningless as the fortunes of my favorite football team.

This afternoon, as the game was winding down and the inevitability of another victory
(number SEVEN, biotches!) became apparent, I was reading a story to the little girl with one eye on the game. As the Pack scored their final icing-on-the-cake touchdown, the protagonist in the story - a little toy boat who had lost his little boy - happily found his way home for a tearful reunion.

I tell you, I don't know if I've ever come so close to experience the odd action of weeping in joy as I did at that moment. All at once, I felt that every wrong I had ever experienced or witnessed had been suddenly reversed and that everyone WAS gonna live happily ever after.

The Packers would keep on winning until long after that time when my little boy, now all grown up, would be sitting with HIS children - no, wait, his GRANDchildren! - watching the Pack win. Again.

All of the lost toys in the world would be reunited with the tearful boys and girls who had initially carelessly misplaced them.

All of the stray kittens and puppies would find nice homes with people who loved th---

Well, YOU get the idea.

It's a few hours after the game now and I'm not quite as emotional now, but I have a definite warm glow residing around my heart, like I've freed myself from sort of awful, malignant tumor and each unburdened step I take is like feeling that sweet rush of freedom for the first time.

Or something like that. Just know this - I honest-to-God wish that I could bottle this feeling. Not to share with you, sorry, but so that I could sneak nips at the jar on the other days when things aren't going so well.