Sports Aficionados We Are Not

As I was checking out in Lowe's last weekend, my chatty self started up a conversation with the cashier about the weather.  She mentioned that it was supposed to be 70 on Sunday, and said "And you know all these southerners are going to be like 'it's cold!'  But they don't know what cold feels like."

(In the southeast's defense, after a week of 95 degrees, 70 feels downright brisk).

She mentioned she was from Wisconsin.

"Oh where at?" I asked.  "I was born in Milwaukee."

"Are you a Green Bay Packers fan?" she asked.

"Of course," I replied easily as I ran my credit card through the little machine.

As far as sports go, I do like the Packers.  More accurately I actually know who the Packer are. My dad and brothers are dyed-in-the-wool fans who have donned foam cheese hats and sat freezing on those steel seats at Lambeau field.

"I'm in a Green Bay Packers club," she said.  "We meet for every game at a local sports bar.  You should come.  You don't have to be a member to watch the game with us."

"Oooooh," I started to realize I may have gotten in over my head.  "Thank you so much!"

I told Matt about it in the car.

"No," he said.  "Do you even know who plays for the Packers?'

"Yes.  Quarterbacks."

He laughed.  "Not quarterbacks.  One quarterback."

"Are you serious?  Is there really only quarterback?"

Pause.

"I'm not sure," he said.

Go, Pack! Go!