Voltron
09-10-2002, 08:37 AM
Tim - The ultimate Diehard Packer Fan shows his love of the game. By Paul Gillmartin
5 ticks left in the Super Bowl, the Pack they trailed by one.
The ball marked near the fifty. Favre warmed up his gun.
And in the other end zone a man rose to his feet. Tim the Die-Hard-Packer-Fan, knew this was destiny.
Shirtless, painted green and gold from his forehead to his heiny.
The smile slowly left his face. He said, "Someone hold my Leiny". He wet his finger, felt the air. A headwind turned their way. "Favre", he thought, "He's got the gun, but he needs our help, ya hey?"
He lumbered down the steps. His mission now was clear. Neutralize the headwind, or wait another year.
And as he stepped onto the field, security stopped him short. They asked him who he was, he said "I'm Tim, I'm from up Nort." Whereabouts they fired back. Sheboygan, he revealed.
Whaddy catch? He said "Mostly Pike" They let him on the field.
As Favre barked out the signals, Tim chugged a giant beer.
And then another, and one after that, as tension filled the air. The ball was snapped, a route was run, Favre unleashed the ball. Never had there been a spiral, so clean and far and tall. And then it hit the headwind and started coming back.
Tim felt a rumble in his gut, now was time to act.
The burp came out so long and hard, the Yukon felt a breeze.
A tidal wave of beer and brats and half a wheel of cheese.
The blimp was lost for 7 days, skybox glass was shattered.
An OshKosh woman lost her teeth. Tim's stomach left in tatters. But the pass came down, the catch was made, and just before Tim died. He was heard to say "The Pack are Back Oh For Cry Ay Ay"
His headstone reads, "Tim gave his life. Never did he wince. He
tailgates high above old Lambeau, grilling brats with Vince".
:spit:
5 ticks left in the Super Bowl, the Pack they trailed by one.
The ball marked near the fifty. Favre warmed up his gun.
And in the other end zone a man rose to his feet. Tim the Die-Hard-Packer-Fan, knew this was destiny.
Shirtless, painted green and gold from his forehead to his heiny.
The smile slowly left his face. He said, "Someone hold my Leiny". He wet his finger, felt the air. A headwind turned their way. "Favre", he thought, "He's got the gun, but he needs our help, ya hey?"
He lumbered down the steps. His mission now was clear. Neutralize the headwind, or wait another year.
And as he stepped onto the field, security stopped him short. They asked him who he was, he said "I'm Tim, I'm from up Nort." Whereabouts they fired back. Sheboygan, he revealed.
Whaddy catch? He said "Mostly Pike" They let him on the field.
As Favre barked out the signals, Tim chugged a giant beer.
And then another, and one after that, as tension filled the air. The ball was snapped, a route was run, Favre unleashed the ball. Never had there been a spiral, so clean and far and tall. And then it hit the headwind and started coming back.
Tim felt a rumble in his gut, now was time to act.
The burp came out so long and hard, the Yukon felt a breeze.
A tidal wave of beer and brats and half a wheel of cheese.
The blimp was lost for 7 days, skybox glass was shattered.
An OshKosh woman lost her teeth. Tim's stomach left in tatters. But the pass came down, the catch was made, and just before Tim died. He was heard to say "The Pack are Back Oh For Cry Ay Ay"
His headstone reads, "Tim gave his life. Never did he wince. He
tailgates high above old Lambeau, grilling brats with Vince".
:spit: