The Packers Come to Seattle – A Photo Blog
So the Green Bay Packers visited Qwest Field in Seattle this Monday night. There was no chance in hell I was missing it. More accurately, I wouldn’t be deterred by work (ha… yeah, right), snow, copious amounts of booze, or mediocre (at best) public transportation. There was nothing that was going to stand in my way from making it to this game.
We started putting back the drinks around noon, which seems like an incredibly healthy thing to do. Who doesn’t enjoy Pabst on an early Monday afternoon? And maybe a margarita from the Chupacabra mixed in. And possibly a vodka drink. That seems like a good afternoon, right? Off to the game, but first to the King St. Bar and Oven for some additional pregame action. I come back from the restroom and Josh hands me a couple of bottles of beer. It would be rude to refuse them, so I reluctantly accept. I certainly don’t want to be rude — that’s not who I am.
After we polish our drinks off, it’s time to go watch the Green Bay Packers, damn it. Shouting ensues.
The stadium looks pretty sweet, coming from this direction.
If that doesn’t get your blood going, there’s something wrong. Add into it the fact that it’s snowing out, the perfect conditions for a football game, and the excitement is overwhelming. I’ve always wanted to see a game in the snow, and it’s incredibly strange that when I finally get to do it, it’s in Seattle. I’m surprised the two inches on the ground didn’t call for a statewide emergency and the entire city didn’t shut down. Ooops…. nevermind… it almost did.
I love that picture. I also love scoring 8th row seats off of ebay for face value on the day of the game. Sometimes it pays off to wait till the last minute. That will be my excuse the next time someone accuses me of procrastinating. Before going to these incredible seats, though, I have to meet Josh in the beer line and collect two fistfuls of goodness.
The beers paid for, we make our way to the seats. They’re decent, I guess.
From this close, I can see the uselessness eminating from Bubba Franks.
Thank God Robert Ferguson isn’t playing, or it might drive me to drink. Oh, wait… Well, it might cause me to drink more. Or huff airplane glue. Or something to numb that pain. If there wasn’t some sort of mind altering substance around, I suppose I could always resort to smacking myself in the skull with a blunt object to the point of oblivion.
Speaking of useless — ladies and gentlemen, #22…. Marquand Manuel. I’m contemplating jumping onto the field and taking him out. Let me get this straight — the Packers give the Seahawks Matt Hasselbeck and Mike Holmgren and they give us MARQUAND MANUEL in return? What kind of imbalance is this? (I know, I know… Ahman Green…. but Manuel is so bad, it completely cancels that out.)
There are three bright spots on the field for the defense, though. #50, #21, and #74 are all gamers. It’s too bad the safeties have been miserable enough to cancel all of that good. I should be paid some sort of stipend for being forced to endure so many consecutive years of Mark Roman and Marquand Manuel.
Look at me, I’m spoiled. Not many people can get so many years cheering for a legend week in and week out.
This guy’s got a few years left in him. I hope he sticks around to see this offensive line come together, the running game start to work, and #85 working opposite #80 on the outside.
Getting back on track — yes, I’ve already gone back for two more glorious plastic cups full of Budweiser. At this point, it’s not cold anymore. I don’t know what the fuss is all about. I miss a big defensive touchdown by the Packers because I’m in the beer line from hell, though. Seriously, there’s people ordering hotdogs and popcorn and crap… and running credit cards out there. There needs to be a beer line reform at Qwest field, and I might be the pioneer to make it happen.
Here’s how it SHOULD go:
1) Only beer will be sold in designated lines. Nothing else. You want to stuff your face with Cracker Jacks, go wait in another line. Or skip the game altogether and read a Harry Potter book or something. I don’t care.
2) All you need to say, once you get to the front of the line, is a number and a type of beer. That’s it. I might go so far as to standardize each line with a single beer to expedite this process, but that policy would go under heavy review before implementation. I think you can handle saying a beer name and a number. Or I hope you can. If not, you’re kicked out of the stadium and asked never to return. We’re not messing around here, kids. If you need me to make it easier, I’ll put up big signs you can point to. Anything to help you retards move it along….
3) Have cash, or go get some before you buy the beer. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like we should have to wait for your credit score to be run in order to enjoy a delicious Budweiser from a cheap plastic cup. There’s a game going on, and I want to see it.
Back to the action on the field….
“Oh, hello. Do you, umm, come here often?”
These seats really are a blessing.
My voice is shot from screaming, and the Packers lead is disintegrating in the 2nd half. Not an ideal finish, but it was still an incredible experience. I didn’t have very high expectations for the Packers going into it, so it’s not like I came away surprised. It was a little odd to see the run defense get smacked around like it was, but they were missing their starting middle linebacker and the weather conditions dictated a lot of running anyway.
The snow let up for pretty much the entire 2nd half, which was also a little bit of a letdown. I was hoping for it keep piling on. The game deteriorated into the Packers frantically trying to catch up, but it was still nice to see Favre running around and trying to make plays. We stayed until the bitter end, piling out of Qwest field and into the Elysian brewery next door for some postgame consolation.
The rest of the night moved along briskly, and to be honest the details are a little hazy. I remember walking around 1st Ave aimlessly, looking for someone’s vehicle (and yes, they were sober) unsuccessfully. At that point, the cold completely caught up with me until I was fortunately scooped up by a cab. The night slowly rolled to an end.
I got home and passed out on the couch in the living room. The first piece of furniture available I saw, I was out. No time to kick off the boots, even. It must have been around 3 or 4 at this point, from all recollection. I woke up uncomfortably around 6:45, fully dressed. I weighed my options — a comfortable bed upstairs or a shower and a workday on 3 hours of sleep — and I chose very unwisely. I ended up getting to work around 8 AM, driving through the ice and snow only to find out that the entire campus was closed and I could have stayed home anyway.
Sometimes, I’m way too responsible for my own good.