It's raining outside. Daylight starts later and later with each passing day. No break from work in sight until Christmas (no Thanksgiving over here) and the long week stretches before me as I stir from a restless slumber.
The only thing on my mind when I wake at 6 AM is the game. When you're young and fit, you stay up to watch a critical game against your most hated opponent, even though it starts at 1 AM. When you're somewhat older, the thought of a full work day on no sleep is out of the question - PVR it is.
I went to sleep with my head filled with questions and worries about the game, and awoke wondering whether to find out the score or cut off the outside world and wait until after work to watch the game as if it were live. That lasted all of about two seconds - of course I had to know. I grab my iPad from beside the bed and get the great news, nearly waking up my wife with my stifled "YES!" and fist pumping of the air, while my dogs both lift an eyebrow, look at me to see if I'm okay or if food is available, and quickly go back to sleep.
I then spend enough time quietly digesting all the reports to ensure my preparations for work are late and that I have to rush to start the day. No matter. The morning may be darker, the sky might be damper, and the week may have only started, but all is right with the universe, for lo, we have truly beaten on the Cheeseheads at our beautiful new temple. No matter what the day brings, it cannot dampen my spirits and the knowledge I will get to see it tonight with beers at my side and a remote control that gets rid of commercials with the certainty of the right result.
On the way in, I have to stop at the doctor's office for a bit of routine business that comes with getting older and less reliable bodily, and to my amazement, there's a Packers fan in the waiting area, wearing a jersey and looking somewhat forlorn. Now Packers fans may be two a penny in the Midwest of the States due to the fact they have nothing else to do but watch the Packers and make more butter babies, but in here England they're not a common sight at all. The Norse gods have truly shined upon me today, and it would be wrong of me not to take advantage of the situation. I sort out my medical requirements and head for the exit, knowing our misguided dairy dunce has no idea I'm a Vikings fan. I get to the door, turn to the waiting area filled with people, and burst into song:
SKOL VIKINGS, WE WON THE GAME!
SKOL VIKINGS, THEY HONORED THEIR NAME!
WE GOT THE FIRST DOWNS, WE GOT THE TOUCHDOWNS!
ROCKED 'EM! SOCKED 'EM! UP, DOWN, LEFT AND RIGHT!
SKOL VIKINGS, WE RAN UP THE SCORE! THEY HEARD US YELL FOR MORE...
V-I-K-I-N-G-S - SKOL VIKINGS, WE WON!
(Apologies for changing the words of a sacred hymn, but under the circumstances I couldn't resist.)
The Cheesehead looked somewhere between being stunned and crestfallen. The rest of the waiting patients looked at me as if I'd escaped from the local mental health facility. I didn't care - I took a quick bow, made a "L" with the thumb and index finger of my right hand and held it to my forehead and said "LO-SER!" to the Packers fan, then walked out the door with a spring in my step.
Life doesn't get much better than that! SKOL, EVERYONE!