But be honest. For a quarter century, Wisconsin wandered through a grey expanse of mediocrity, having their parking lot brat fries and Leinenkugels while standing bare-chested in the stands in sub-zero weather to support their pathetic team. Yet, with not a hint of a winning season on the horizon, still you could not have a seat in Lambeau for love nor money but that a season ticket holder would die without heirs.
Then out of the bay (SF, not Green) came Holmgren, and out of Mississippi came Favre, and out of the relentless misery came hope, then winning seasons, and play-offs, and once again a return to glory. For a year that lasted, when the dynasty was ripped from their grasp at the very last moment.
For the next decade, the Pack was off-and-on, never really horrible, sometimes good, but hardly dominating. Again, Wisconsin suffered, but not so stoically, for they had tasted glory and could not forget, and this time the prize kept taunting them like a cruel siren.
The Dairy State could well have been left in peace, to take a sort of pride in their melancholy Packers (after all, the Badgers did do pretty well from time to time), but greed and ambition and vanity dictated otherwise.
Wisconsin has been ruined forever. But at least Lake Woebegone is still safe.
