It's Monday, the second day of November, 2009, as I step into a diner just outside of Green Bay, Wisconsin for some breakfast before I begin my 5-hour drive home. I'm wearing so much purple I look like like Barney, just like I did the night before as I sat in the bleachers of Lambeau Field watching the final seconds tick off the clock on a 38-26 Vikings victory. Under my arm I carry a copy of the Green Bay Press-Gazette with a headline that reads: GOING SOUTH IN THE NORTH.
As I enter the diner the old men look up from their tables, see purple, then look back down in shame. A sixty-year old waitress -- the only non-Packer fan in the building -- seats me and then offers her bony arm for a high-five. It's then that I notice my hand is still sore from all the high-fives the night before. "It's like a funeral in here today," she whispers with a smile. Naturally, I order the grilled cheese.