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?"

So 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

Whad’y 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 belch 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 now reads,

"Tim gave his life. Never did he wince.”

“He tailgates high above old Lambeau, grilling brats with Vince.”